ea. 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.

The time was come, now, when the wants of this little life were passing
away from her. She could not have swallowed food, though a table had
been spread for her in the next field. The day was cold and wet, but
she scarcely knew it. She crept on, poor soul, like a criminal afraid of
being taken, and felt little beyond the terror of falling down while it
was yet daylight, and being found alive. She had no fear that she would
live through another night.

Sewn in the breast of her gown, the money to pay for her burial was
still intact. If she could wear through the day, and then lie down to
die under cover of the darkness, she would die independent. If she were
captured previously, the money would be taken from her as a pauper who
had no right to it, and she would be carried to the accursed workhouse.
Gaining her end, the letter would be found in her breast, along with
the money, and the gentlefolks would say when it was given back to them,
'She prized it, did old Betty Higden; she was true to it; and while she
lived, she would never let it be disgraced by falling into the hands
of those that she held in horror.' Most illogical, inconsequential, and
light-headed, this; but travellers in the valley of the shadow of death
are apt to be light-headed; and worn-out old people of low estate have
a trick of reasoning as indifferently as they live, and doubtless
would appreciate our Poor Law more philosophically on an income of ten
thousand a year.

So, keeping to byways, and shunning human approach, this troublesome
old woman hid herself, and fared on all through the dreary day. Yet so
unlike was she to vagrant hiders in general, that sometimes, as the day
advanced, there was a bright fire in her eyes, and a quicker beating at
her feeble heart, as though she said exultingly, 'The Lord will see me
through it!'

By what visionary hands she was led along upon that journey of escape
from the Samaritan; by what voices, hushed in the grave, she seemed
to be addressed; how she fancied the dead child in her arms again, and
times innumerable adjusted her shawl to keep it warm; what infinite
variety of forms of tower and roof and steeple the trees took; how many
furious horsemen ro