it was almost noon on the day before talgwynne fair when catherine dennis opened her eyes; she tried to sit up, but her head ached so unpleasantly that she sank back at once and lay still. her body and limbs were so stiff that it was a torment to move, and when susannah came in and offered her food she could scarcely eat, though she had tasted nothing for the last eighteen hours. when her own resolve to escape returned to her mind, she knew herself to be, for the time being at least, quite incapable of carrying it out.
the milk, with a plate of bread, had been left on the floor beside her mattress, and [pg 102]she forced herself to eat and drink, knowing that she must collect what strength she could muster if her feet were to carry her away from the cottage and out of talgwynne. to go to-day was out of the question, but she determined to take any chance she could get of slipping off unnoticed on the morrow.
she had no plans beyond her settled desire to turn her back on her own humiliation and on susannah, who had brought it home to her. she would hide herself wherever she could, or tramp the roads as a beggar sooner than be obliged to accept the grudging hospitality of heber’s cousin. the idea of waiting under those scornful eyes for the man who might never come was worse than destitution—worse than the workhouse. as the day wore on and she was able to get up and sit by the fireside at old moorhouse’s invitation, she formed a vague scheme of crossing the wye and trying for shelter and employment in one [pg 103]of the villages over the radnorshire border. she could get no speech of the old man, for susannah was never out of the kitchen and would hear every word she said to him, every question she put. there was a faded glimmer of amusement in his look, too, as it rested on her—his son’s dupe. she was more and more certain of her own part. her only wish was never again to meet any one she had known; but the first problem of escape was beset with such great difficulty that she could hardly see beyond it. she knew that susannah would let her go willingly, but she wished nobody to know so much as the direction of her own road to oblivion. black heber had forsaken her, but it was just possible that saunders might be upon her track. she had not a tear for saunders, though even now, amid the stress of mortified pain, her heart swelled as she thought of the shepherd. perhaps—perhaps he loved her yet, in spite of all susannah had said. her eyes filled. but [pg 104]she could not risk it and wait; her pride, once roused, had scourged her so cruelly that it had terrified her into slavery.
from the talk of uncle and niece she learned that talgwynne fair would take place next day and that both were going to it. that should be her chance. she would profess herself too tired to accompany them, should they invite her to do so, and as soon as they should be safely gone she would make her venture. she had never been in the little town, but her country eye knew the points of the compass and the direction in which the river wye ran. she would trust to luck and to what sagacity she had in finding her way. talgwynne lay high, and if she followed the fall of the ground, with her face towards the river, which she had seen daily from pencoed, she would find her bearings and be able, when she reached the brecon high road, to ask her way to the bridge at losbury village, over which she would get into [pg 105]radnorshire. the day passed slowly and she went early to her mattress in the little room. that prison should not contain her much longer.
the fair was in full swing next morning as she closed the door behind her and hurried along the by-street. the whole world had been drawn as one man to the centre of attraction, and she scarcely met a living creature until she was far into the country. she knew her direction well, once she was out of talgwynne, for the black mountain was a landmark by which it was easy to guide herself. she could see the identical smooth stretch on which she had galloped with heber moorhouse, and she was soon in a lane which she felt sure must bring her down upon the high road. stiff and weary as she still was, she pressed on with no goal but losbury bridge and nothing but chance as a friend. chance only stood between her and destitution.
she plodded on for some time, knowing [pg 106]that she could not long keep to the beaten tracks and remain unseen; soon the dispersing fair would pour men, women and animals along every road and lane. the sound of some one following her on horseback made catherine’s heart jump into her mouth. she rushed on and climbed over a gate, which was fortunately only a few paces in front, and concealed herself behind the hedge, crouching and peering between the leaves like some frightened animal. she held her breath as charles saunders rode past her hiding-place at the hurrying nondescript pace of one whose prudence forbids him to trot downhill while his feelings will not allow him to walk.
