I said this very doubtfully, for I was afraid of the strange figure, and the passionate speech.
Then she let go her hold all at once. She looked at me and then all round. There was not another creature visible except, behind me, I suppose, the open door and lights of the ‘Barleymow.’ She might have done almost what she would to me had she been disposed;—at least, at the moment that was how I felt.
‘You live close by?’ she said, putting her hand upon her heart, which was panting and heaving with her passion.
‘Yes. Are you—staying in the neighbourhood? Have you—lost your way?’
I said this in my bewilderment, not knowing what the words were which came from my lips. Then the poor creature leaned back upon the wall and gasped and sobbed. I could not make out at first whether it was emotion or want of breath.
‘Yes, I’ve lost my way,’ she said; ‘not here, but in life; I’ve lost my way in life, and I’ll never find it again. Oh! I’m ill—I’m very ill. If you are a good Christian, as you seem, take me in somewhere and let me lie down till the spasm’s past; I feel it coming on now.’
‘What is it?’ I asked.
She put her hand upon her heart and panted and gasped for breath. Poor wretch! At that moment I heard behind me the locking of the door at the ‘Barleymow.’ I know I ought to have called out to them to wait, but I had not my wits about me as one ought to have.
‘Have you no home?’ I asked; ‘nowhere to go to? You must live somewhere. I will go with you and take you home.’
‘Home!’ she cried. ‘It is here or in the churchyard, nowhere else—here or in the churchyard. Take me to one or the other, good woman, for Christ’s sake: I don’t care which—to my husband’s house or to the churchyard—for Christ’s sake.’