et.

Bessie flung herself upon him. He gave her one businesslike blow which
knocked her down against the bedroom door. The door yielded to her fall,
and she lay there half-stunned, the blood dripping from her temple.

'Noa, I'll not take 'em all,' he said, not even troubling to look where
she had fallen. 'That 'ud be playin it rayther too low down on old John.
I'll leave 'im two--jest two--for luck.'

He buttoned up his coat tightly, then turned to throw a last glance at
Bessie. He had always disliked his father's second wife, and his sense
of triumph was boundless.

'Oh! yer not hurt,' he said; 'yer shammin. I advise yer to look sharp
with shuttin up. Father'll be up the hill in two or three minutes now.
Sorry I can't 'elp yer, now yer've set me up so comfortabul. Bye-bye!'

He ran down the stairs. She, as her senses revived, heard him open the
back door, cross the little garden, and jump the hedge at the end of it.

Then she lay absolutely motionless, till suddenly there struck on her
ear the distant sound of heavy steps. They roused her like a goad. She
dragged herself to her feet, shut the box, had just time to throw it
into the cupboard and lock the door, when she heard her husband walk
into the kitchen. She crept into her own room, threw herself on the bed,
and wrapped her head and eyes in an old shawl, shivering so that the
mattresses shook.

'Bessie, where are yer?'

She did not answer. He made a sound of astonishment, and, finding no
candle, took the lamp and mounted the stairs. They were covered with
traces of muddy snow, and at the top he stooped to examine a spot upon
the boards. It was blood; and his heart thumped in his breast.

'Bessie, whatever is the matter?'

For by this time he had perceived her on the bed. He put down the lamp
and came to the bedside to look at her.

'I've 'ad a fall,' she said, faintly. 'I tripped up over my skirt as I
wor comin up to look at Arthur. My head's all bleedin. Get me some water
from over there.'

His countenance fell sadly. But he got the water, exclaiming when he saw
the wound.

He bathed it clumsily, then tied a bit of rag round it, and made her
head easy with the pillow. She did not speak, and he sat on beside her,
looking at her pale face, and torn, as the silent minutes passed,
between conflicting impulses. He had just passed an hour listening to a
good man's plain narrative of a life spent for Christ, amid
fever-swamps, and human beings more deadly