Dick followed her into the house, starting back at sight of the prostrate figure on the couch. Betty dropped her wood on the hearth and came swiftly across to him with her panther-like tread. There was an expression on her face which might have recalled the beast in question. She placed both her hands upon his breast, and he, giving way before them, stepped backwards a few paces. “Look at him,” said Betty; “he is dying! Dick Tuffin, it is you who have killed my husband!” “I swear I didn’t know it was him,” faltered Dick. “I’d no thought of harm. I went out with the others for a frolic. You yourself did tell I your husband was miles away.” She had told him! He would make out that she had delivered him into their hands! A red mist came before her eyes. “Even when he did catch I,” went on Dick, “I didn’t know who ’twas. But somebody told me jist now that Stubbs was runnin’ for the doctor for en, so I come--I couldn’t rest, ye see. I had to come. Mrs. Whittle, I don’t know what you’ll say to me.” Betty said nothing at all, but the steady pressure of her hands upon his breast increased, and, as before, Dick recoiled beneath it. Her eyes were blazing in her white face; her dishevelled fair hair fell about her shoulders. Dick gazed at her remorsefully, suffering her unresistingly to push him the length of the little room and through an open doorway. He imagined her to be ejecting him from the house, but all in a moment she threw her whole weight upon him with such violence that he stumbled and fell. Before he could recover he found the door closed upon him and bolted. He heard hasty steps in the inner room and the dragging across the floor of some heavy piece of furniture, which was presently pushed against the door. “Mrs. Whittle!” he called out, “what are you doing? Are you mad?” Then came Betty’s voice, harsh and broken: “I’ve got ye, Dick Tuffin! Ye can’t get out; there’s no window and no other door. I’ve got ye and I mean to keep ye! Ye’ve killed my husband--ye’ve made me a widow and my child an orphan--an’ I’ll not rest till I do the same by your wife and your child.” And then something else came battering up against the door. Dick had no doubt but that the barricade was now complete. He felt about him in the darkness, identifying shelves, one or two small barrels, a crock: he was in the buttery most likely. He might possibly force his way out; the bolt was in all probability not very strong, and once the door was opened he could soon do away with all other obstacles; but then he would have that fierce woman to encounter. He could not escape without doing her some hurt, and the awful face of the wounded man would again meet his gaze. Besides, of what use would it be to attempt to escape? He was well known in the place, and the police would soon track him.