WYLDER'S HAJVI).
133
pened! how awful was the change! Familiar objects gli-
ded past her, the same, yet the fashion of the countenance
was altered; there was something estranged and threaten-
ing.
The pretty parsonage was now close by: in the dews of
night the spirit of peace and slumber smiled over it; but
the sight of its steep roof and homely chimney-stacks
smote with a shock at her brain and heart — a troubled
moan escaped her. She looked up with the instinct of
prayer, and clasped her hands on the handle of that little
bag which had made the mysterious journey with her; a
load which no man could lift lay upon her heart.
Then she commenced her dark walk up the mill road
—her hands still clasped, her lips moving in broken ap-
peals to Heaven. She looked neither to the right nor to
the left, but passed on with inflexible gaze and hasty steps,
like one who crosses a plank over some awful chasm.
Old Tamar, with her shawl over her head, sat listening
for her young mistress's approach, on the little side-bench
in the trellised porch, and tottered hastily forth to meet
her at the garden wicket, whispering forlorn welcomes
and thanksgivings, which Rachel answered only with a
kiss.
The hall-door was now shut and bolted. Wise old Ta-
mar had turned the key upon the sleeping girl. There
was nothing to be feared from prying eyes and listening
ears.
"You are cold, Miss Radie, and tired—poor thing! I
lit a bit of fire in your room, miss; would you like me to
go up stairs with you, miss?"
"Come."
And so up-stairs they went; and the young lady looked
round with a strange anxiety, like a person seeking for
something, and forgetting what; and, sitting down, she