ragement from you, but
many, many which made the struggle harder for me.'

'Then it would be better for you if I went away altogether, and left you
free to do the best for yourself. If that is what you mean by all this,
why not say it plainly? I won't be a burden to you. Someone will give me
a home.'

'And you would leave me without regret? Your only care would be that you
were still bound to me?'

'You must think of me what you like. I don't care to defend myself.'

'You won't admit, then, that I have anything to complain of? I seem to
you simply in a bad temper without a cause?'

'To tell you the truth, that's just what I do think. I came here to ask
what I had done that you were angry with me, and you break out furiously
with all sorts of vague reproaches. You have much to endure, I know
that, but it's no reason why you should turn against me. I have never
neglected my duty. Is the duty all on my side? I believe there are very
few wives who would be as patient as I have been.'

Reardon gazed at her for a moment, then turned away. The distance
between them was greater than he had thought, and now he repented of
having given way to an impulse so alien to his true feelings; anger only
estranged her, whereas by speech of a different kind he might have won
the caress for which he hungered.

Amy, seeing that he would say nothing more, left him to himself.

It grew late in the night. The fire had gone out, but Reardon still sat
in the cold room. Thoughts of self-destruction were again haunting him,
as they had done during the black months of last year. If he had lost
Amy's love, and all through the mental impotence which would make it
hard for him even to earn bread, why should he still live? Affection for
his child had no weight with him; it was Amy's child rather than his,
and he had more fear than pleasure in the prospect of Willie's growing
to manhood.

He had just heard the workhouse clock strike two, when, without the
warning of a footstep, the door opened. Amy came in; she wore her
dressing-gown, and her hair was arranged for the night.

'Why do you stay here?' she asked.

It was not the same voice as before. He saw that her eyes were red and
swollen.

'Have you been crying, Amy?'

'Never mind. Do you know what time it is?'

He went towards her.

'Why have you been crying?'

'There are many things to cry for.'

'Amy, have you any love for me still, or has poverty robbed me of it
all?'

'I hav