Tommy did not reply. The fear of the water-butt was upon him--a fear darker than the night, an evil worse than hunger or cold--and Clare and the water-butt were one. “You needn’t think to hide, Tommy; I see you, you bad boy!” whispered Clare. “After all I said, you ran away and left the baby to the rats! They’ve been biting her horribly--one at least has. You can stay away as long as you like now; I’ve got a better nurse. Good-night!” Tommy gave a great howl. “Hold your tongue, you rascal!” cried Clare, still in a whisper. “You’ll let the police know where we are!” “Do let me in, Clare! I’m so ’ungry and so cold!” “Then I shall have to put you in the water-butt! I said I would!” “If you don’t promise not to, I’ll go straight to the police. They’ll take the brat from you, and put her in the workhouse!” Clare thought for a moment whether it would not be right to kill such a traitor. His mind was full of history-tales, and, like Dante, he put treachery in its own place, namely the deepest hell. But with the thought came the words he had said so many times without thinking what they meant--“Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us,” and he saw that he was expected to forgive Tommy. “Tommy, I forgive you,” he said solemnly, “and will be friends with you again; but I have said it, and I was right to say it, and into the water-butt you must go! I can’t trust your word now, and I think I shall be able to trust it after that.” Ere he had finished the words, Tommy lifted up his voice in a most unearthly screech. Instantly Clare had him by the throat, so that he could not utter a sound. “Tommy,” he said, “I’m going to let you breathe again, but the moment you make a noise, I’ll choke you as I’m doing now.” With that he relaxed his hold. But Tommy had paid no heed to what he said, and began a second screech the moment he found passage for it. Immediately he was choked, and after two or three attempts, finally desisted. “I won’t!” he said. “You shall, Tommy. You’re going head over in the butt. We’re going to it now!” Tommy threw himself upon the ground and kicked, but dared not scream. It was awful! He would drop right through into the great place where the moon was! Clare threw him over his shoulder, and found him not half the weight of the parcel of linen. Tommy would have bitten like a weasel, but he feared Clare’s terrible hands. He was on the back of Giant Despair, in the form of one of the best boys in the world. Clare took him round the wall, and over the fence into the blacksmith’s yard. The smithy was quite dark. “Please, I didn’t mean to do it!” sobbed Tommy from behind him, as Clare bore him steadily up the yard. It was all he could do to say the words, for the thought of what they were approaching sent a scream into his throat every time he parted his lips to speak. Clare stopped. “What didn’t you mean to do?” he asked. “I didn’t mean to leave the baby.” “How did you do it then?”