She held out her hand; he took it with the same hard indifference he had shown from the beginning. He did not seek to detain her; he did not ask her to come again. His farewell was as cold as had been his greeting. Rachel left him with a heart full to bursting. She had not gone ten steps when he called her. She hastened back; he stood on the threshold of his shop, a newspaper in his hand.
"Just take that paper, and leave it at the 'Rose,' will you? You can't miss the 'Rose'—it's the public-house round the left-hand corner."
"Yes, father," meekly said Rachel. She took the paper from his hand, turned away, and did as she was bid.
Her errand fulfilled, Rachel walked home. There were no tears on her cheek, but there was a dull pain at her heart; an aching sorrow that dwelt there, and that—do what she would—would not depart. In vain she said to herself—"It was just what I expected; of course, I could not think it would come all in a day. Besides, if it be the will of God, must I not submit?" still disappointment murmured: "Oh! but it is hard! not one word, not one look, not one wish to see me again; nothing—nothing."
It was late when Rachel reached home. Mrs. Gray, confounded at her step-daughter's audacity in thus again absenting herself without leave, had, during the whole day, amassed a store of resentment, which now burst forth on Rachel's head. The irritable old lady scolded herself into a violent passion. Rachel received her reproaches with more of apathy than of her usual resignation. They were alone; Jane and Mary had retired to their room. Rachel sat by the table where the supper things were laid, her head supported by her hand. At the other end of the table sat Mrs. Gray erect, sharp, bitter; scolding and railing by turns, and between both burned a yellow tallow candle unsnuffed, dreary looking, and but half lighting the gloomy little parlour.
"And so you won't say where you have been, you good-for-nothing creature," at length cried Mrs. Gray, exasperated by her daughter's long silence.
Rachel looked up in her step-mother's face.
"You did not ask me where I had been," she said deliberately. "I have been to see my father."
Not one word could Mrs. Gray utter. The face of Rachel, pale, desolate, and sorrow-stricken, told the whole story. Rachel added nothing. She, lit another candle, and merely saying, in her gentle voice—
"Good night, mother," she left the room.