stand it; I caan't wait for it. I'll grow sheer devil
if I've got to wait; an', so like as not, I'll meet un faace to faace
some day an' send un wheer neither his bark nor bite will harm me. Ess
fay--solemn truth. I won't answer for it. I can put so tight a hand 'pon
myself as any man since Job, but to sit down under this--"

"Theer's nought else you can do," said Phoebe. She yawned as she spoke,
but Will's reply strangled the yawn and effectually woke her up.

"So Jan Grimbal said, an' I blamed soon shawed un he was out. Theer's a
thing I can do an' shall do. 'T will sweep the ground from under un; 't
will blaw off his vengeance harmless as a gun fired in the air; 't will
turn his malice so sour as beer after thunder. I be gwaine to give
myself up--then us'll see who's the fule!"

Phoebe was out of bed with her arms round her husband in a moment.

"No, no--never. You couldn't, Will; you daren't--'tis against nature.
You ban't free to do no such wild thing. You forget me, an' the li'l
maid, an' t' other comin'!"

"Doan't 'e choke me," he said; "an' doan't 'e look so terrified. Your
small hands caan't keep off what's ahead o' me; an' I wouldn't let 'em
if they could. 'T is in this world that a chap's got to pay for his sins
most times, an' damn short credit, tu, so far as I can see. So what they
want to bleat 'bout hell-fire for I've never onderstood, seeing you get
your change here. Anyway, so sure as I do a trick that ban't 'zactly
wise, the whip 's allus behind it--the whip--"

He repeated the word in a changed voice, for it reminded him of what
Grimbal had threatened. He did not know whether there might be truth in
it. His pride winced and gasped. He thought of Phoebe seeing his bare
back perhaps years afterwards. A tempest of rage blackened his face and
he spoke in a voice hoarse and harsh.

"Get up an' go to bed. Doan't whine, for God's sake, or you'll drive me
daft. I've paid afore, an' I'll pay again; an' may the Lard help him who
ever owes me ought. No mercy have I ever had from living man,--'cept
Miller,--none will I ever shaw."

"Not to-morrow, Will--not this week. Promise that, an' I'll get into bed
an' bide quiet. For your love o' me, just leave it till arter Christmas
time. Promise that, else you'll kill me. No, no, no--you shaa'n't shout
me down 'pon this. I'll cry to 'e while I've got life left. Promise not
till Christmas be past."

"I'll promise nothing. I must think in the peace o' night. Go to