Strangway.  I want you.  Come back to me!  Beatrice, come back!

Beatrice.  It would be torture, now.

Strangway. [Writhing] Oh!

Beatrice.  Whatever’s in your heart—­do!

Strangway.  You’d come back to me sooner than ruin him?  Would you?

Beatrice.  I can’t bring him harm.

Strangway. [Turning away] God!—­if there be one help me! [He stands leaning his forehead against the window.  Suddenly his glance falls on the little bird cage, still lying on the window-seat] Never cage any wild thing! [He gives a laugh that is half a sob; then, turning to the door, says in a low voice] Go!  Go please, quickly!  Do what you will.  I won’t hurt you—­can’t——­But—­go! [He opens the door.]

Beatrice. [Greatly moved] Thank you!

[She passes him with her head down, and goes out quickly.  Strangway stands unconsciously tearing at the little bird-cage.  And while he tears at it he utters a moaning sound.  The terrified mercy, peering from behind the curtain, and watching her chance, slips to the still open door; but in her haste and fright she knocks against it, and Strangway sees her.  Before he can stop her she has fled out on to the green and away.]

     [While he stands there, paralysed, the door from the house is
     opened, and Mrs. Burlacombe approaches him in a queer, hushed
     way.]

Mrs. Burlacombe. [Her eyes mechanically fixed on the twisted bird-cage in his hands] ’Tis poor Sue Cremer, zurr, I didn’t ’ardly think she’d last thru the mornin’.  An’ zure enough she’m passed away! [Seeing that he has not taken in her words] Mr. Strangway—­ yu’m feelin’ giddy?

Strangway.  No, no!  What was it?  You said——­

Mrs. Burlacombe.  ’Tes Jack Cremer.  His wife’s gone.  ’E’m in a terrible way.  ’Tes only yu, ’e ses, can du ’im any gude.  He’m in the kitchen.

Strangway.  Cremer?  Yes!  Of course.  Let him——­

Mrs. Burlacombe. [Still staring at the twisted cage] Yu ain’t wantin’ that—­’tes all twizzled. [She takes it from him] Sure yu’m not feelin’ yer ’ead?

Strangway. [With a resolute effort] No!

Mrs. Burlacombe. [Doubtfully] I’ll send ’im in, then. [She goes.  When she is gone, Strangway passes his handkerchief across his forehead, and his lips move fast.  He is standing motionless when Cremer, a big man in labourer’s clothes, with a thick, broad face, and tragic, faithful eyes, comes in, and stands a little in from the closed door, quite dumb.]

Strangway. [After a moment’s silence—­going up to him and laying a hand on his shoulder] Jack!  Don’t give way.  If we give way—­we’re done.

Cremer.  Yes, zurr. [A quiver passes over his face.]