At length, so fagged that she could hardly walk, her arms cramped and aching, her nerves thrilling, because the child was crying, and would not be comforted, she reached the Vicarage, and rang at the back door bell. Some time elapsed before the door was opened; and then the babe was screaming so vociferously, and struggling in her arms with such energy, that she was not able to make herself heard when she asked for the Parson.
The woman who had answered the summons was a stranger, consequently did not know Mehetabel. She made signs to her to go away.
The cries of the child became more violent, and the mother's efforts were directed towards pacifying it. "Let me come in, I pray! I pray!" she asked with a brow, in spite of the cold, bathed in perspiration.
"I cannot! I must not!" answered the woman. She caught her by the arm, drew her aside, and said—"Do you not know? Look! the blinds are all down. He died in the night!"
"Dead!" cried Mehetabel, reeling back. "My God! whither shall I go?"
CHAPTER XXXIX.
AT THE SILK MILL.
Mehetabel sank on the grass by the drive.
"I am worn out. I can go no further," she said, and bowed her head over the child.
"You cannot remain here. It is not seemly—a house of mourning," said the woman.