erfere with
the strict line of hard duty? When she left the room, where the young
mother was still standing with her baby in her arms, she doubted for
some minutes,--perhaps for some half-hour,--then she wrestled with
those emanations from the Evil One,--with pity, with love, and suasive
tenderness,--and at last overcame them. 'I know I am pure,' the
daughter had said. 'I know I am right,' said the mother.

But she spoke a word to her husband when he came home. 'I cannot bend
her; I cannot turn her, in the least.'

'She will not stay?'

'Not of her own accord.'

'You have told her?'

'Oh no; not till to-morrow.'

'She ought to stay, certainly,' said the father. There had been very
little intercourse between the mother and daughter during the
afternoon, and while the three were sitting together, nothing was said
about the morrow. The evening would have seemed to be very sad and very
silent, had they not all three been used to so many silent evenings in
that room. Hester, during her wedding tour and the few weeks of her
happiness at Folking, before the trouble had come, had felt a new life
and almost an ecstasy of joy in the thorough liveliness of her husband.
But the days of her old home were not so long ago that its old manners
should seem strange to her. She therefore sat out the hours patiently,
stitching some baby's ornament, till her mother told her that the time
for prayer had come. After worship her father called her out into the
hall as he went up to his room. 'Hester,' he said, 'it is not right
that you should leave us to-morrow.'

'I must, papa.'

'I tell you that it is not right. You have a home in which everybody
will respect you. For the present you should remain here.'

'I cannot, papa. He told me to go back to-morrow. I would not disobey
him now,--not now,--were it ever so.' Then the old man paused as though
he were going on with the argument, but finding that he had said all
that he had to say, he slowly made his way upstairs.

'Good-night, mamma,' said Hester, returning only to the door of the
sitting-room.

'Good-night, my love.' As the words were spoken they both felt that
there was something wrong,--much that was wrong. 'I do not think they
will do that,' said Hester to herself, as she went up the stairs to her
chamber.

Chapter XXXIV

Violence

It had been arranged at Folking, before Hester had started, that
Caldigate himself should drive the waggonette into Cambridge to