your little ones. Think of them."

But this was a false move. Like a belated thunderclap after the storm
is over, John broke out again, his haggard eyes aflame. "Curse the
children!" he cried thickly. "Curse them, I say! If I had once caught
sight of them since she ... she went, I should have wrung their necks.
I never wanted children. They came between us. They took her from me.
It was a child that killed her. Now, she is gone and they are left.
Keep them out of my way, Mahony! Don't let them near me.--Oh, Emma...
wife!" and here his shoulders heaved, under dry, harsh sobs.

Mahony felt his own eyes grow moist. "Listen to me, John. I promise
you, you shall not see your children again until you wish to--till
you're glad to recall them, as a living gift from her you have lost.
I'll look after them for you."

"You will? ... God bless you, Mahony!"

Judging the moment ripe, Mahony rose and went out to fetch the tray on
which Sarah had set the eatables. The meat was but a chop, charred on
one side, raw on the other; but John did not notice its shortcomings.
He fell on it like the starving man he was, and gulped down two or
three glasses of port. The colour returned to his face, he was able to
give an account of his wife's last hours. "And to talk is what he
needs, even if he goes on till morning." Mahony was quick to see that
there were things that rankled in John's memory, like festers in flesh.
One was that, knowing the greys were tricky, he had not forbidden them
to Emma long ago. But he had felt proud of her skill in handling the
reins, of the attention she attracted. Far from thwarting her, he had
actually urged her on. Her fall had been a light one, and at the outset
no bad results were anticipated: a slight haemorrhage was soon got
under control. A week later, however, it began anew, more violently,
and then all remedies were in vain. As it became clear that the child
was dead, the doctors had recourse to serious measures. But the
bleeding went on. She complained of a roaring in her ears, her
extremities grew cold, her pulse fluttered to nothing. She passed from
syncope to coma, and from coma to death. John swore that two of the
doctors had been the worse for drink; the third was one of those
ignorant impostors with whom the place swarmed. And again he made
himself reproaches.

"I ought to have gone to look for someone else. But she was dying ... I
could not tear myself away.--Mahony, I can still see her. They