“Hughs wounded out there?”

“Yes, sir—­in the head.”

“Ah!  And fever?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Martin tapped his pipe against his forehead.  “Least drop of liquor goes to it, I suppose?”

Mrs. Hughs paused in the dipping of a cloth; her tear-stained face expressed resentment, as though she had detected an attempt to find excuses for her husband.

“He didn’t ought to treat me as he does,” she said.

All three now stood round the bed, over which the baby presided with solemn gaze.

Thyme said:  “I wouldn’t care what he did, Mrs. Hughs; I wouldn’t stay another day if I were you.  It’s your duty as a woman.”

To hear her duty as a woman Mrs. Hughs turned; slow vindictiveness gathered on her thin face.

“Yes, miss?” she said.  “I don’t know what to do.

“Take the children and go.  What’s the good of waiting?  We’ll give you money if you haven’t got enough.”

But Mrs. Hughs did not answer.

“Well?” said Martin, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Thyme burst out again:  “Just go, the very minute your little boy comes back from school.  Hughs ’ll never find you.  It ’ll serve him right.  No woman ought to put up with what you have; it’s simply weakness, Mrs. Hughs.”

As though that word had forced its way into her very heart and set the blood free suddenly, Mrs. Hughs’ face turned the colour of tomatoes.  She poured forth words: 

“And leave him to that young girl—­and leave him to his wickedness!  After I’ve been his wife eight years and borne him five! after I’ve done what I have for him!  I never want no better husband than what he used to be, till she came with her pale face and her prinky manners, and—­and her mouth that you can tell she’s bad by.  Let her keep to her profession—­sitting naked’s what she’s fit for—­coming here to decent folk—–­” And holding out her wrists to Thyme, who had shrunk back, she cried:  “He’s never struck me before.  I got these all because of her new clothes!”

Hearing his mother speak with such strange passion, the baby howled.  Mrs. Hughs stopped, and took him up.  Pressing him close to her thin bosom, she looked above his little dingy head at the two young people.

“I got my wrists like this last night, wrestling with him.  He swore he’d go and leave me, but I held him, I did.  And don’t you ever think that I’ll let him go to that young girl—­not if he kills me first!”

With those words the passion in her face died down.  She was again a meek, mute woman.

During this outbreak, Thyme, shrinking, stood by the doorway with lowered eyes.  She now looked up at Martin, clearly asking him to come away.  The latter had kept his gaze fixed on Mrs. Hughs, smoking silently.  He took his pipe out of his mouth, and pointed with it at the baby.

“This gentleman,” he said, “can’t stand too much of that.”