The voice stopped, footsteps followed, the stairs creaked.  And Jan’s tortured stomach was allowed its relief.  And while he retched in the dark Mrs. Goles held his head and, soaking a towel in the water jar, bathed his forehead and face and neck, and kept wetting the towel and bathing his head with the cold water until at last, with a grateful sigh, Jan stood up and said: 

“I think it’s all gone now.”

“That’s good.  So I’ll be leaving you.  And you—­” They had been talking in whispers, but at this point her voice broke into a cough.  When she spoke again her voice was husky and pitched in a higher key.  “But you—­listen!  You must leave this house!”

“Why must I leave?”

“It’s no place for you.”

“And is it for you, ma’am?” he asked her.

“For me?  No—­nor for any woman.  But I’m talking about you.  To-morrow—­don’t say a word to him downstairs—­but to-morrow, when your week’s up, take your grip and walk out.”

“The day after to-morrow,” amended Jan.  “Tomorrow’s Saturday and I has to be at the dry dock.  But what will become of you?”

“There’ll nothing become of me—­no more than before.”

“He will beat you?”

“Beat me!  If he don’t any more than beat me!” Jan fancied she was smiling at him in the dark.  “But I’d better go.  Good-night.”

“Good-night,” said Jan.  “And I’ll see you to-morrow to say good-by.”

“Yes,” she said.  “I’ll be about.  Good-night.”

“Good-night,” said Jan again, and found himself standing at the door after it had opened and closed behind her.

* * * * *

“I wonder,” thought Jan, “if he will beat her!” And he stooped to lock the door.  His hand was on the key, but he did not turn it.  Who was that?  Jan had keen hearing.  He jammed his ear against the crack.  It was the sound of breathing, heavy breathing, of breathing and tramping, and now—­Jan had been listening for perhaps a minute—­of suppressed voices.

Jan stepped back to the washstand and poured out a glass of water.  He took it at a gulp.  He had another.  It was cold and bracing to his fevered stomach.  He stepped to the door, cautiously turned the knob and slowly drew the door to him.  He peeped out.

Under the hall light he saw them—­she jammed back against the stair-rail and he with his hands at her throat.  His back was to Jan.

“Where is it?  Come—­give up!” he was saying.  Jan could not hear what she said; but the man took a fresh grip and shook her.  “Don’t tell me anything like that!  You gave in at last and got the money off him.  Give it up!”

“I did not!  I’m not that kind of a woman—­not yet.  I may be yet if you keep on—­but I’m not yet.  And he’s not that kind of a man.”

“You’re not?  And he’s not?  And you an hour in his room with the door locked!  You got money off him!  Give it to me!”

“N-no—­no!”