Saffy had been sound asleep through this part of the journey, but Mark had been standing at the window of the railway carriage, gazing out on an awful world. What would he do, he thought, if he were lost there? Would he be able to sit still all night without being frightened, waiting for God to come and take him? As they rushed along, it was not through the brain alone of the child the panorama flitted, but through his mind and heart as well. There, like a glacier, it scored its passage, or rather, it left its ghosts behind it, ever shifting forms and shadows, each atmosphered in its own ethereal mood. They were hardly thoughts, but a strange other consciousness of life and being.

Hills and woods and valleys and plains and rivers and seas, entering by the gates of sight into the live mirror of the human, are transformed into another nature—to a living wonder, a joy, a pain, a breathless marvel as they pass. Nothing can receive another thing—not even a glass can take into its depth a face without altering it. In the mirror of man, things become thoughts, feelings, life, and send their streams down the cheeks, or their sunshine over the countenance.

Before Mark reached the end of that journey, he had gathered a great amount of fuel in the bottom of his heart, stored there for the future consumption of thinking and for reproduction in forms of power. He took nothing consciously. Things just kept sinking into him. The sole sign of his reception was an occasional sigh—of which he could not have told either the cause or the meaning.

Arriving at the station, they got into their own carriage. The drive was a long and tedious one, for the roads were rough, muddy and often steep. For some time they drove along the side of a hill and could see next to nothing except in one direction. When at length the road ran into a valley and along the course of the swollen river, it was getting so dark and the rain was coming down so fast that they could see nothing at all. Long before they reached their new home, Saffy and Mark were sound asleep, Hester was sunk in her own thoughts, and the father and mother sat in unbroken silence hand in hand.

Hester’s mind was on the places they had left. Ah, that city—so full of fellow creatures struggling in the toils of numerous foes! Many sorrows had entered in at Hester’s ears—tales of oppression and want, giving rise to sympathy in her bosom. From the spray that reached her on its borders, she knew how that human sea tossed and raged afar. Yet now she was gone away from it, unable to plunge into its midst with what little help she was able to give.