The next thing I
remember is stumbling along by her side, for she made her horse walk that
I might keep up with her. She talked a little, but I do not remember what
she said. It is all a dream now, a far-off one. It must have been like a
dream at the time, I was so exhausted. I remember a voice descending now
and then, as if from the clouds--a cold musical voice, with something in
it that made me not want to hear it. I remember her saying that we were
near her house, and would soon be there. I think she had found out from
me where I lived.
All the time I never saw her face: it was too dark. I do not think she
once spoke kindly to me. She said I had no business to be out alone; she
wondered at my father and mother. I think I was too tired to tell her I
had no father or mother. When I did speak, she indicated neither by sound
nor movement that she heard or heeded what I said. She sat up above me in
the dark, unpleasant, and all but unseen--a riddle which the troubled
child stumbling along by her horse's side did not want solved. Had there
been anything to call light, I should have run away from her. Vague
doubts of witches and ogresses crossed my mind, but I said to myself the
stories about them were not true, and kept on as best I could.
Before we reached the house, we had left the heath, and were moving along
lanes. The horse seemed to walk with more confidence, and it was harder
for me to keep up with him.
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