Mrs. Hackit turned pale, and hurried out to question the shepherd, who, she found, had heard the sad news at an alehouse in the village. Mr. Hackit followed her out and said, ‘Thee’dst better have the pony-chaise, and go directly.’

 

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Hackit, too much overcome to utter any exclamations². ‘Rachel, come an’ help me on wi’ my things.’

 

When her husband was wrapping her cloak round her feet in the pony-chaise, she said,—‘If I don’t come home to-night, I shall send back the pony-chaise, and you’ll know I’m wanted there.’

 

‘Yes, yes.’

 

It was a bright frosty day, and by the time Mrs. Hackit arrived at the Vicarage, the sun was near its setting. There was a carriage and pair standing³ at the gate, which she recognized as Dr Madeley’s, the physician from Rotherby. She entered at the kitchen door that she might avoid knocking, and quietly question Nanny. No one was in the kitchen, but, passing on, she saw the sitting-room⁴ door open, and Nanny, with Walter in her arms, removing the knives and forks, which had been laid for dinner three hours ago.

 

‘Master says he can’t eat no dinner,’ was Nanny’s first word. ‘He’s never tasted nothin’ sin’ yesterday mornin’, but a cup o’ tea.’

 

‘When was your missis took worse?’

 

‘O’ Monday night. They sent for Dr Madeley i’ the middle o’ the day yisterday, an’ he’s here again now.’

 

‘Is the baby alive?’

 

‘No, it died last night. The children’s all at Mrs. Bond’s. She come and took ’em away last night, but the master says they must be fetched soon. He’s up-stairs now, wi’ Dr Madeley and Mr. Brand.’

分享到：