e new year
so near coming in. To any one else in the room she would have added
the clinching argument, 'A shall take it very unkind if yo' go now';
but somehow she could not say this, for in truth Philip's look
showed that he would be but a wet blanket on the merriment of the
party. So, with as much civility as could be mustered up between
them, he took leave. Shutting the door behind him, he went out into
the dreary night, and began his lonesome walk back to Monkshaven.
The cold sleet almost blinded him as the sea-wind drove it straight
in his face; it cut against him as it was blown with drifting force.
The roar of the wintry sea came borne on the breeze; there was more
light from the whitened ground than from the dark laden sky above.
The field-paths would have been a matter of perplexity, had it not
been for the well-known gaps in the dyke-side, which showed the
whitened land beyond, between the two dark stone walls. Yet he went
clear and straight along his way, having unconsciously left all
guidance to the animal instinct which co-exists with the human soul,
and sometimes takes strange charge of the human body, when all the
nobler powers of the individual are absorbed in acute suffering. At
length he was in the lane, toiling up the hill, from which, by day,
Monkshaven might be seen. Now all features of the landscape before
him were lost in the darkness of night, against which the white
flakes came closer and nearer, thicker and faster. On a sudden, the
bells of Monkshaven church rang out a welcome to the new year, 1796.
From the direction of the wind, it seemed as if the sound was flung
with strength and power right into Philip's face. He walked down the
hill to its merry sound--its merry sound, his heavy heart. As he
entered the long High Street of Monkshaven he could see the watching
lights put out in parlour, chamber, or kitchen. The new year had
come, and expectation was ended. Reality had begun.

He turned to the right, into the court where he lodged with Alice
Rose. There was a light still burning there, and cheerful voices
were heard. He opened the door; Alice, her daughter, and Coulson
stood as if awaiting him. Hester's wet cloak hung on a chair before
the fire; she had her hood on, for she and Coulson had been to the
watch-night.

The solemn excitement of the services had left its traces upon her
countenance and in her mind. There was a spiritual light in her
usually shadowed eyes, and a slight flush on