Soon after that she did make the attempt.  Mr. Bolton, though he was assured by Robert that such an attempt would produce no result, could not interfere to prevent it.  Had he been far stronger than he was in his own house, he could hardly have forbidden the mother to visit the daughter.  Hester had sent word to say that she did not wish to see even her mother.  But this had been immediately after the verdict, when she was crushed and almost annihilated by her misery.  Some weeks had now passed by, and it could not be that she would refuse to admit the visitor, when such a visitor knocked at her door.  They had loved each other as mothers and daughters do love when there is no rival in the affection,—­when each has no one else to love.  There never had been a more obedient child, or a more loving parent.  Much, no doubt, had happened since to estrange the daughter from the mother.  A husband had been given to her who was more to her than any parent,—­as a husband should be.  And then there had been that terrible opposition, that struggle, that battle in the hall.  But the mother’s love had never waned because of that.  She was sure that her child would not refuse to see her.

So the fly was ordered to take her out to Folking, and on the morning fixed she dressed herself in her blackest black.  She always wore brown or black,—­brown being the colour suitable for the sober and sad domesticities of her week-days, which on ceremonies and Sabbath was changed for a more solemn black.  But in her wardrobe there were two such gowns, one of which was apparently blacker than the other, nearer to a guise of widowhood,—­more fit, at any rate, for general funereal obsequies.  There are women who seem always to be burying someone; and Mrs. Bolton, as she went forth to visit her daughter, was fit to bury any one short of her husband.

It was a hot day in August, and the fly travelled along the dusty road very slowly.  She had intended to reach Folking at twelve, so that her interview might be over and that she might return without the need of eating.  There is always some idea of festivity connected with food eaten at a friend’s table, and she did not wish to be festive.  She was, too, most unwilling to partake of John Caldigate’s bread.  But she did not reach the house till one, and when she knocked at the door Hester’s modest lunch was about to be put upon the table.

There was considerable confusion when the servant saw Mrs. Bolton standing in the doorway.  It was quite understood by everyone at Folking that for the present there was to be no intercourse between the Boltons and the Caldigates.  It was understood that there should be no visitors of any kind at Folking, and it had been thought that Mr. Smirkie had forced an entrance in an impertinent manner.  But yet it was not possible to send Mrs. Bolton from her own daughter’s door with a mere ’not at home.’  Of course she was shown in,—­and was taken to the parlour, in which the lunch was prepared, while word was taken up to Hester announcing that her mother was there.