Another voice became audible.  It was that of Ned Higgs, who had opened his door to bellow curses at the disturbers of his rest.

‘They’ll be wakin’ mother,’ said Stephen.  ’There, I knew they would.’

Mrs. Candy stirred, and, after a few vain efforts to raise herself, started up suddenly.  She fixed her eyes on the fire, which was just beginning to blaze, and uttered a dreadful cry, a shriek of mad terror.

‘O God!’ groaned her son.  ‘I hope it ain’t goin’ to be one of her bad nights.  Mother, mother! what’s wrong with you?  See, come to the fire an’ warm yourself, mother.’

She repeated the cry two or three times, but with less violence; then, as though exhausted, she fell face downwards, her arms folded about her head.  The moaning which Bob had beard earlier in the evening recommenced.

Happily, it was not to be one of her bad nights.  Fits of the horrors only came upon her twice before morning.  Towards one o’clock Stephen had sunk into a sleep which scarcely any conceivable uproar could have broken; he lay with his head on his right arm, his legs stretched out at full length; his breathing was light.  Bob was much later in getting rest.  As often as he slumbered for an instant, the terrible image of his fear rose manifest before him; he saw himself in the clutch of his hunters, just like Jack Bartley, and woke to lie quivering.  Must not that be the end of it, sooner or later?  Might he not as well give himself up to-morrow?  But the thought of punishment such as his crime receives was unendurable.  It haunted him in nightmare when sheer exhaustion had at length weighed down his eyelids.

Long before daybreak he was conscious again, tormented with thirst and his head aching woefully.  Someone had risen in the room above, and was tramping about in heavy boots.  The noise seemed to disturb Mrs. Candy; she cried out in her sleep.  In a few minutes the early riser came forth and began to descend the stairs; he was going to his work.

A little while, and in the court below a voice shouted, ‘Bill Bill!’ Another worker being called, doubtless.

At seven o’clock Stephen roused himself.  He took a piece of soap from a shelf of the cupboard, threw a dirty rag over his arm, and went down to wash at the tap in the yard.  Only on returning did he address Bob.

‘Feelin’ any better?’

‘I think so.  But I’m very bad.’

‘Are you goin’ to stay here?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Got any money?’

‘Yes.  Ninepence.  Could you get me something to drink?’

Stephen took twopence, went out, and speedily returned with a large mug of coffee; from his pocket he brought forth a lump of cake, which had cost a halfpenny.  This, he thought. might tempt a sick appetite.  His own breakfast he would take at the coffee-shop.

‘Mother’ll get you anything else you want,’ he said.  ’She knows herself generally first thing in the morning.  Let her take back the mug; I had to leave threepence on it.’