In the afternoon, and again in the evening, the single bell of the chapel clanged for worshippers.  Mrs. Hood was not in the habit of attending service more than once in the day; she sat on her uneasy chair, at times appearing to read, more often gazing out of the windows.  The road had more traffic than on week-days, for it was the recreation of a certain class of Dunfieldians to drive out in parties to the Heath, either hiring a vehicle or using their own trade-carts.  It would have been a consolation to observe that in the latter case the quadruped employed benefited by its owner’s regard for his own interests; possibly an acute spectator might have discerned gradations of inhumanity.  To the casual eye there showed but a succession of over-laden animals urged to the utmost speed; the national predilection exhibiting itself crudely in this locality.  Towards nightfall the pleasure-seekers returned, driving with the heightened energy attributable to Bacchic inspiration, singing, shouting, exchanging racy banter with pedestrians.  So the hours dragged wearily on, wheezed out, one after one, by the clock on the stairs.  Hood was at no time fertile in topics of conversation; to-day he maintained almost unbroken silence.  Tea was prepared, partaken of, removed; supper, three hours later.  The day closed with rain and a rising wind.

Emily heard it about the house as she lay through hours of sleeplessness.  At first a light slumber had come to her; it was broken by the clock striking eleven.  Probably she was roused at the first stroke, for, failing to count, the number seemed to her so interminable that she started up and made to herself fretful complaint.  Pain was weakening her self-control; she found herself crying in a weary, desolate way, and could not stop her tears for a long time.  The gusts of wind went by her windows and bore their voices away on to the common, wailing and sobbing in the far distance; rain spattered the windows at times.  When her tears ceased, Emily hid her face in the pillow and moaned; often she uttered Wilfrid’s name.  To-day she should by agreement have written to him, but to do so had been impossible.  He would be uneasy at her silence.  Oh, bow could she ever write to him again?  What might happen to-morrow?  At the thought, she held her breath and lay in silence.

She rose in time for breakfast, but at the last moment could not bring herself to go down to the meal.  To face her father was impossible.  Her mother came to the door, and Emily answered her that she would lie for an hour or two longer, being still unwell.  During the half-hour that followed she sat listening intently to every sound in the house.  Hood, having breakfasted, came upstairs and entered his room; when, a few minutes later, he came out, his steps made a pause at her threshold.  Her heart beat in sickening fear; she could not have found voice to reply to him had he spoken.  But he did not do so, and went downstairs.  She heard him open the front door, and sprang to the window to catch a glimpse of him.  At the gate he turned and looked up to her window; his face was sorrowful.  Emily held back that he might not see her; when it was too late she could not understand this movement, and longed to wave him a good-bye.  She threw up the sash; her father did not turn again.