nduce her again to risk the precious life of
her child at his hands. She had no thought whither she should go,
how she should live--her sole thought was to escape from Jonas,
and by putting a distance between herself and him, place the infant
beyond danger.

As she ran up the lane from the house she encountered Sally Rocliffe
at the well head.

"Where be you goyne to, like that; and with the child, too?" asked
the woman.

Mehetabel drew the little face of the babe to her, lest the eye of
its aunt should light on it. She could not speak, palpitating with
fear, as she was.

"What be you runnin' out for this time o' the mornin'?" asked Mrs.
Rocliffe again.

"I cannot tell you," gasped the mother.

"But I will know."

"I shall never, never go back again," cried Mehetabel.

"Oh! he's kicked you out, has he? That's like Jonas."

"I'm runnin' away.

"And where be yo goyne to?"

"I don't know."

"But I do," said Mrs. Rocliffe with a chuckle.

Mehetabel gave no thought to her words. She thrust past her, and
ran on.

Fear, love, gave strength to her limbs. She had no consideration
for herself, that she was dishevelled and incompletely clad, that
she had eaten nothing; she sped up the side of the Common, to
escape from the Punch-Bowl, the place where she had weltered in
misery. There was no hope for her and her child till she had
escaped from that.

In the cold air, charged with moisture, the larks were singing.
A ploughboy was driving his horses to the field that was to be
turned up by the share.

As she passed him he stared at her with surprise. She reached the
village. The blacksmith was up and about; he was preparing to put
a tire on a cart-wheel. For this purpose he had just kindled a
fire of turf "bats," that were heaped round the fire on the ground
outside the forge. He looked up with astonishment as Mehetabel
sped past, and cast to her the question, "Wot's up?" which,
however, she did not stay to answer.

She made no tarry till she reached the Ship Inn. There she entered
the porch, and would have gone through the door into the house,
had she not been confronted by Polly, the maid, who at that moment
was coming up the passage from the bar.

Polly made no attempt to give room for Mehetabel to pass; she
saluted her with a stare and a look at her from head to feet, full
of insolence.

"Wot do you want?" asked the girl.

"I wish to see and speak to father," answered Mehetabel.

"I always heard a