CHAPTER XXVI

A DREARY VIGIL

Through the dark rain, against the cold wind, shaken over the rough stones, went Hester in the little tax-cart.  Her heart kept rising against her fate; the hot tears came unbidden to her eyes.  But rebellious heart was soothed, and hot tears were sent back to their source before the time came for her alighting.

The driver turned his horse in the narrow lane, and shouted after her an injunction to make haste as, with her head bent low, she struggled down to the path to Haytersbank Farm.  She saw the light in the window from the top of the brow, and involuntarily she slackened her pace.  She had never seen Bell Robson, and would Sylvia recollect her?  If she did not how awkward it would be to give the explanation of who she was, and what her errand was, and why she was sent.  Nevertheless, it must be done; so on she went, and standing within the little porch, she knocked faintly at the door; but in the bluster of the elements the sound was lost.  Again she knocked, and now the murmur of women’s voices inside was hushed, and some one came quickly to the door, and opened it sharply.

It was Sylvia.  Although her face was completely in shadow, of course Hester knew her well; but she, if indeed she would have recognized Hester less disguised, did not know in the least who the woman, muffled up in a great cloak, with her hat tied down with a silk handkerchief, standing in the porch at this time of night, could be.  Nor, indeed, was she in a mood to care or to inquire.  She said hastily, in a voice rendered hoarse and arid with grief: 

’Go away.  This is no house for strangers to come to.  We’ve enough on our own to think on;’ and she hastily shut the door in Hester’s face, before the latter could put together the right words in which to explain her errand.  Hester stood outside in the dark, wet porch discomfited, and wondering how next to obtain a hearing through the shut and bolted door.  Not long did she stand, however; some one was again at the door, talking in a voice of distress and remonstrance, and slowly unbarring the bolts.  A tall, thin figure of an elderly woman was seen against the warm fire-light inside as soon as the door was opened; a hand was put out, like that which took the dove into the ark, and Hester was drawn into the warmth and the light, while Bell’s voice went on speaking to Sylvia before addressing the dripping stranger—­

‘It’s not a night to turn a dog fra’ t’ door; it’s ill letting our grief harden our hearts.  But oh! missus (to Hester), yo’ mun forgive us, for a great sorrow has fallen upon us this day, an’ we’re like beside ourselves wi’ crying an’ plaining.’

Bell sate down, and threw her apron over her poor worn face, as if decently to shield the signs of her misery from a stranger’s gaze.  Sylvia, all tear-swollen, and looking askance and almost fiercely at the stranger who had made good her intrusion, was drawn, as it were, to her mother’s side, and, kneeling down by her, put her arms round her waist, and almost lay across her lap, still gazing at Hester with cold, distrustful eyes, the expression of which repelled and daunted that poor, unwilling messenger, and made her silent for a minute or so after her entrance.  Bell suddenly put down her apron.