She dropped her arms. "Are you not going to kiss me, Jack? Do you, too, cast me off?"
"God forbid!" he said, and lifted his face; for she was the taller by two inches. With a sob of joy she put out both hands again and drew his lips to hers, a palm pressed on either cheek.
"But what are you doing here?" he asked.
"My husband has business at Haxey. We came from Lincoln this morning, and just before sunset I crept over for a look at the house, hoping for a glimpse of you and Charles. They will not have me inside, Jack: father will not see me, and has forbidden the others. But I saw Johnny Whitelamb. He told me that Charles was indoors, at work transcribing for father, and not easily fetched out; but that you were expected home from Epworth to-night. So I came to meet you. Was I running? I dare say. I was thirsty to see your face, dear, and hear your voice."
"We have all dealt hardly with you, Hetty."
"Ah, let that be! I must not pity myself, you understand? Indeed, dear, I was not thinking of myself. If only I could be invisible, and steal into the house at times and sit me down in a corner and watch their faces and listen! That would be enough, brother: I don't ask to join in that life again—only to stand apart and feed my eyes on it."
"You are not happy, then?"
"Happy?" She mused for a while. "My man is kind to me: kinder than I deserve. If God gives us a child—" She broke off, lowered her eyes and stammered, "You heard that I had—that one was born! Dead. He never breathed, the doctor told me. I ought to be glad, for his sake—and for William's—but I cannot be."
"It was God's goodness. Look at Sukey, now; how much of her time her children take up."
She drew back sharply and peered at him through the dusk.