saunders had lost his flushed appearance; he was pale now and his head was perfectly clear. as he had not fallen in with heber while on his way from moorhouse’s cottage, he was firmly persuaded that the shepherd had returned for catherine before he reached it with susannah. though the [pg 107]buying and selling had not abated, and the fair would rage on for another couple of hours, he shook the dust of talgwynne off his feet, embittered by his own folly in listening to the impudent woman who had made him forget what was due to himself and led him into fresh ignominy and defeat. his enmity against the shepherd was more keen than ever. his lips closed and unclosed as though in speech with his rival.
as the sound of his going died away, the girl raised herself and looked over the gate at his retreating figure. she felt as if she never wished to see a man again. they were creatures moved by some hidden spring that she could not divine nor understand—she, who stood perplexed on the outskirts of life. passion and jealousy and the deep workings, set astir by womankind, of that prim?val combat of male with male were unlearned lessons.
she rose and pursued her way along the fields, afraid to return to the lane, and [pg 108]resolving afresh, since she had seen charles, not to venture out upon the high-road till dusk. then she reflected that her pocket was empty and that when dusk came her prospects would be no better. her goal was losbury bridge; but she would have to travel some way on the other side of it before she reached the village she had in her mind. there was a post office there, she knew, for she had once been in it, and she meant to ask the post-mistress if there was anybody in the place who needed a girl to do servant’s work. it was a forlorn hope, but catherine had burned her boats; and, with the pathetic trustfulness of youth, she did not believe that the world would let her starve. for a coward, she had grown bold indeed.
the foregoing day had poured with rain, and the grass was wet and heavy. she was so determined to keep far from all thoroughfares that she was obliged to go many times out of the straight line. she [pg 109]pushed her way through hedges and thickets and found herself, when the afternoon was well advanced, in sight of the road. her feet were soaked, her boots coated with mud; and her skirts were soaked too, for a smart shower had caught her in the open. the skies had become overcast, and she shivered as she sat resting in the seclusion of a hollow.
tears began to roll down her cheeks; excitement and wounded pride and the novelty of a definite object had kept her up; but at last these guides and supporters were losing their hold and her heart was sinking in the face of the cheerless outlook. her teeth chattered and her head felt like lead. when she got up she was shaking so much that she had to lean against a tree. she dared not think of the miles between her and that little village over losbury bridge, and she could not afford to await the falling of the light as she had meant to do before trusting herself to the [pg 110]open road. down below her was yet one more pasture, and then she must emerge on the highway and take her chance of meeting some wayfarer who might recognise her. she plodded on, thinking less of that risk than of the increasing misery of dragging herself forward. a climb down a steep hedge-grown bank would bring her out not fifty yards from the whitewashed walls of a toll-house. half a mile east of it was losbury bridge, spanning a reach of the river above the flat, green meadows.
she looked up and down the road as she stood on the bank and bent back the strong suckers in the gap she had chosen; there was not a human creature within sight. a white milestone was on the hither side of the white toll and the white gates which barred the way. the window stared towards her up the vacant thoroughfare after the sleepless, vigilant fashion of toll-house windows. she began to scramble down, clinging to the tough whips of hazel; there [pg 111]was a cluster of nuts just by her shoulder, and she paused to gather it. she was not hungry, but she might be hungry yet and thankful for so much as a few filberts. as she turned, stretching out her disengaged hand, her foot went from under her. she was not the only person who had made a passage through that gap, and the wet mud had been trodden into a slide by some one else’s heel. the springy bough flew upwards, tearing itself from her grasp as she slipped and fell.
she lay at the roadside with one foot doubled beneath her. movement brought a feeling of such deathly sickness that she raised her head only to drop it again on the moss of the bank. she felt sure that her leg must be broken, and, not daring to stir, forgot all but the black, imminent fear of pain; the moment’s despair was enough for her without the additional bewilderment of looking further.
she gathered her wits again to consider [pg 112]how long it might be before some one passed, and she prayed for the sound of human approach as earnestly as she dreaded it. but for the distant bark of a dog, the encompassing rural life might have been extinct and she herself in the desert of sahara.
