over the deep cup of land which held the village. A dull, melancholy
moonlight seemed to be somewhere behind the snow curtain, for the
muffled shapes of the houses below and the long sweep of the hill were
visible through the dark, and the objects in the little garden itself
were almost distinct. There, in the centre, rose the round stone edging
of the well, the copious well, sunk deep into the chalk, for which
Bessie's neighbours envied her, whence her good nature let them draw
freely at any time of drought. On either side of it the gnarled stems of
old fruit-trees and the bare sticks of winter kail made black scratches
and blots upon the white.

Bessie looked out, leaning against the doorway, and heedless of the wind
that drove upon her. Down below there was a light in Watson's cottage,
and a few lights from the main street beyond pierced the darkness. The
'Spotted Deer' must be at that moment full of people, all talking of her
and Isaac. Her eye came hastily back to the snow-shrouded well and dwelt
upon it.

'Shut that door!' Isaac commanded from inside. She obeyed, and came back
into the kitchen. There she moved restlessly about a minute or two,
followed by his frowning look--the look, not of a husband but of an
enemy. Then a sudden animal yearning for rest and warmth seized her. She
opened the door by the hearth abruptly and went up, longing simply to
lie down and cover herself from the cold.

But, after all, she turned aside to the children, and sat there for some
time at the foot of the little boys' bed. The children, especially
Arthur, had been restless for long, kept awake and trembling by the
strange sounds outside their door and the loud voices downstairs; but,
with the deep silence that had suddenly fallen on the house after Isaac