Ursula stared at her vacantly as though trying to remember what had happened. Bess gave her no moment to delay. She was fearful, and grew more fearful each instant of Dan’s return.
“See, I have brought you back to your own cottage,” she said; “now—I must go. Remember, when Isaac comes back—you know nothing, you have not been near Dan’s house. They may think I broke free by myself.”
Ursula nodded, sighed, and put her hands to her head.
“I’ve saved ye, child,” she said.
“God bless you for it, mother! I must go.”
Bess kissed Ursula again, smoothed her gray hair for her, and, starting up, turned towards the door. She closed it softly after her, and, looking round warily, darted across the open stretch of grass-land for the farther woods. She would take the path for the Beacon Rock, strike across the heath, and reach the road for Rodenham. Her one hope of safety was with Jeffray. He would defend her against Isaac and against Dan.
Bess had barely reached the trees when Solomon Grimshaw sauntered out from the woodshed, wiping his forehead with his bare forearm. He caught sight of Bess as she slipped into the woods, gave a shout, and started after her. Bess heard the shout, stopped, and glanced back over her shoulder. She saw Solomon running towards her, shaking his fist. One look was sufficient. Bess gathered up her skirts and ran, her gray cloak melting away amid the trees, her ankles in their red stockings flashing under her green petticoat. Solomon was but a lame old horse; she could out-distance him easily in the woods.
XXXVII
That same evening while Bess sat bound in Dan’s cottage in the deeps of Pevensel, there was much weighing of words in the dining-room at Hardacre.
Dr. Jessel, rector and chaplain, sat at the polished table, with paper, ink, and pouncet-box before him, and a much-nibbled quill in his fist. For years he had acted as the confidential scribe and scholarly supervisor of letters to the household of Hardacre, and he had been called in that morning to prepare a certain epistle, guided by the baronet’s personal discretion. Sir Peter faced the parson across the table, and advised him magisterially as to the contents of the letter.