e hit Haddo in the face with his clenched fist. The man collapsed
bulkily to the floor, and Arthur, furiously seizing his collar, began
to kick him with all his might. He shook him as a dog would shake a
rat and then violently flung him down. For some reason Haddo made no
resistance. He remained where he fell in utter helplessness. Arthur
turned to Margaret. She was holding the poor hurt dog in her hands,
crying over it, and trying to comfort it in its pain. Very gently he
examined it to see if Haddo's brutal kick had broken a bone. They sat
down beside the fire. Susie, to steady her nerves, lit a cigarette. She
was horribly, acutely conscious of that man who lay in a mass on the
floor behind them. She wondered what he would do. She wondered why he did
not go. And she was ashamed of his humiliation. Then her heart stood
still; for she realized that he was raising himself to his feet, slowly,
with the difficulty of a very fat person. He leaned against the wall and
stared at them. He remained there quite motionless. His stillness got on
her nerves, and she could have screamed as she felt him look at them,
look with those unnatural eyes, whose expression now she dared not even
imagine.

At last she could no longer resist the temptation to turn round just
enough to see him. Haddo's eyes were fixed upon Margaret so intently
that he did not see he was himself observed. His face, distorted by
passion, was horrible to look upon. That vast mass of flesh had a
malignancy that was inhuman, and it was terrible to see the satanic
hatred which hideously deformed it. But it changed. The redness gave way
to a ghastly pallor. The revengeful scowl disappeared; and a torpid smile
spread over the features, a smile that was even more terrifying than the
frown of malice. What did it mean? Susie could have cried out, but her
tongue cleaved to her throat. The smile passed away, and the face became
once more impassive. It seemed that Margaret and Arthur realized at last
the power of those inhuman eyes, and they became quite still. The dog
ceased its sobbing. The silence was so great that each one heard the
beating of his heart. It was intolerable.

Then Oliver Haddo moved. He came forward slowly.

'I want to ask you to forgive me for what I did,' he said.

'The pain of the dog's bite was so keen that I lost my temper. I deeply
regret that I kicked it. Mr Burdon was very right to thrash me. I feel
that I deserved no less.'

He spoke in a lo