She gently rattled the door-handle. There was no denying it—the house was locked up. It must be later than she thought—that walk on the Rother levels must have been longer than it had seemed to her thirsty love. A thrill of fear went through her. She hoped Reuben would not be angry. She was his dutiful wife.
She stood hesitating on the doorstep. Should she knock? Then a terrible thought struck her. Reuben must have meant to lock her out. Otherwise he would have sat up for her, however late she had been. She started trembling all over, and felt her skin grow damp.
She began to knock, first softly, then more desperately. She must get in. Nothing was to be heard except her own despairing din—the house seemed plunged in sleep. Rose's fear grew, spread black bat's wings, and darkened all her thoughts—for she knew that someone must have heard her, she could not make all this racket quite unheard.
What could she do? Caro slept at the back of the house, and it struck her that she had better go round, and throw up some earth at her window. Perhaps Caro would let her in. She stepped back from the door, and was just turning the corner of the house when a window suddenly shot open above her, and Reuben's tousled head looked out.
"There's no use your trying to git in."
Rose gave a faint scream. In the moonlight her husband's face looked distorted, while his voice came thick and unnatural.
"Ben!"
"Go away. Go away to where you've come from. I shan't let you in."
"You can't keep me out here. It isn't my fault I'm late—and I'm not so very late, either."
"It's one o'clock o' the marnun."