“To run away and leave me?” he said mockingly. “Pray go.” He stood glaring down at her for a moment, and then exclaimed, in a cold, cutting way: “Will you get me the things I want?”
“Yes, yes, dear—yes, my own love!” she cried excitedly; “in one minute. But John, husband, my heart is nearly broken. I am maddened by my wrongs.”
He must have been mad himself, for as she clung to him he struck her again, more savagely this time, and, with a shudder running through her whole frame, she cowered on the floor.
But it was only for the moment. She struggled up again, joining her hands together as she wailed once more:
“I ask you again, for our dead babe’s sake, John—husband—give me one kind word, and I will forgive all!”
“Do you want to drive me wild!” he yelled savagely. “I am not John Huish—I am not your husband. Out of my sight, or—”
He raised his hand again to strike her, but she did not flinch. She stood up, seeming as if turned to stone, and a sickly pallor appeared on her cheeks.
“There, quick; get me the brandy! I have a long way to go.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, as a low moan escaped her lips; “you have a long way to go.”
She fetched the brandy decanter and glass from the sideboard, placed them before him, and he poured out a goodly quantity, raised the glass, listened, and then put it down.