, and when her
husband broke his grim morning silence to say these few words, she was
looking so blank and listless that he added in a loud sharp key, 'Do you
hear what I say? or must I tell the cook?' She started, and said, 'Yes, I
hear.'

'Then mind and have a dinner provided, and don't go mooning about like
crazy Jane.'

Half an hour afterwards Mrs. Raynor, quietly busy in her kitchen with her
household labours--for she had only a little twelve-year-old girl as a
servant--heard with trembling the rattling of the garden gate and the
opening of the outer door. She knew the step, and in one short moment she
lived beforehand through the coming scene. She hurried out of the
kitchen, and there in the passage, as she had felt, stood Janet, her eyes
worn as if by night-long watching, her dress careless, her step languid.
No cheerful morning greeting to her mother--no kiss. She turned into the
parlour, and, seating herself on the sofa opposite her mother's chair,
looked vacantly at the walls and furniture until the corners of her mouth
began to tremble, and her dark eyes filled with tears that fell unwiped
down her cheeks. The mother sat silently opposite to her, afraid to
speak. She felt sure there was nothing new the matter--sure that the
torrent of words would come sooner or later.

'Mother! why don't you speak to me?' Janet burst out at last; 'you don't
care about my suffering; you are blaming me because I feel--because I am
miserable.'

'My child, I am not blaming you--my heart is bleeding for you. Your head
is bad this morning--you have had a bad night. Let me make you a cup of
tea now. Perhaps you didn't like your breakfast.'

'Yes, that is what you always think, mother. It is the old story, you
think. You don't ask me what it is I have had to bear. You are tired of
hearing me. You are cruel, like the rest; every one is cruel in this
world. Nothing but blame--blame--blame; never any pity. God is cruel to
have sent me into the world to bear all this misery.'

'Janet, Janet, don't say so. It is not for us to judge; we must submit;
we must be thankful for the gift of life.'

'Thankful for life! Why should I be thankful? God has made me with a
heart to feel, and He has sent me nothing but misery. How could I help
it? How could I know what would come? Why didn't you tell me,
mother?--why did you let me marry? You knew what brutes men could be; and
there's no help for me--no hope. I can't kill myself; I've tried; but