"But why did she go back? She had only that moment arrived," inquired Sybell. How should Doll know. She, Sybell, had said she could not rest till she knew where Hester was, and he, Doll, had walked to Warpington through the snow-drifts to find out for her. And he had found out, and now she wanted to know something else. There was no satisfying some women. And the injured husband retired to unlace his boots.
Yes, Mrs. Gresley had passed an uncomfortable day. She had ventured out for a few minutes, and had found Abel, with his arms akimbo; contemplating the little gate which led to the stables. It was lying on the ground. He had swept the snow off it.
"I locked it up the same as usual last night," he said to Mrs. Gresley. "There's been somebody about as has tampered it off its hinges. Yet nothing hasn't been touched, the coal nor the stack. It doesn't seem natural, twisting the gate off for nothing."
Mrs. Gresley did not answer. She did not associate Hester with the gate. But she was too much perturbed to care about such small matters at the moment.
"His lordship's coachman tell me as Miss Gresley was at the Palace," continued Abel, "while I was a hotting up his mash for him, for William had gone in with a note, and onst he's in the kitchen the hanimals might be stocks and stones for what he cares. He said his nevvy, the footman, heard the front door-bell ring just as he was getting into bed last night, and Miss Gresley come in without her hat, with the snow upon her. The coachman said as she must ha' run afoot all the way."
Abel looked anxiously at Mrs. Gresley.
"I was just thinking," he said, "as perhaps the little lady wasn't quite right in her 'ead. They do say as too much learning flies to the 'ead, the same as spirits to them as ain't manured to 'em. And the little lady does work desperate hard."
"Not as hard as Mr. Gresley," said Mrs. Gresley.
"Maybe not, mem, maybe not. But when I come up when red cow was sick at four in the morning, or maybe earlier, there was always a light in her winder, and the shadder of her face agin the blind. Yes, she do work precious hard."
Mrs. Gresley retreated into the house, picking her way over the debris of the porch. At any other time its demise would have occupied the minds of the Vicarage household for days. But, until this moment, it had hardly claimed the tribute of a sigh. Mrs. Gresley did sigh as she crossed the threshold. That prostrate porch meant expense. She had understood from her husband that Dick had wantonly torn out the clamp that supported it, and that the whole thing had in consequence given way under the first snowfall. "He meant no harm," Mr. Gresley had added, "but I suppose in the Colonies they mistake horse-play for wit."