at last she was able to look up. her leg could still move, she found, and she got herself into a less cramped position. timidly she touched her ankle; it was already swollen, but, if it was not really broken, she might try to get as far as the toll. with the help of the tangled growth on the bank, she drew herself until she sat upright, and saw that a short, broad figure was standing in front of the gate contemplating her in an attitude suggesting interest, suspicion, and the power to deal forcibly with anything. the woman—if woman it were—stood, sharply outlined against the white bars, feet planted wide apart, arms akimbo, and head at an attentive and purposeful angle. catherine raised [pg 113]herself on one arm and called as loudly as she could, then, as a twinge of pain shot through her foot, she lay back once more against the bank.
a minute afterwards she raised her eyes to a round, snub-nosed face within a yard of her own. it was surmounted by a man’s felt hat, secured in its place by a piece of twine which was tied in a careful bow under the chin. the loops of the bow were drawn to exact evenness and the long ends hung down over a person shaped much like a beehive. the notion that she had never seen any one wearing so many clothes wandered across the girl’s dazed brain.
“by pharaoh! i thought ye was market-peart!” exclaimed a voice whose depth, coming from a petticoated being, made catherine start. “watchin’ ye, i were, to see how soon ye’d plump down again, once ye was up.”
“i’ve hurt my foot,” said the girl, with a catch in her breath—“maybe it’s broken.”
[pg 114]
“it’s the ’edge that’s broken,” observed the other, looking up into the gap. “where d’ye come from?”
“talgwynne,” replied catherine, the zealous caution of her day forgotten.
“talgwynne?” shouted her companion. “there’s a good many’ll copy ye comin’ from talgwynne! elijah jones o’ the bush went by in ’is cart not an hour since, singin’ like a bird, an’ mrs. jones ’oldin’ ’im so as ’e couldn’t be sprawlin’ over the ’orse’s tail. ’e’d been out three times between this and the last turnin’, so her told me. ‘by pharaoh’! says i, ‘i’d larrup ’im’! when ’e ’eard that ’e was nigh out o’ the cart an’ over the dashboard again.”
“but i’m afeared my ankle’s broken,” said catherine irrelevantly.
her face was so grey and pinched that the woman’s suspicions changed to concern; she put a stout arm under her and managed to raise her till she stood upright.
[pg 115]
“try if ye can’t ’obble,” said she, as they stood clinging together.
the girl obeyed and found that by resting her whole weight on her companion’s shoulder she could move forward, and the two set off towards the toll as best they could. it was painful work, but relief at the discovery that her bones were whole gave catherine courage, and her white lips were taking a little colour as they neared the house. above the conspicuous window was a black board which displayed in white lettering, ‘maria cockshow, tollkeeper’; and as catherine saw it she remembered hearing that a tollkeeper’s widow from herefordshire, of whose looks and dealings rumour had strange tales, was in charge of one of the gates near losbury. it was, presumably, on the shoulder of this person that she now leaned.
at their approach a white, smooth-haired dog of dubious ancestry burst from regions behind the toll, and with the indecent [pg 116]instinct of low breeding for the disastrous and unusual, set about its aggravation by a storm of high-pitched barks. catherine almost fell as mrs. cockshow ducked down without warning, and, snatching up a stone from the road, sent it thundering against the dog’s ribs.
“that’ll ’elp ye ’ome!” said she, as the animal dived with a yell under the lowest bar of the gate.
there was a shed behind the house, with a considerable patch of garden; and the honest smell of the manure-heap proclaimed the neighbourhood of live stock to instructed noses. the dog was waiting for the two women at the door with his tail tucked in. his senseless face and the horrid length of leg that raised his body high above the ground did not suggest youth, and reminded the observer less of a puppy than of a foolish person on stilts. he followed, unabashed, but without raising his tail, as catherine and mrs. cockshow entered. a [pg 117]person skilful to notice could have gained some clue to the toll-woman’s character from his demeanour; for even this vulgar creature might be supposed to know his world.