nd then literature should
be thrown behind him; what other pursuit was possible to him he knew
not, but perhaps he might discover some mode of earning a livelihood.
Had it been a question of gaining a pound a week, as in the old days,
he might have hoped to obtain some clerkship like that at the hospital,
where no commercial experience or aptitude was demanded; but in his
present position such an income would be useless. Could he take Amy
and the child to live in a garret? On less than a hundred a year it was
scarcely possible to maintain outward decency. Already his own clothing
began to declare him poverty-stricken, and but for gifts from her
mother Amy would have reached the like pass. They lived in dread of
the pettiest casual expense, for the day of pennilessness was again
approaching.

Amy was oftener from home than had been her custom.

Occasionally she went away soon after breakfast, and spent the whole day
at her mother's house. 'It saves food,' she said with a bitter laugh,
when Reardon once expressed surprise that she should be going again so
soon.

'And gives you an opportunity of bewailing your hard fate,' he returned
coldly.

The reproach was ignoble, and he could not be surprised that Amy left
the house without another word to him. Yet he resented that, as he
had resented her sorrowful jest. The feeling of unmanliness in his own
position tortured him into a mood of perversity. Through the day he
wrote only a few lines, and on Amy's return he resolved not to speak
to her. There was a sense of repose in this change of attitude; he
encouraged himself in the view that Amy was treating him with cruel
neglect. She, surprised that her friendly questions elicited no answer,
looked into his face and saw a sullen anger of which hitherto Reardon
had never seemed capable. Her indignation took fire, and she left him to
himself.

For a day or two he persevered in his muteness, uttering a word only
when it could not be avoided. Amy was at first so resentful that she
contemplated leaving him to his ill-temper and dwelling at her mother's
house until he chose to recall her. But his face grew so haggard in
fixed misery that compassion at length prevailed over her injured
pride. Late in the evening she went to the study, and found him sitting
unoccupied.

'Edwin--'

'What do you want?' he asked indifferently.

'Why are you behaving to me like this?'

'Surely it makes no difference to you how I behave? You can e