Mrs. Corney had felt it her duty to press Philip to stay, now that, as she said, he had no one but himself to see home, and the new year so near coming in.  To any one else in the room she would have added the clinching argument, ‘A shall take it very unkind if yo’ go now’; but somehow she could not say this, for in truth Philip’s look showed that he would be but a wet blanket on the merriment of the party.  So, with as much civility as could be mustered up between them, he took leave.  Shutting the door behind him, he went out into the dreary night, and began his lonesome walk back to Monkshaven.  The cold sleet almost blinded him as the sea-wind drove it straight in his face; it cut against him as it was blown with drifting force.  The roar of the wintry sea came borne on the breeze; there was more light from the whitened ground than from the dark laden sky above.  The field-paths would have been a matter of perplexity, had it not been for the well-known gaps in the dyke-side, which showed the whitened land beyond, between the two dark stone walls.  Yet he went clear and straight along his way, having unconsciously left all guidance to the animal instinct which co-exists with the human soul, and sometimes takes strange charge of the human body, when all the nobler powers of the individual are absorbed in acute suffering.  At length he was in the lane, toiling up the hill, from which, by day, Monkshaven might be seen.  Now all features of the landscape before him were lost in the darkness of night, against which the white flakes came closer and nearer, thicker and faster.  On a sudden, the bells of Monkshaven church rang out a welcome to the new year, 1796.  From the direction of the wind, it seemed as if the sound was flung with strength and power right into Philip’s face.  He walked down the hill to its merry sound—­its merry sound, his heavy heart.  As he entered the long High Street of Monkshaven he could see the watching lights put out in parlour, chamber, or kitchen.  The new year had come, and expectation was ended.  Reality had begun.

He turned to the right, into the court where he lodged with Alice Rose.  There was a light still burning there, and cheerful voices were heard.  He opened the door; Alice, her daughter, and Coulson stood as if awaiting him.  Hester’s wet cloak hung on a chair before the fire; she had her hood on, for she and Coulson had been to the watch-night.

The solemn excitement of the services had left its traces upon her countenance and in her mind.  There was a spiritual light in her usually shadowed eyes, and a slight flush on her pale cheek.  Merely personal and self-conscious feelings were merged in a loving good-will to all her fellow-creatures.  Under the influence of this large charity, she forgot her habitual reserve, and came forward as Philip entered to meet him with her new year’s wishes—­wishes that she had previously interchanged with the other two.

’A happy new year to you, Philip, and may God have you in his keeping all the days thereof!’