Bessie burst into tears. It seemed as though her life were breaking within her. Never since their early married days had he spoken to her like this. And she was in such piteous need of comfort; of some strong hand to help her out of the black pit in which she lay. The wild impulse crossed her to sit up and tell him—to throw it all on Timothy, to show him the cupboard and the box. Should she tell him; brave it all now that he was like this? Between them they might find a way—make it good.
Then the thought of the man in the public-house, of the half-crowns, a host of confused and guilty memories, swept upon her. How could she ever get herself out of it? Her heart beat so that it seemed a live creature strangling and silencing her. She was still fighting with her tears and her terror when she heard Isaac say—
"I know yer'll try, and I'll help yer. I'll be a better husband to yer,
I swear I will. Give us a kiss, old woman."
She turned her face, sobbing, and he kissed her cheek.
Then she heard him say in another tone—
"An' I got a bit o' news down at the Club as will liven yer up. Parkinson was there; just come over from Frampton to see his mother; an' he says John will be here to-morrer or next day. 'Ee seed him yesterday—pulled down dreadful—quite the old man, 'ee says. An' John told him as he was comin' 'ome directly to live comfortable."
Bessie drew her shawl over her head.
"To-morrer, did yer say?" she asked in a whisper.
"Mos' like. Now, you go to sleep; I'll put out the lamp."
But all night long Bessie lay wide awake in torment, her soul hardening within her, little by little.