quarter, raved.

With the memory of Hester's face firmly fixed on her dazed old brain,
Mother Flannigan entered the public-house. Then a queer thing happened.
By the side of Hester's pure, highly-wrought face arose the picture
of another--of a very suffering, thirsty little grandchild, who lay
waiting for her on a bed of straw at home. Instantly the desire for
gin departed--the old woman purchased instead two-pennyworth of very
blue and watery milk, and hurried away to give her grandson a drink.

When Hester reached her lodgings the overwrought mood was still upon
her. She lit her fire, however, and put the kettle on to boil. Then,
throwing aside her hat and thin black cashmere shawl, she sat down
beside her little deal table, placed her elbows on it, and stared hard
before her. Just at that moment she was suffering acutely--a tumult
of mingled feelings possessed her; she was unsatisfied, and longing
for she knew not what. A weaker woman in such a mood would have relieved
her overcharged brain with a flood of tears. Instead of crying, Hester
sang. For a woman with no religion, and no belief in religion, the
queerest words arose to her lips. She had sometimes listened outside
the churches to the swelling organs and the music of the choirs; once,
when an anthem was being very exquisitely rendered, she had stolen
fascinated inside the church porch. Now the words of this anthem came
to her lips, and floated on her splendid voice through the dreary
little attic room:

_"Oh, rest in the Lord; wait patiently for him--patiently for him;
and he will give thee thy heart's--thy heart's desire."_

There came a knock at the door, and Hester sprang to her feet.