Ursula drew her left knee up on to the window-ledge, knelt, and, getting on her feet, crouched half within the opening of the lattice. There was a wooden stool under the window. Ursula caught one foot in her petticoat in the descent, lurched forward, and came tumbling on the floor. Her forehead struck the brick-work heavily. For a moment she lay groaning and twitching, Bess gazing at her in an agony of helpless dread.
Ursula was shaken but not stunned. She struggled up on her hands and knees, looking round her with a vacant pathos that might have appeared ludicrous at any other time. Bess was bending forward in the chair.
Ursula picked herself up, and went tottering round the room, holding her head between her hands. She moved to the dresser, dragged out one drawer after another, and came back at last with a horn-handled knife in her hand. Bess never shifted her eyes from the old woman’s face.
Ursula tumbled on her knees, sawed at the rope shakily, and stabbed Bess’s wrist in her clumsy fright. The sight of blood startled her. She dropped the knife, and sat on her heels, gaping at Bess.
“Cut the rope, mother; ye haven’t hurt me.”
Ursula picked up the knife and sawed at the cord again, Bess straining at it to keep it taut. Blood was trickling slowly down her fingers; that was nothing. Strand by strand the thin rope gave under the edge of the knife. A last twist of the girl’s strong arm and her hand was free.
She took the knife from Ursula instantly, cut the cords about her other wrist and ankles, careless of how she hurt herself in her haste. A stifled cry came from Ursula as Bess rose free of the oak chair. The old woman had tottered forward and fallen in a faint upon the floor.
Bess stood staring at her in mute vexation, then went on her knees beside her, turning Ursula upon her back, and chafing her hands. The old woman gave no single sign of consciousness, but lay there with her mouth open and her eyes shut, the pallor of her face contrasting with the red bricks in the floor. Bess gazed at her, hesitating. What should she do? Leave Ursula to Isaac’s anger, and take time and its precious fortune to herself? Solomon Grimshaw might be hanging about the cottage; every moment Bess thought to see a face looking at her through the open lattice.