Lem slid back into the darkness of the hall and fled to his room. Nothing in this house brought him anything but trouble, and he only wanted to get away as soon as he could.
“That is nonsense,” Henrietta told Freeman. “You will never kill any one. You are too great a coward. Now, put that money back and get out of here before some one comes.”
For answer Freeman pushed past her.
“I 'll put nothing back,” he said. “I need this. You don't get any for me; I've got to get for myself.”
“Freeman!”
He had gone into the hall. She followed him, and he could not throw her hand from his arm without causing a struggle and a noise that he did not at all desire. His wife drew him into her room.
“All right, go on with the lecture,” he said, with a laugh, “but make it short. It won't do any good. I'm going to keep this money, and I 'm going to get away from here to-night. I 'm going so far you'll never see me again.”
Henrietta sat on the bedside and, with her eyes on his face, let her mind touch upon the possibilities. If Freeman went, and went forever, her lot in life would be far simpler, far easier! But, if he fled, and the money was gone, Miss Susan would know he had taken it, and she already knew he was Henrietta's husband. That would besmirch Henrietta even worse than she was now. It would be the last straw. And even if Freeman went, it would not mean perfect freedom for her, for he would always remain a menace, always liable to appear again to work his husbandly blackmail and make trouble for her. She felt unutterably depressed.
“You must put the money back now—at once,” she said wearily, “before any one knows it is gone.”
“Too late now, Et,” he said. “Somebody knows. The only thing for your little Freeman-boy to do is to skip out while the skipping is good. That Lem saw me.”