a cup of tea and some bread and butter, she gave a sudden cry.
Marcella hastily put down what she carried, lest it should be knocked
out of her hand.

"He struck me this morning!--Charlie did--the first time in seven years.
Look here!"

She pulled up her sleeve, and on her white, delicate arm she showed a
large bruise. As she pointed to it her eyes filled with miserable tears;
her lips quivered; anguish breathed in every feature. Yet even in this
abasement Marcella was struck once more with her slim prettiness, her
refined air. This woman drinking and treating in a low public-house at
midnight!--rescued thence by a decent husband!

She soothed her as best she could, but when she had succeeded in making
the wretched soul take food, and so in putting some physical life into
her, she found herself the recipient of an outburst of agony before
which she quailed. The woman clung to her, moaning about her husband,
about the demon instinct that had got hold of her, she hardly knew
how--by means it seemed originally of a few weeks of low health and
small self-indulgences--and she felt herself powerless to fight; about
the wreck she had brought upon her home, the shame upon her husband, who
was the respected, well-paid foreman of one of the large shops of the
neighbourhood. All through it came back to him.

"We had words, Nurse, this morning, when he went out to his work. He
said he'd nearly died of shame last night; that he couldn't bear it no
more; that he'd take the children from me. And I was all queer in the
head still, and I sauced him--and then--he looked like a devil--and he
took me by the arm--and _threw_ me down--as if I'd been a sack. An' he
never, _never,_--touched me--before--in all his life. An' he's never
come in all day. An' perhaps I shan't ever see him again. An' last
time--but it wasn't so bad as this--he said he'd try an' love me again
if I'd behave. An' he did try--and I tried too. But now it's no good,
an' perhaps he'll not come back. Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do!"
she flung her arms above her head. "Won't _anybody_ find him? won't
_anybody_ help me?"

She dropped a hand upon Marcella's arm, clutching it, her wild eyes
seeking her companion's.

But at the same moment, with the very extremity of her own emotion, a
cloud of impotence fell upon Marcella. She suddenly felt that she could
do nothing--that there was nothing in her adequate to such an
appeal--nothing strong enough to lift the weight