a while the excess of crying brought its cessation. She drank some water, and then taking up a broken handglass she looked at herself, saying:
'I am a sight!' and proceeded to wind up her hair. 'You 'ave been good ter me, Tom,' she repeated, her voice still broken with sobs; and as he sat down beside her she took his hand.
'Na, I ain't,' he answered; 'it's only wot anybody 'ud 'ave done.'
'Yer know, Tom,' she said, after a little silence, 'I'm so sorry I spoke cross like when I met yer in the street; you ain't spoke ter me since.'
'Oh, thet's all over now, old lidy, we needn't think of thet.'
'Oh, but I 'ave treated yer bad. I'm a regular wrong 'un, I am.'
He pressed her hand without speaking.
'I say, Tom,' she began, after another pause. 'Did yer know thet—well, you know—before ter-day?'
He blushed as he answered:
'Yus.'
She spoke very sadly and slowly.
'I thought yer did; yer seemed so cut up like when I used to meet yer. Yer did love me then, Tom, didn't yer?'
'I do now, dearie,' he answered.
'Ah, it's too lite now,' she sighed.
'D'yer know, Liza,' he said, 'I just abaht kicked the life aht of a feller 'cause 'e said you was messin' abaht with—with 'im.'
'An' yer knew I was?'
'Yus—but I wasn't goin' ter 'ave anyone say it before me.'
'They've all rounded on me except you, Tom. I'd 'ave done better if I'd tiken you when you arst me; I shouldn't be where I am now, if I 'ad.'
'Well, won't yer now? Won't yer 'ave me now?'
'Me? After wot's 'appened?'
'Oh, I don't mind abaht thet. Thet don't matter ter me if you'll marry me. I fair can't live without yer, Liza—won't yer?'
She groaned.
'Na, I can't, Tom, it wouldn't be right.'
'Why, not, if I don't mind?'
'Tom,' she said, looking down, almost whispering, 'I'm like that—you know!'
'Wot d'yer mean?'
She could scarcely utter the words—
'I think I'm in the family wy.'
He paused a moment; then spoke again.
'Well—I don't mind, if yer'll only marry me.'
'Na, I can't, Tom,' she said, bursting into tears; 'I can't, but you are so good ter me; I'd do anythin' ter mike it up ter you.'
She put her arms round his neck and slid on to his knees.
'Yer know, Tom, I couldn't marry yer now; but anythin' else—if yer wants me ter do anythin' else, I'll do it if it'll mike you 'appy.'
He did not understand, but only said:
'You're a good gal, Liza,' and bending down he kissed her gravely on the forehead.
Then with a sigh he lifted her down, and getting up left her alone. For a while she sat where he left her, but as she thought of all she had gone through her loneliness and misery overcame her, the tears welled forth, and throwing herself on the bed she buried her face in the pillows.
Jim stood looking at Liza as she went off with Tom, and his wife watched him jealously.
'It's 'er you're thinkin' abaht. Of course you'd 'ave liked ter tike 'er 'ome yerself, I know, an' leave me to shift for myself.'
'Shut up!' said Jim, angrily turning upon her.
'I shan't shut up,' she answered, raising her voice. 'Nice 'usbind you are. Go' lumme, as good as they mike 'em! Nice thing ter go an' leave yer wife and children for a thing like thet! At your age, too! You oughter be ashimed of yerself. Why, it's like messin' abaht with your own daughter!'
'By God!'—he ground his teeth with rage—'if yer don't leave me alone, I'll kick the life aht of yer!'
'There!' she said, turning to the crowd—'there, see 'ow 'e treats me! Listen ter that! I've been 'is wife for twenty years, an' yer couldn't 'ave 'ad a better wife, an' I've bore 'im nine children, yet say nothin' of a miscarriage, an' I've got another comin', an' thet's 'ow 'e treats me! Nice 'usbind, ain't it?' She looked at him scornfully, then again at the surrounders as if for their opinion.
'Well, I ain't goin' ter stay 'ere all night; get aht of the light!' He pushed aside the people who barred his way, and the one or two who growled a little at his roughness, looking at his angry face, were afraid to complain.
'Look at 'im!' said his wife. ''E's afraid, 'e is. See 'im slinkin' awy like a bloomin' mongrel with 'is tail between 'is legs. Ugh!' She walked just behind him, shouting and brandishing her arms.
'Yer dirty beast, you,' she yelled, 'ter go foolin' abaht with a little girl! Ugh! I wish yer wasn't my 'usbind; I wouldn't be seen drowned with yer, if I could 'elp it. Yer mike me sick ter look at yer.'
The crowd followed them on both sides of the road, keeping at a discreet distance, but still eagerly listening.
Jim turned on her once or twice and said:
'Shut up!'
But it only made her more angry. 'I tell yer I shan't shut up. I don't care 'oo knows it, you're a ——, you are! I'm ashimed the children should 'ave such a father as you. D'yer think I didn't know wot you was up ter them nights you was awy—courtin', yus, courtin'? You're a nice man, you are!'
Jim did not answer her, but walked on. At last he turned round to the people who were following and said:
'Na then, wot d'you want 'ere? You jolly well clear, or I'll give some of you somethin'!'
They were mostly boys and women, and at his words they shrank back.
''E's afraid ter sy anythin' ter me,' jeered Mrs. Blakeston. ''E's a beauty!'
Jim entered his house, and she followed him till they came up into their room. Polly was giving the children their tea. They all started up as they saw their mother with her hair and clothes in disorder, blotches of dried blood on her face, and the long scratch-marks.
'Oh, mother,' said Polly, 'wot is the matter?'
''E's the matter.' she answered, pointing to her husband. 'It's through 'im I've got all this. Look at yer father, children; e's a father to be proud of, leavin' yer ter starve an' spendin' 'is week's money on a dirty little strumper.'
Jim felt easier now he had not got so many strange eyes on him.
'Now, look 'ere,' he said, 'I'm not goin' ter stand this much longer, so just you tike care.'
'I
