Presently, shivering with cold, she went into her own room. There, mechanically, she took off her outer dress, as though to go to bed; but when she had done so her hands fell by her side; she stood motionless till, suddenly wrapping an old shawl round her, she took up her candle and went downstairs again.
As she pushed open the door at the foot of the stairs, she saw Isaac, where she had left him, sitting on his chair, bent forward, his hands dropping between his knees, his gaze fixed on a bit of dying fire in the grate.
'Isaac!'
He looked up with the unwillingness of one who hates the sound he hears, and saw her standing on the lowest step. Her black hair had fallen upon her shoulders, her quick breath shook the shawl she held about her, and the light in her hand showed the anguished brightness of the eyes.
'Isaac, are yer comin up?'
The question maddened him. He turned to look at her more fixedly.
'Comin up? noa, I'm not comin up—so now yer know. Take yerself off, an be quick.'
She trembled.
'Are yer goin to sleep down 'ere, Isaac?'
'Aye, or wherever I likes: it's no concern o' yourn. I'm no 'usband o' yourn from this day forth. Take yourself off, I say!—I'll 'ave no thief for my wife!'