spend it?" he said, startled, as the words came out, by
his own voice, so grinding and ugly was the note of it.

Her miserable eyes travelled over his face, seeking, as it were, for
some promise, however faint, of future help and succour, however
distant.

Apparently she saw none, for her own look flamed to fresh defiance.

"I didn't spend it. Saunders wor lyin'."

"'Ow did yer get them half-crowns?"

"I got 'em at Bedford. Mr. Grimstone give 'em me."

Isaac looked at her hard, his shame burning into his heart. This was
how she had got her money for the gin. Of course, she had lied to him
the night before, in her account of her fall, and of that mark on her
forehead, which still showed, a red disfigurement, under the hair she
had drawn across it. The sight of it, of her, began to excite in him a
quick loathing. He was at bottom a man of violent passions, and, in
the presence of evil-doing so flagrant, so cruel--of a household ruin
so complete--his religion failed him.

"When was it as yer opened that box fust?" he asked her again, scorning
her denials.

She burst into a rage of tears, lifting her apron to her eyes, and
flinging names at him that he scarcely heard.

There was a little cold tea in a cup close to him that Bessie had
forgotten. He stretched out his hand, and took a mouthful, moistening
his dry lips and throat.

"Yer'll go to prison for this," he said, jerking it out as he put the
cup down.

He saw her shiver. Her nerve was failing her. The convulsive sobs
continued, but she ceased to abuse him. He wondered when he should be
able to get it out of her. He himself could no more have wept than
iron and fire weep.

"Are yer goin' to tell me when yer took that money, and 'ow yer spent
it? 'Cos if yer don't, I shall go to Watson."

Even in her abasement it struck her as shameful, unnatural, that he,
her husband, should say this. Her remorse returned upon her heart,
like a tide driven back. She answered him not a word.

He put his silver watch on the table.

"I'll give yer two minutes," he said.

There was silence in the cottage except for the choking, hysterical
sounds she could not master. Then he took up his hat again, and went
out into the snow, which was by now falling fast.

She remained helpless and sobbing, unconscious of the passage of time,
one hand playing incessantly with a child's comforter that lay beside
her on the table, the other wiping away the crowding tears.