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Book Fifth
George Eliot ElecBook Classics
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Chapter XXXVI
The Journey of Hope
long； lonely journey； with sadness in the heart； away from
Athe familiar to the strange： that is a hard and dreary thing
even to the rich； the strong； the instructed； a hard thing；
even when we are called by duty； not urged by dread。
What was it then to Hetty？ With her poor narrow thoughts； no
longer melting into vague hopes； but pressed upon by the chill of
definite fear； repeating again and again the same small round of
memories—shaping again and again the same childish； doubtful
images of what was to come—seeing nothing in this wide world
but the little history of her own pleasures and pains； with so little
money in her pocket； and the way so long and difficult。 Unless she
could afford always to go in the coaches—and she felt sure she
could not； for the journey to Stoniton was more expensive than
she had expected—it was plain that she must trust to carriers’
carts or slow waggons； and what a time it would be before she
could get to the end of her journey！ The burly old coachman from
Oakbourne； seeing such a pretty young woman among the outside
passengers； had invited her to come and sit beside him； and
feeling that it became him as a man and a coachman to open the
dialogue with a joke； he applied himself as soon as they were off
the stones to the elaboration of one suitable in all respects。 After
many cuts with his whip and glances at Hetty out of the corner of
his eye； he lifted his lips above the edge of his wrapper and said；
“He’s pretty nigh six foot； I’ll be bound； isna he； now？”
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“Who？” said Hetty； rather startled。
“Why； the sweetheart as you’ve left behind； or else him as
you’re goin’ arter—which is it？”
Hetty felt her face flushing and then turning pale。 She thought
this coachman must know something about her。 He must know
Adam； and might tell him where she was gone； for it is difficult to
country people to believe that those who make a figure in their
own parish are not known everywhere else； and it was equally
difficult to Hetty to understand that chance words could happen to
apply closely to her circumstances。 She was too frightened to
speak。
“Hegh； hegh！” said the coachman； seeing that his joke was not
so gratifying as he had expected； “you munna take it too ser’ous； if
he’s behaved ill； get another。 Such a pretty lass as you can get a
sweetheart any day。”
Hetty’s fear was allayed by…and…by； when she found that the
coachman made no further allusion to her personal concerns； but
it still had the effect of preventing her from asking him what were
the places on the road to Windsor。 She told him she was only
going a little way out of Stoniton； and when she got down at the
inn where the coach stopped； she hastened away with her basket
to another part of the town。 When she had formed her plan of
going to Windsor； she had not foreseen any difficulties except that
of getting away； and after she had overcome this by proposing the
visit to Dinah； her thoughts flew to the meeting with Arthur and
the question how he would behave to her—not resting on any
probable incidents of the journey。 She was too entirely ignorant of
travelling to imagine any of its details； and with all her store of
money—her three guineas—in her pocket； she thought herself
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amply provided。 It was not until she found how much it cost her to
get to Stoniton that she began to be alarmed about the journey；
and then； for the first time； she felt her ignorance as to the places
that must be passed on her way。 Oppressed with this new alarm；
she walked along the grim Stoniton streets； and at last turned into
a shabby little inn； where she hoped to get a cheap lodging for the
night。 Here she asked the landlord if he could tell her what places
she must go to； to get to Windsor。
“Well； I can’t rightly say。 Windsor must be pretty nigh London；
for it’s where the king lives；” was the answer。 “Anyhow； you’d best
go t’ Ashby next—that’s south’ard。 But there’s as many places
from here to London as there’s houses in Stoniton； by what I can
make out。 I’ve never been no traveller myself。 But how comes a
lone young woman like you to be thinking o’ taking such a journey
as that？”
“I’m going to my brother—he’s a soldier at Windsor；” said
Hetty； frightened at the landlord’s questioning look。 “I can’t afford
to go by the coach； do you think there’s a cart goes toward Ashby
in the morning？”
“Yes； there may be carts if anybody knowed where they started
from； but you might run over the town before you found out。
You’d best set off and walk； and trust to summat overtaking you。”
Every word sank like lead on Hetty’s spirits； she saw the
journey stretch bit by bit before her now。 Even to get to Ashby
seemed a hard thing： it might take the day； for what she knew； and
that was nothing to the rest of the journey。 But it must be done—
she must get to Arthur。 Oh； how she yearned to be again with
somebody who would care for her！ She who had never got up in
the morning without the certainty of seeing familiar faces； people
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on whom she had an acknowledged claim； whose farthest journey
had been to Rosseter on the pillion with her uncle； whose thoughts
had always been taking holiday in dreams of pleasure； because all
the business of her life was managed