I know how;
an' he thinks more o' t' dog. I've worked early an' late to keep t'
'ome together, an' he's never once found it ought but tidy, for I get
up afore he wakes to scrub and polish. I've gone without food to give
'im luxuries, an' he never says so much as 'Thank ye'; but he thanks t'
dog for every trick he's trained it to. I've smiled on 'im when my
heart's been like lead, an' talked cheerful when it 'ud 'a done me good
to cry--an' all for what? Not for curses: not for kicks. I could
stand curses an' kicks when he wor i' drink, if he'd love me an' be
sorry when he wor sober. No, after all I've done for 'im he just takes
no notice of me. I'm his woman, not his wife, an' I'm too
broken-hearted now to try any more."

One solitary tear stole down her cheek--a tiny tear, as though the
fountain from which it had escaped were nearly dry; and she did not
stop to wipe it away.

I bent over and kissed her. "The darkest night ends in day," I said.
"Don't lose heart or hope. I cannot preach to you, and I fear if I
were in your place I should not do so well as you. I should lose my
temper as well as my spirits. But don't let love die if you can help
it. I suppose you loved him once?"

"Yes, I loved him once," she said.

"And you still love him?" I ventured.

"No, I don't. I neither love 'im nor 'ate 'im. But I love his child.
That's our Lucy's voice. I must be goin' down now."

CHAPTER XXV

THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL

I have been one whole year in Windyridge, and like a good business
woman I have taken stock and endeavoured to get out a balance sheet in
regular "Profit and Loss" fashion. I am afraid a professional
accountant would heap scorn upon it, as my methods are not those taught
in the arithmetics; but that consideration does not concern me.

My net profits from the portraiture branch amount to the huge sum of
nine pounds, eighteen shillings and sevenpence. If these figures were
to be published I do not think they would attract competitors to
Windyridge, and I can see plainly that I shall not recoup my initial
outlay on the studio for several years. But that matters little, as my
London firms have kept me well supplied with work, and would give me a
great deal more if I were willing to take it.

But I am _not_ willing. Man does not live by bread alone, nor by
painting miniatures and designing book illustrations, and I am
determined to live and not just exist, and I _have_ lived duri