The spell broke at the sound of the wheels, and at once the children were out at the door, tumbling and fighting as they went. As soon as the trap stopped they were round it like flies, fretting the horse and settling on the step. Marget caught the baby by its skirts as it stumbled after the rest, and it set up one of its stupendous howls. Only Kit stayed perfectly still where he was, as if the strength had indeed gone out of his limbs. The stage was set, but the chief actor did not appear. Bob turned in his seat and looked in at the door, and up at his father’s window and gave a hail, but Kit never showed that he heard him or tried to stir. The tears ran down his face and he did not so much as lift up a hand. Then Marget snatched at his bundle and thrust it into his arms. “Ay, well, then gang!” she said in a brutal voice, and watched him tremble and totter to his feet. The red-haired baby fought and shrieked to be down, but she shook the breath out of it with a mighty jolt. Bob whistled and called again, but the two in the house still looked at each other and paid no heed. They had come too close in that last clash to slip apart again with ease. The hatred on both sides had its mixture of fascination and fear. He felt a helpless dread of a power that beauty could not touch; she, an angry terror of genius out of reach. One of the children came running back to the door, but still the old man did not move. It seemed as though the leash in which Marget held him had not been slipped. The moment was here that began for him better things, but he did not feel in the least as though the break had come. The sense of relief he had looked for did not ease his heart. She scowled, “Be off with you, then,” turning away her head, but still he stood without attempting to go, as motionless as a stock. Never once did he even turn and look out at the door. And then, “I’m obliged to you, Marget,” he said at last; “I’m obliged to you, Marget, for all you’ve done,” and shifted the bundle to show a shaky hand. She brushed it aside with a sharp elbow, but the red came violently into her face. “I’ll be bound you’re obliged!” she sneered, tossing her head. “You’d ha’ been in Queer Street, I reckon, but for us. Eh, well, I hope you’ll find everything to your liking at the farm.” The baby opened its mouth again, and she shut it with a jerk. There was a pause, and then she went on, her voice sounding hypnotised and dragged. “You’ll mind you can come back if you find as you can’t bide? I want nowt wi’ you, an’ that’s flat, but I reckon I can go on. You’d be best to come back if you find as you can’t bide....”