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. But her mind
worked feverishly all the time, and gradually she fought herself free of
this weeping, which clutched her against her will.

Isaac was away for an hour. When he came back he closed the door
carefully, and, walking to the table, threw down his hat upon it. His
face under its ruddy brown had suffered some radical disintegrating
change.

'They've traced yer,' he said, hoarsely;' they've got it up to
twenty-six pound, an more. Most on it 'ere in Clinton--some on it,
Muster Miles o' Frampton ull swear to. Watson ull go over to Frampton,
for the warrant--to-morrer.'

The news shook her from head to foot. She stared at him wildly--
speechless.

'But that's not 'ar