"Then--in the evening--that is, late at night--" Maud stumbled like a nervous child--"I went down to fetch something and he--he came in after me, half-tipsy; and--and--he--" She halted suddenly. "I can't go on!" she said, with quivering lips.
Jake laid aside his pipe and stooped over her. "Did he beat you, or did he make love to you? Which?" he said.
There was a sound in his voice like the growl of an angry beast. She could not look him in the face.
"Tell me!" he said, and laid an imperative hand on her shoulder. "You need never tell anyone else."
She shrank a little. "I don't see why I should tell you," she said reluctantly.
"You must tell me," said Jake with decision.
And, after brief hesitation, miserably, with face averted, she yielded and told him. After all, why should he not know? Her dainty pride was crushed for ever. She could sink no lower.
"He held me down and thrashed me--with his slipper. I was in my night-dress, and--and it was rather a brutal thrashing. Perhaps some women wouldn't have minded it much; but I--I am not used to that kind of treatment. I hope you will never beat me, Jake. I don't bear it very heroically."
She tried to laugh, but it was a piteous little sound that came from her quivering throat.
Jake's hand closed upon her shoulder. She seemed to feel the whole man vibrate behind it like a steel spring. Yet he made no comment whatever. "Go on!" he said, his voice short and stern. "Tell me everything!"