"Where are you going?" he thundered, holding her shoulder as in a vice.
"I am going out," she answered, trying to speak, quivering with fear all the time.
"You do not go out at that door! and besides how can you go out with your precious child in the rain?"
Poor Margaret looked up and there indeed she saw that it was raining heavily.
Her heart sank and she paused irresolute.
At that moment the key turned in the lock, and the man came in.
"I have been to the doctor and he is coming directly," he said, and with a feeling of being baffled, though only for the time, poor Margaret turned her weary steps upstairs.
She was over-excited, and cried with the passion that comes from weakness, as from despair.
Then she left her child upstairs, and prepared to see the doctor. Through him she would surely be able to arrange something.
No one, she kept saying to herself, would wish her to stay with a madman, no one could leave a child in his keeping.