And Rebecca looked; it was like uncovering a disfigurement or a sore.
"What--ails you ?" said her mother, in a terrible voice.
Then Rebecca turned her head; her mother's eyes could not hold her any longer.

It was as if her very soul shrank.
"Go out of this house," said her mother, after a minute.
Rebecca did not make a sound.

She went, bending as if there were a wind at her back impelling her, across the kitchen in her quilted petticoat and her crimson thibet waist, her white arms hanging bare.
She opened the door that led towards her own bedroom, and passed out.
Presently Deborah, still standing where Rebecca had left her, heard the front door of the house shut.

After a few minutes she took the broom from its peg in the corner, went through the icy north parlor, past Rebecca's room, to the front door.

The snow heaped on the outer threshold had fallen in when Rebecca opened it, and there was a quantity on the entry floor.
Deborah opened the door again, and swept out the snow carefully; she even swept the snow off the steps outside, but she never cast a glance up or down the road.