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would make life hateful to her； and no one； she said to herself；
should ever know her misery and humiliation。 No； she would not
confess even to Dinah。 She would wander out of sight； and drown
herself where her body would never be found； and no one should
know what had become of her。
When she got off this coach； she began to walk again； and take
cheap rides in carts； and get cheap meals； going on and on without
distinct purpose； yet strangely； by some fascination； taking the
way she had come； though she was determined not to go back to
her own country。 Perhaps it was because she had fixed her mind
on the grassy Warwickshire fields； with the bushy tree…studded
hedgerows that made a hiding…place even in this leafless season。
She went more slowly than she came； often getting over the stiles
and sitting for hours under the hedgerows； looking before her with
blank； beautiful eyes； fancying herself at the edge of a hidden pool；
low down； like that in the Scantlands； wondering if it were very
painful to be drowned； and if there would be anything worse after
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death than what she dreaded in life。 Religious doctrines had taken
no hold on Hetty’s mind。 She was one of those numerous people
who have had godfathers and godmothers； learned their
catechism； been confirmed； and gone to church every Sunday； and
yet； for any practical result of strength in life； or trust in death；
have never appropriated a single Christian idea or Christian
feeling。 You would misunderstand her thoughts during these
wretched days； if you imagined that they were influenced either by
religious fears or religious hopes。
She chose to go to Stratford…on…Avon again； where she had
gone before by mistake； for she remembered some grassy fields on
her former way towards it—fields among which she thought she
might find just the sort of pool she had in her mind。 Yet she took
care of her money still； she carried her basket； death seemed still a
long way off； and life was so strong in her。 She craved food and
rest—she hastened towards them at the very moment she was
picturing to herself the bank from which she would leap towards
death。 It was already five days since she had left Windsor； for she
had wandered about； always avoiding speech or questioning looks；
and recovering her air of proud self…dependence whenever she
was under observation； choosing her decent lodging at night； and
dressing herself neatly in the morning； and setting off on her way
steadily； or remaining under shelter if it rained； as if she had a
happy life to cherish。
And yet； even in her most self…conscious moments； the face was
sadly different from that which had smiled at itself in the old
specked glass； or smiled at others when they glanced at it
admiringly。 A hard and even fierce look had come in the eyes；
though their lashes were as long as ever； and they had all their
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dark brightness。 And the cheek was never dimpled with smiles
now。 It was the same rounded； pouting； childish prettiness； but
with all love and belief in love departed from it—the sadder for its
beauty； like that wondrous Medusa…face； with the passionate；
passionless lips。
At last she was among the fields she had been dreaming of； on a
long narrow pathway leading towards a wood。 If there should be a
pool in that wood！ It would be better hidden than one in the fields。
No； it was not a wood； only a wild brake； where there had once
been gravel…pits； leaving mounds and hollows studded with
brushwood and small trees。 She roamed up and down； thinking
there was perhaps a pool in every hollow before she came to it； till
her limbs were weary； and she sat down to rest。 The afternoon was
far advanced； and the leaden sky was darkening； as if the sun were
setting behind it。 After a little while Hetty started up again； feeling
that darkness would soon come on； and she must put off finding
the pool till to…morrow； and make her way to some shelter for the
night。 She had quite lost her way in the fields； and might as well
go in one direction as another； for aught she knew。 She walked
through field after field； and no village； no house was in sight； but
there； at the corner of this pasture； there was a break in the
hedges； the land seemed to dip down a little； and two trees leaned
towards each other across the opening。 Hetty’s heart gave a great
heat as she thought there must be a pool there。 She walked
towards it heavily over the tufted grass； with pale lips and a sense
of trembling。 It was as if the thing were come in spite of herself；
instead of being the object of her search。
There it was； black under the darkening sky： no motion； no
sound near。 She set down her basket； and then sank down herself
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Adam Bede 506
on the grass； trembling。 The pool had its wintry depth now： by the
time it got shallow； as she remembered the pools did at Hayslope；
in the summer； no one could find out that it was her body。 But
then there was her basket—she must hide that too。 She must
throw it into the water—make it heavy with stones first； and then
throw it in。 She got up to look about for stones； and soon brought
five or six； which she laid down beside her basket； and then sat
down again。 There was no need to hurry—there was all the night
to drown herself in。 She sat leaning her elbow on the basket。 She
was weary； hungry。 There were some buns in her basket—three；
which she had supplied herself with at the place where she ate her
dinner。 She took them out now and ate them eagerly； and then sat
still again； looking at the pool。 The soothed sensation that came
over her from the satisfaction of her hunger； and this fixed dreamy
attitude； brought on drowsiness； and presently her head sank
down on her knees。 She was fast asleep。
When she awoke it was deep night； and she felt chill。 She was
frightened at this darkness—frightened at the long night before
her。 If she could but throw herself into the water！ No； not yet。 She
began to walk about that she might get warm again； as if she
would have more resolution then。 Oh how long the time was in
that darkness！ The bright hearth and the warmth and the voices of
home； the secure uprising and lying down； the familiar fields； the
familiar people； the Sundays and holidays with their simple joys of
dress and feasting—all the sweets of her young life rushed before
her now； and she seemed to be stretching her arms towards them
across a great gulf。 She set her teeth when she thought of Arthur。
She cursed him； without knowing what her cursing would do。 She
wished he too might know desolation； and cold； and a life of shame
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Adam Bede 507
that he dared not end by death。
The horror of this cold； and darkness； and solitude—out of all
human reach—became greater every long minute。 It was almost as
if she were dead already； and knew that she was dead； and longed
to get back to life again。 But no： she was alive still； she had not
taken the dreadful leap。 She felt a strange contradictory
wretchedness and exultation： wretchedness； that she did not dare
to face death； exultation； that she was still in life—that she might
yet know light and warmth again。 She walked