"In the usual way," she said, and laid down the poker. "Then you will be locked up again. I hope you will."
"Can I not take leave of the child?"
"No, unless you want him to try and kill you again. Besides, he is in a trance; he will waken as suddenly as he fell into it. But I hope, for your sake, that you will be out of the house before he recovers his senses."
"Do you think--"
"I don't think--I know. All his life Gilbert will hate you. He is highly neurotic, and when he gets besides himself he will do things as mad as would an hysterical woman. He is not to be trusted--no more am I--so beware of us both, and place the sea between yourself and us."
"A very good idea," he said, coolly. "I'll emigrate."
"Do. Go to Sydney--which was formerly Botany Bay. That ought to suit you," she taunted. "Stop there," she snatched up the poker again, "or I will not answer for myself."
Her husband laid down the buck-handled knife and placed it on the table beside the pocket-book. He had taken it up with an oath when his wife goaded him with her tongue. "Get the five, shillings," he said, sulkily.
"It is upstairs." Still carrying the poker, Mrs. Jenner moved towards the inner door. "I can tell you so much, for you will never find my hiding-place. Wait here."
When she had gone her husband remained by the table with his hand on the red pocket-book. His eyes sought the brown horse. "I must take you with me, too," he muttered. "I shall never see her or the child again. It is better so; I hope she won't be long." And he waited in sulky silence.