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old Martin prepared to move； by gathering up his blue
handkerchief； and reaching his bright knobbed walnut…tree stick
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from the corner。 Mrs。 Poyser then led the way out of the kitchen；
followed by the grandfather； and Dinah with Totty in her arms—
all going to bed by twilight； like the birds。 Mrs。 Poyser； on her way；
peeped into the room where her two boys lay； just to see their
ruddy round cheeks on the pillow； and to hear for a moment their
light regular breathing。
“Come； Hetty； get to bed；” said Mr。 Poyser； in a soothing tone；
as he himself turned to go upstairs。 “You didna mean to be late； I’ll
be bound； but your aunt’s been worrited to…day。 Good…night； my
wench； good…night。”
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Chapter XV
The Two Bed…Chambers
etty and Dinah both slept in the second story； in rooms
Hadjoining each other； meagrely furnished rooms； with no
blinds to shut out the light； which was now beginning to
gather new strength from the rising of the moon—more than
enough strength to enable Hetty to move about and undress with
perfect comfort。 She could see quite well the pegs in the old
painted linen…press on which she hung her hat and gown； she
could see the head of every pin on her red cloth pin…cushion； she
could see a reflection of herself in the old…fashioned looking…glass；
quite as distinct as was needful； considering that she had only to
brush her hair and put on her night…cap。 A queer old looking…
glass！ Hetty got into an ill temper with it almost every time she
dressed。 It had been considered a handsome glass in its day； and
had probably been bought into the Poyser family a quarter of a
century before； at a sale of genteel household furniture。 Even now
an auctioneer could say something for it： it had a great deal of
tarnished gilding about it； it had a firm mahogany base； well
supplied with drawers； which opened with a decided jerk and sent
the contents leaping out from the farthest corners； without giving
you the trouble of reaching them； above all； it had a brass candle…
socket on each side； which would give it an aristocratic air to the
very last。 But Hetty objected to it because it had numerous dim
blotches sprinkled over the mirror； which no rubbing would
remove； and because； instead of swinging backwards and
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forwards； it was fixed in an upright position； so that she could only
get one good view of her head and neck； and that was to be had
only by sitting down on a low chair before her dressing…table。 And
the dressing…table was no dressing…table at all； but a small old
chest of drawers； the most awkward thing in the world to sit down
before； for the big brass handles quite hurt her knees； and she
couldn’t get near the glass at all comfortably。 But devout
worshippers never allow inconveniences to prevent them from
performing their religious rites； and Hetty this evening was more
bent on her peculiar form of worship than usual。
Having taken off her gown and white kerchief； she drew a key
from the large pocket that hung outside her petticoat； and；
unlocking one of the lower drawers in the chest； reached from it
two short bits of wax candle—secretly bought at Treddleston—and
stuck them in the two brass sockets。 Then she drew forth a bundle
of matches and lighted the candles； and last of all； a small red…
framed shilling looking…glass； without blotches。 It was into this
small glass that she chose to look first after seating herself。 She
looked into it； smiling and turning her head on one side； for a
minute； then laid it down and took out her brush and comb from
an upper drawer。 She was going to let down her hair； and make
herself look like that picture of a lady in Miss Lydia Donnithorne’s
dressing…room。 It was soon done； and the dark hyacinthine curves
fell on her neck。 It was not heavy； massive； merely rippling hair；
but soft and silken； running at every opportunity into delicate
rings。 But she pushed it all backward to look like the picture； and
form a dark curtain； throwing into relief her round white neck。
Then she put down her brush and comb and looked at herself；
folding her arms before her； still like the picture。 Even the old
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mottled glass couldn’t help sending back a lovely image； none the
less lovely because Hetty’s stays were not of white satin—such as I
feel sure heroines must generally wear—but of a dark greenish
cotton texture。
Oh yes！ She was very pretty。 Captain Donnithorne thought so。
Prettier than anybody about Hayslope—prettier than any of the
ladies she had ever seen visiting at the Chase—indeed it seemed
fine ladies were rather old and ugly—and prettier than Miss
Bacon； the miller’s daughter； who was called the beauty of
Treddleston。 And Hetty looked at herself to…night with quite a
different sensation from what she had ever felt before； there was
an invisible spectator whose eye rested on her like morning on the
flowers。 His soft voice was saying over and over again those pretty
things she had heard in the wood； his arm was round her； and the
delicate rose…scent of his hair was with her still。 The vainest
woman is never thoroughly conscious of her own beauty till she is
loved by the man who sets her own passion vibrating in return。
Bu