know
he would:--he said so yesterday!"

*****

As if by a kind of intuition, old Wood seemed to read all this woman's
thoughts; for he said that day with a sneer, that he would wager she was
thinking how much better it would be to be a Count's lady than a poor
miser's wife. "And faith," said he, "a Count and a chariot-and-six is
better than an old skinflint with a cudgel." And then he asked her if
her head was better, and supposed that she was used to beating; and cut
sundry other jokes, which made the poor wretch's wounds of mind and body
feel a thousand times sorer.

Tom, too, was made acquainted with the dispute, and swore his accustomed
vengeance against his stepfather. Such feelings, Wood, with a dexterous
malice, would never let rest; it was his joy, at first quite a
disinterested one, to goad Catherine and to frighten Hayes: though, in
truth, that unfortunate creature had no occasion for incitements from
without to keep up the dreadful state of terror and depression into
which he had fallen.

For, from the morning after the quarrel, the horrible words and looks
of Catherine never left Hayes's memory; but a cold fear followed
him--a dreadful prescience. He strove to overcome this fate as a coward
would--to kneel to it for compassion--to coax and wheedle it into
forgiveness. He was slavishly gentle to Catherine, and bore her fierce
taunts with mean resignation. He trembled before young Billings, who was
now established in the house (his mother said, to protect her against
the violence of her husband), and suffered his brutal language and
conduct without venturing to resist.

The young man and his mother lorded over the house: Hayes hardly dared
to speak in their presence; seldom sat with the family except at meals;
but slipped away to his chamber (he slept apart now from his wife) or
passed the evening at the public-house, where he was constrained to
drink--to spend some of his beloved sixpences for drink!

And, of course, the neighbours began to say, "John Hayes neglects
his wife." "He tyrannises over her, and beats her." "Always at the
public-house, leaving an honest woman alone at home!"

The unfortunate wretch did NOT hate his wife. He was used to her--fond
of her as much as he could be fond--sighed to be friends with her
again--repeatedly would creep, whimpering, to Wood's room, when the
latter was alone, and begged him to bring about a reconciliation. They
WERE reconciled, as much