brow involved thought in sluggishness. She did not shun her parents, and
even talked with them in a listless way; solitude would have been
irksome to her just now. For once she felt glad of her mother's way of
spending Sunday; to sit inactive was all that she desired. It was
understood that her head distressed her.

In the afternoon, and again in the evening, the single bell of the
chapel clanged for worshippers. Mrs. Hood was not in the habit of
attending service more than once in the day; she sat on her uneasy
chair, at times appearing to read, more often gazing out of the windows.
The road had more traffic than on week-days, for it was the recreation
of a certain class of Dunfieldians to drive out in parties to the Heath,
either hiring a vehicle or using their own trade-carts. It would have
been a consolation to observe that in the latter case the quadruped
employed benefited by its owner's regard for his own interests; possibly
an acute spectator might have discerned gradations of inhumanity. To the
casual eye there showed but a succession of over-laden animals urged to
the utmost speed; the national predilection exhibiting itself crudely in
this locality. Towards nightfall the pleasure-seekers returned, driving
with the heightened energy attributable to Bacchic inspiration, singing,
shouting, exchanging racy banter with pedestrians. So the hours dragged
wearily on, wheezed out, one after one, by the clock on the stairs. Hood
was at no time fertile in topics of conversation; to-day he maintained
almost unbroken silence. Tea was prepared, partaken of, removed; supper,
three hours later. The day closed with rain and a rising wind.

Emily heard it about the house as she lay through hours of
sleeplessness. At first a light slumber had come to her; it was broken
by the clock striking eleven. Probably she was roused at the first
stroke, for, failing to count, the number seemed to her so interminable
that she started up and made to herself fretful complaint. Pain was
weakening her self-control; she found herself crying in a weary,
desolate way, and could not stop her tears for a long time. The gusts of
wind went by her windows and bore their voices away on to the common,
wailing and sobbing in the far distance; rain spattered the windows at
times. When her tears ceased, Emily hid her face in the pillow and
moaned; often she uttered Wilfrid's name. To-day she should by agreement
have written to him, but to do so had been im