So Stephen also went forth to his labour—­in this case, it may surely be said, the curse of curses. . . .

At this hour Pennyloaf bestirred herself after a night of weeping.  Last evening the police had visited her room, and had searched it thoroughly.  The revelation amazed her; she would not believe the charge that was made against her husband.  She became angry with Mrs. Griffin when that practical woman said she was not at all surprised.  Utterly gone was her resentment of Bob’s latest cruelty.  His failure to return home seemed to prove that he had been arrested, and she could think of nothing but the punishment that awaited him.

‘It’s penal servitude,’ remarked Mrs. Griffin, frankly.  ’Five, or p’r’aps ten years.  I’ve heard of ’em gettin’ sent for life.’

Pennyloaf would not believe in the possibility of this befalling her husband.  It was too cruel.  There would be some pity, some mercy.  She had a confused notion of witnesses being called to give a man a good character, and strengthened herself in the thought of what she would say, under such circumstances on Bob’s behalf.  ’He’s been a good ‘usband,’ she kept repeating to Mrs. Griffin, and to the other neighbours who crowded to indulge their curiosity.  ’There’s nobody can say as he ain’t been a good ‘usband; it’s a lie if they do.’

By eight o’clock she was at the police-station.  With fear she entered the ugly doorway and approached a policeman who stood in the ante-room.  When she had made her inquiry, the man referred her to the inspector.  She was asked many questions, but to her own received no definite reply; she had better look in again the next morning.

‘It’s my belief they ain’t got him,’ said Mrs. Griffin.  ’He’s had a warnin’ from his pals.’

Pennyloaf would dearly have liked to communicate with Jane Snowdon, but shame prevented her.  All day she stood by the house door, looking eagerly now this way, now that, with an unreasoning hope that Bob might show himself.  She tried to believe that he was only keeping away because of his behaviour to her the night before; it was the first time he had laid hand upon her, and he felt ashamed of himself.  He would come back, and this charge against him would be proved false; Pennyloaf could not distinguish between her desire that something might happen and the probability of its doing so.

But darkness fell upon the streets, and her watch was kept in rain.  She dreaded the thought of passing another night in uncertainty.  Long ago her tears had dried up; she had a parched throat and trembling, feverish hands.  Between seven and eight o’clock she went to Mrs. Griffin and begged her to take care of the child for a little while.

‘I’m goin’ to see if I can hear anything about him.  Somebody may know where he is.’

And first of all she directed her steps to Shooter’s Gardens.  It was very unlikely that her mother could be of any use, but she would seek there.  Afterwards she must go to Farringdon Road Buildings, though never yet had she presented herself to Bob’s father.