But the old woman collapsed the moment her husband had gone, and staggering to the rocking-chair she dropped into it and cried. Then Bessie, who had not yet spoken, rose and said, crying herself, "Don't cry, I'll go away myself, mother." But the old woman was up again in a moment. "No, thou'll not," she said. "Thou'll go up to thy bedroom in the dairy loft--the one thou had in the innocent old times gone by. Come, take my arm--my good arm, girl. Lean on me, woman-bogh." CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO THE SOUL OF HAGAR Two hours had passed. Bessie was in her bedroom--the little one-eyed chamber (entered from the first landing on the stairs) in which she had dressed for Douglas. But the sheet of silvered glass on the whitewashed wall which had shone then with the light of her beaming eyes was now reflecting her broken, tear-stained, woebegone face. She knew that her journey had been in vain, that her sufferings had been wasted. Her child was not to be stillborn. Through the closed door she heard Dan Baldromma going off in the stiff cart. He was going to the Speaker, to threaten him with the shame of her unborn child, and to call upon him to compel his son to marry her. Wild, blind error! But what would be the result? Alick would hear of her whereabouts and learn of her condition and that would be the end of everything between them. All her secret scheme to wipe out her fault, to keep her name clean for Alick, to preserve his beautiful faith in her, would be destroyed, and he would be dead to her for ever. But no, come what would that should not be! And if the only way to prevent it was to make away with her child when it came she must do so. Only nobody must know--not even her mother. Time and again the old woman came hobbling upstairs, bringing food and trying to comfort her. "Will I send for Doctor Clucas, Bessie?" "No, no. I shall be better in the morning." The day passed heavily. She could not lie down. Sometimes she sat on the edge of the bed; sometimes stood and held on to the end of it; and sometimes walked to and fro in the narrow space of her bedroom floor. Having no window in her room her only sight of the world without was through the skylight in the thatch, which showed nothing but the sky. The only sound that reached her was the squealing of a pig that was being killed at a neighbouring farm. At length darkness fell. Hitherto she had been thinking of her unborn child with a certain tenderness, even a certain pity. But now, in the wild disorder of her senses, she began to hate it. It seemed to be some evil spirit that was coming into the world to destroy everybody. Why shouldn't she kill it? She would! Only she must be alone--quite alone. Shivering, perspiring, weak, dizzy, she was sitting in the darkness when her mother came to say good-night. "Here are a few broth. Take them. They'll warm thee." "No, no." "Come, let me coax thee, bogh."