Lizzie bent her brows.  “Yes, you are right,” she admitted.

“And,” Honoria pursued eagerly, “if I come here to sue you for the truth—­it is you who force me.”

“I?”

“By what you said that night, when George—­when my husband—­was drowned; when you cursed me.  ‘A son’s a son,’ you said, ’though he was your man.’”

“Did I say that?” Lizzie seemed to muse over the words.  “You have suffered?” she asked.

“Yes, I have suffered.”

“Ah, if I thought so! ...  But you have not.  You are a hypocrite, Mrs. Vyell; and you are trying to cheat me now.  You come here not to end that suffering, but to force a word from me that’ll put joy and hope into you; that you’ll go home hugging to your heart.  Oh, I know you!”

“You do not.”

“I do; because I know myself.  From a child I’ve been dirt to your pride, an item to your money.  For years I’ve lived a shamed woman.  But one thing I bought with it—­one little thing.  Think the price high for it—­I dessay it is; but I bought and paid for it—­and often when I turn it over in my mind I don’t count the price too dear.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You may, if you try.  What I bought was the power over you, my proud lady.  While I keep tight lips I have you at the end of a chain.  You come here to-night to break it; one little word and you’ll be free and glad.  But no, and no, and no!  You may guess till you’re tired—­you may be sure in your heart; but it’s all no good without that little word you’ll never get from me.”

“You shall speak!”

Lizzie shrugged her shoulders and picked up the candle.

“Simme,” she said, “you’d best go back to your carriage and horses.  My li’l boy’s in the next room, tryin’ to sleep; and ‘tisn’ fit he heard much of this.”

She passed resolutely into the bedroom, leaving her visitor to darkness.  But Honoria, desperate now, pushed after her, scarcely knowing what she did or meant to do.

“You shall speak!”

The house-door opened and light footsteps came running through the outer room.  It was little George, and he pulled at her skirts.

“Mummy, the horses are taking cold!”

But Honoria still advanced.  “You shall speak!”

Joey, catching sight of her from the bed, screamed and hid his face.  To him she was a thing of horror.  From the night when, thrust beneath her eyes, he had cowered by her carriage-step, she had haunted his worst dreams.  And now, black-robed and terrible of face, she had come to lay hands on him and carry him straight to hell.

“Mother!  Take her away! take her away!”

His screams rang through the room.  “Hush, dear!” cried Lizzie, running to him; and laid a hand on his shoulder.

But the child, far too terrified to know whose hand it was, flung himself from her with a wilder scream than any; flung himself all but free of the bed-clothes.  As Lizzie caught and tried to hold him the thin night-shirt ripped in her fingers, laying bare the small back from shoulder to buttock.