The news shook her from head to foot. She stared at him wildly— speechless.
'But that's not 'arf,' he went on—'not near 'arf. Do yer 'ear? What did yer do with the rest? I'll not answer for keepin my 'ands off yer if yer won't tell.'
In his trance of rage and agony, he was incapable of pity. He had small need to threaten her with blows—every word stabbed.
But her turn had come to strike back. She raised her head; she measured her news against his; and she did it with a kind of exultation.
'Then I will tell yer—an I 'ope it ull do yer good. I took thirty-one pound o' Bolderfield's money then—but it warn't me took the rest. Some one else tuk it, an I stood by an saw 'im. When I tried to stop 'im—look 'ere.'
She raised her hand, nodding, and pointing to the wound on her brow.
Isaac leant heavily on the table. A horrible suspicion swept through him. Had she wronged him in a yet blacker way? He bent over her, breathing fast—ready to strike.
'Who was it?'
She laughed. 'Well, it wor Timothy then—yur precious—beautiful son—
Timothy!'
He fell back.