Annie was nine when the climax came. An intelligent, pretty child, with dark hair and quick, impulsive manners. Her passionate preference for her father did not tend to smooth the troubles of the household. She attended the grammar-school and had many girl-friends. She saw very little of her mother.
One evening Jim returned home late. He had been on a visit to his friend, Isaac. He found Annie seated on the bottom stair, in her nightdress. Her face was very pale and set, her eyes bright. She had been crying. When she saw her father she gasped:
“Daddy!... Oh, Daddy!”
He seized her in his arms and whispered:
“What is it, my dear?”
Then she cried quietly while he held her. He did not attempt to hurry her. At last she got her voice under control and gasped quietly:
“I had gone to bed. I don’t know why it was. I got restless in bed. I came down again softly. I peeped into the sitting-room.... Oh, Daddy!”
“What? What, my love?”
“That man.... That man and—”
“Your mother?”