‘She is dead!’ she said.

He looked at her still with that searching look, which seemed to fade out of his eyes as he gazed.  Then he suddenly let go his hold of Margaret, and, throwing his body half across the table, he shook it and every piece of furniture in the room, with his violent sobs.  Mary came trembling towards him.

‘Get thee gone!—­get thee gone!’ he cried, striking wildly and blindly at her.  ‘What do I care for thee?’ Margaret took her hand, and held it softly in hers.  He tore his hair, he beat his head against the hard wood, then he lay exhausted and stupid.  Still his daughter and Margaret did not move.  Mary trembled from head to foot.

At last—­it might have been a quarter of an hour, it might have been an hour—­he lifted himself up.  His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and he seemed to have forgotten that any one was by; he scowled at the watchers when he saw them.  He Shook himself heavily, gave them one more sullen look, spoke never a word, but made for the door.

‘Oh, father, father!’ said Mary, throwing herself upon his arm,—­’not to-night!  Any night but to-night.  Oh, help me! he’s going out to drink again!  Father, I’ll not leave yo’.  Yo’ may strike, but I’ll not leave yo’.  She told me last of all to keep yo’ fro’ drink!’

But Margaret stood in the doorway, silent yet commanding.  He looked up at her defyingly.

‘It’s my own house.  Stand out o’ the way, wench, or I’ll make yo’!’ He had shaken off Mary with violence; he looked ready to strike Margaret.  But she never moved a feature—­never took her deep, serious eyes off him.  He stared back on her with gloomy fierceness.  If she had stirred hand or foot, he would have thrust her aside with even more violence than he had used to his own daughter, whose face was bleeding from her fall against a chair.

‘What are yo’ looking at me in that way for?’ asked he at last, daunted and awed by her severe calm.  ‘If yo’ think for to keep me from going what gait I choose, because she loved yo’—­and in my own house, too, where I never asked yo’ to come, yo’re mista’en.  It’s very hard upon a man that he can’t go to the only comfort left.’

Margaret felt that he acknowledged her power.  What could she do next?  He had seated himself on a chair, close to the door; half-conquered, half-resenting; intending to go out as soon as she left her position, but unwilling to use the violence he had threatened not five minutes before.  Margaret laid her hand on his arm.

‘Come with me,’ she said.  ‘Come and see her!’

The voice in which she spoke was very low and solemn; but there was no fear or doubt expressed in it, either of him or of his compliance.  He sullenly rose up.  He stood uncertain, with dogged irresolution upon his face.  She waited him there; quietly and patiently waited for his time to move.  He had a strange pleasure in making her wait; but at last he moved towards the stairs.