They stood so a long while, for neither of them felt the impulse to move apart again. Hetty, without any distinct thought of it, hung on this something that was come to clasp her now, while she was sinking helpless in a dark gulf; and Dinah felt a deep joy in the first sign that her love was welcomed by the wretched lost one. The light got fainter as they stood, and when at last they sat down on the straw pallet together, their faces had become indistinct.
Not a word was spoken. Dinah waited, hoping for a spontaneous word from Hetty, but she sat in the same dull despair, only clutching the hand that held hers and leaning her cheek against Dinah’s. It was the human contact she clung to, but she was not the less sinking into the dark gulf.
Dinah began to doubt whether Hetty was conscious who it was that sat beside her. She thought suffering and fear might have driven the poor sinner out of her mind. But it was borne in upon her, as she afterwards said, that she must not hurry God’s work: we are overhasty to speak—as if God did not manifest himself by our silent feeling, and make his love felt through ours. She did not know how long they sat in that way, but it got darker and darker, till there was only a pale patch of light on the opposite wall: all the rest was darkness. But she felt the Divine presence more and more—nay, as if she herself were a part of it, and it was the Divine pity that was beating in her heart and was willing the rescue of this helpless one. At last she was prompted to speak and find out how far Hetty was conscious of the present.
“Hetty,” she said gently, “do you know who it is that sits by your side?”
“Yes,” Hetty answered slowly, “it’s Dinah.”
“And do you remember the time when we were at the Hall Farm together, and that night when I told you to be sure and think of me as a friend in trouble?”
“Yes,” said Hetty. Then, after a pause, she added, “But you can do nothing for me. You can’t make ’em do anything. They’ll hang me o’ Monday—it’s Friday now.”
As Hetty said the last words, she clung closer to Dinah, shuddering.
“No, Hetty, I can’t save you from that death. But isn’t the suffering less hard when you have somebody with you, that feels for you—that you can speak to, and say what’s in your heart?... Yes, Hetty: you lean on me: you are glad to have me with you.”
“You won’t leave me, Dinah? You’ll keep close to me?”