was one of those numerous people who have had godfathers and godmothers, learned their catechism, been confirmed, and gone to church every Sunday, and yet, for any practical result of strength in life, or trust in death, have never appropriated a single Christian idea or Christian feeling.  You would misunderstand her thoughts during these wretched days, if you imagined that they were influenced either by religious fears or religious hopes.

She chose to go to Stratford-on-Avon again, where she had gone before by mistake, for she remembered some grassy fields on her former way towards it—­fields among which she thought she might find just the sort of pool she had in her mind.  Yet she took care of her money still; she carried her basket; death seemed still a long way off, and life was so strong in her.  She craved food and rest—­she hastened towards them at the very moment she was picturing to herself the bank from which she would leap towards death.  It was already five days since she had left Windsor, for she had wandered about, always avoiding speech or questioning looks, and recovering her air of proud self-dependence whenever she was under observation, choosing her decent lodging at night, and dressing herself neatly in the morning, and setting off on her way steadily, or remaining under shelter if it rained, as if she had a happy life to cherish.

And yet, even in her most self-conscious moments, the face was sadly different from that which had smiled at itself in the old specked glass, or smiled at others when they glanced at it admiringly.  A hard and even fierce look had come in the eyes, though their lashes were as long as ever, and they had all their dark brightness.  And the cheek was never dimpled with smiles now.  It was the same rounded, pouting, childish prettiness, but with all love and belief in love departed from it—­the sadder for its beauty, like that wondrous Medusa-face, with the passionate, passionless lips.

At last she was among the fields she had been dreaming of, on a long narrow pathway leading towards a wood.  If there should be a pool in that wood!  It would be better hidden than one in the fields.  No, it was not a wood, only a wild brake, where there had once been gravel-pits, leaving mounds and hollows studded with brushwood and small trees.  She roamed up and down, thinking there was perhaps a pool in every hollow before she came to it, till her limbs were weary, and she sat down to rest.  The afternoon was far advanced, and the leaden sky was darkening, as if the sun were setting behind it.  After a little while Hetty started up again, feeling that darkness would soon come on; and she must put off finding the pool till to-morrow, and make her way to some shelter for the night.  She had quite lost her way in the fields, and might as well go in one direction as another, for aught she knew.  She walked through field after field, and no village, no house was in sight; but there, at the corner of this pasture, there was a break in the hedges; the land seemed to dip down a little, and two trees leaned towards each other across the opening.  Hetty’s heart gave a great heat as she thought there must be a pool there.  She walked towards it heavily over the tufted grass, with pale lips and a sense of trembling.  It was as if the thing were come in spite of herself, instead of being the object of her search.