One or two of his friends, or rather patrons, paid him a visit, and gave him fresh commissions, and he deemed it advisable to keep as quiet as possible till the excitement consequent upon the attempt at burglary had somewhat subsided.
Like other affairs of a similar nature it was but a nine days’ wonder; the general impression being that it was the work of some tramp, who was in all probability a stranger in the town. Anyway, the aforesaid tramp was never discovered.
John Bristow, the man who occupied the parlours in the house where Peace lodged, had been for some days “on the drink.” His poor wife, during this period, had had a sad time of it. Her husband neglected his work, drank to excess, and conducted himself in a manner which was almost intolerable.
Bessie Dalton strove in vain to pacify the brute, who came home in a furious state.
It would indeed be a terrible picture of man’s brutality, and woman’s forbearance, were we to record all that passed in the drunkard’s miserable home.
One night Peace was aroused by piercing screams, which proceeded from Bristow’s room.
“For mercy’s sake, Charlie,” said Bessie Dalton, “go down to that wretch; there’ll be murder done. I’m sure there will if they go on like this.”
“It’s a thankless task to interfere between man and wife,” answered Peace. “Best let them settle their own disputes.”
“I tell you Bristow’s mad, and knows not what he’s doing. I cannot and will not remain quiet while this is going on. If you don’t care about interfering I will.”
She rushed downstairs; Peace followed.