There and Back | Page 9

Outside the door she was still in the shadow. For the first time in her
life she loved the darkness. Along the wall she stole as if clinging to it.
Yet another door led into a shrubbery surrounding the cottage of the
head-gardener, whence a back-road led to a gate, over which she could
climb, so to reach the highway, along whose honest, unshadowed
spaces she must walk miles and miles before she could even hope
herself safe.
She stood at length in the broad moonlight, on the white, far-reaching
road. Her heart beat so fast as almost to stifle her. She dared not look
down at the child, lest some one should see her and look also! The
moon herself had an aspect of suspicion! Why did she keep staring so?
For an instant she wished herself back in the nursery. But she knew it
would only be to do it all over again: it had to be done! Leave the child
of her sister where he was counted in the way! with those who hated
him! where his helpless life was in danger! She could not!
But, while she thought, she did not stand. Softly, with great strides she
went stalking along the road. She knew the country: she was not many
miles from her father's forge, whence at moments she seemed to hear
the ring of his hammer through the still night.
She kept to the road for three or four miles, then turned aside on a great
moor stretching far to the south: daybreak was coming fast; she must
find some cottage or natural shelter, lest the light should betray her.
When the sun had made his round, and yielded his place to the friendly
night, she would start afresh! In her bundle she had enough for the baby;
for herself, she could hold out many hours unfed. A few more miles
from Mortgrange, and no one would know her, neither from any
possible description could they be suspected in the garments they wore!
Her object in hiding their usual attire had been, that it might be taken
for granted they had gone away in it.
She did not slacken her pace till she had walked five miles more. Then
she stood a moment, and gazed about her. The great heath was all

around, solitary as the heaven out of which the solitary moon, with no
child to comfort her, was enviously watching them. But she would not
stop to rest, save for the briefest breathing space! On and on she went
until moorland miles five more, as near as she could judge, were behind
her. Then at length she sat down upon a stone, and a timid flutter of
safety stirred in her bosom, followed by a gush of love victorious. Her
treasure! her treasure! Not once on the long way had she looked at him.
Now she folded back the shawl, and gazed as not even a lover could
have gazed on the sleeping countenance of his rescued bride. The
passion of no other possession could have equalled the intensity of her
conscious having. Not one created being had a right to the child but
herself!--yet any moment he might be taken from her by a cold-hearted,
cruel stepmother, and given to a hired woman! She started to her feet,
and hurried on. The boy was no light weight, and she had things to
carry besides, which her love said he could not do without; yet before
seven o'clock she had cleared some sixteen miles, in a line from
Mortgrange as straight as she could keep.
She thought she must now be near a village whose name she knew; but
she dared not show herself lest some advertisement might reach it after
she was gone, and lead to the discovery of the route she had taken. She
turned aside therefore into an old quarry, there to spend the day,
unvisited of human soul. The child was now awake, but still drowsy.
She gave him a little food, and ate the crust she had saved from her tea
the night before. During the long hours she slept a good deal by fits,
and when the evening came, was quite fit to resume her tramp. To her
joy it came cloudy, giving her courage to enter a little shop she saw on
the outskirts of the village, and buy some milk and some bread. From
this point she kept the road: she might now avail herself of help from
cart or wagon. She was not without money, but feared the railway.
It is needless to follow her wanderings, always toward London, where
was her husband, and her home. A weary, but happy, and almost no
longer an anxious woman, she reached at length a certain populous
suburb,