Never before had Rachel actually seen the
lamp put out. Never before had she noticed, as she noticed now, that
the lamp had a number, an identity--1054. The meek acquiescence of
the lamp, and the man's preoccupied haste, seemed to bear some deep
significance, which, however, she could not seize. But the aspect of
the man afflicted her, she did not know why.
Then a number of other figures, in a long spasmodic procession, passed
up the lane after the man, and were gone out of sight. Their heavy
boots clacked on the pavement. They wore thick, dirty greyish-black
clothes, but no overcoats; small tight caps in their hands, and dark
kerchiefs round their necks: about thirty of them in all, colliers
on their way to one of the pits on the Moorthorne ridge. They walked
quickly, but they did not hurry as their forerunner hurried. Several
of them smoked pipes. Though some walked in pairs, none spoke; none
looked up or aside. With one man walked stolidly a young woman, her
overskirt raised and pulled round her head from the back for a shawl;
but even these two did not converse. The procession closed with one or
two stragglers. Rachel had never seen these pilgrims before, but she
had heard them; and Mrs.
Pages:
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397