BOOK THE THIRD: A LONG LANE
Chapter 8: The End of a Long Journey (continued)
'If I was to let you go instead of handing you over safe to the
Parish,' said the Deputy, counting the money with his eyes, 'might
it be your own free wish to leave that there behind you?'
'Take it, Master, take it, and welcome and thankful!'
'I'm a man,' said the Deputy, giving her back the letter, and
pocketing the coins, one by one, 'as earns his living by the sweat of
his brow;' here he drew his sleeve across his forehead, as if this
particular portion of his humble gains were the result of sheer hard
labour and virtuous industry; 'and I won't stand in your way. Go
where you like.'
She was gone out of the Lock-house as soon as he gave her this
permission, and her tottering steps were on the road again. But,
afraid to go back and afraid to go forward; seeing what she fled
from, in the sky-glare of the lights of the little town before her, and
leaving a confused horror of it everywhere behind her, as if she had
escaped it in every stone of every market-place; she struck off by
side ways, among which she got bewildered and lost. That night
she took refuge from the Samaritan in his latest accredited form,
under a farmer's rick; and if--worth thinking of, perhaps, my
fellow-Christians--the Samaritan had in the lonely night, 'passed
by on the other side', she would have most devoutly thanked High
Heaven for her escape from him.
The morning found her afoot again, but fast declining as to the
clearness of her thoughts, though not as to the steadiness of her
purpose. Comprehending that her strength was quitting her, and
that the struggle of her life was almost ended, she could neither
reason out the means of getting back to her protectors, nor even
form the idea. The overmastering dread, and the proud stubborn
resolution it engendered in her to die undegraded, were the two
distinct impressions left in her failing mind. Supported only by a
sense that she was bent on conquering in her life-long fight, she
went on.
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