Then Arabella wished Sue good-bye, and went on.
VIII
In the afternoon Sue and the other people bustling about Kennetbridge
fair could hear singing inside the placarded hoarding farther down
the street. Those who peeped through the opening saw a crowd of
persons in broadcloth, with hymn-books in their hands, standing round
the excavations for the new chapel-walls. Arabella Cartlett and her
weeds stood among them. She had a clear, powerful voice, which could
be distinctly heard with the rest, rising and falling to the tune,
her inflated bosom being also seen doing likewise.
It was two hours later on the same day that Anny and Mrs. Cartlett,
having had tea at the Temperance Hotel, started on their return
journey across the high and open country which stretches between
Kennetbridge and Alfredston. Arabella was in a thoughtful mood; but
her thoughts were not of the new chapel, as Anny at first surmised.
"No--it is something else," at last said Arabella sullenly. "I
came here to-day never thinking of anybody but poor Cartlett, or of
anything but spreading the Gospel by means of this new tabernacle
they've begun this afternoon. But something has happened to turn my
mind another way quite. Anny, I've heard of un again, and I've seen
HER!"
"Who?"
"I've heard of Jude, and I've seen his wife. And ever since, do what
I will, and though I sung the hymns wi' all my strength, I have not
been able to help thinking about 'n; which I've no right to do as a
chapel member."
"Can't ye fix your mind upon what was said by the London preacher
to-day, and try to get rid of your wandering fancies that way?"
"I do. But my wicked heart will ramble off in spite of myself!"
"Well--I know what it is to have a wanton mind o' my own, too! If
you on'y knew what I do dream sometimes o' nights quite against my
wishes, you'd say I had my struggles!" (Anny, too, had grown rather
serious of late, her lover having jilted her.) "What shall I do about it?" urged Arabella morbidly.
"You could take a lock of your late-lost husband's hair, and have it
made into a mourning brooch, and look at it every hour of the day."
"I haven't a morsel!--and if I had 'twould be no good... After all
that's said about the comforts of this religion, I wish I had Jude
back again!"
"You must fight valiant against the feeling, since he's another's.
And I've heard that another good thing for it, when it afflicts
volupshious widows, is to go to your husband's grave in the dusk of
evening, and stand a long while a-bowed down."