“I'll learn you to answer when you're spoken to, you damn barstard!” he said, approaching her with raised hand. “Don't you hit her, you brute!” exclaimed his wife, springing in sudden anger to her feet. “Oh, father, don't hit me--oh, please don't--I'll tell--I'll tell! I got eighteenpence,” cried the girl, shrinking back terrified. He turned and went back to his seat, grinning at his success in getting at the truth. Presently he asked his wife if she had spent eighteenpence in bread. “No, I didn't. I got a haddock for morning, and two ounces of tea, and a loaf, and a bundle of wood,” she returned sullenly. After an interval of a couple of minutes he got up, went to the cupboard, and opened it. “There's the haddy right enough,” he said. “No great things--cost you thrippence, I s'pose. Tea tuppence-ha'penny, and that's fivepence-ha'penny, and a ha'penny for wood, and tuppence-ha'penny for a loaf makes eightpence-ha'penny. There's more'n ninepence over, Margy, and all I want is a pint of beer and a screw. Threepence--come now.” “I've nothing to give you,” she returned doggedly. “Then what did you do with it? How much gin did you drink--eh?” “As much as I could get,” she answered defiantly. He looked at her, whistled and drummed, then got up and went out. “Mother, he's gone,” whispered Fan. “No such luck. He's only going to ask Mrs. Clark if I gave her the florin. He won't be long you'll see.” Very soon he did return and sat down again. “A pint and a screw, that's all I want,” he said, as if speaking to himself, and there was no answer. Then he got up, put his hand on her shoulder, and almost shook her out of her chair. “Don't you hear?” he shouted. “Let me alone, you drunken brute; I've got nothing, I tell you,” she returned, and after watching his face a few moments settled down again. “All right, old woman, I'll leave you,” he said, dropping his hands. But suddenly changing his mind, he swung round and dealt her a heavy blow. She sprang up with a scream of anger and pain, and taking no notice of Fan's piteous cries and pleadings, rushed at him; they struggled together for some moments, but the man was the strongest; very soon he flung her violently from him, and reeling away to some distance, and unable to recover her balance, she finally fell heavily on to the floor. “Oh, mother, mother, he has killed you,” sobbed Fan, throwing herself down beside the fallen woman and trying to raise her head. “That I will, and you too,” remarked the man, going back to his seat. The woman, recovering from the shock, struggled to her feet and sat down again on her chair. She was silent, looking now neither angry nor frightened, but seemed half-dazed, and bending forward a little she covered her eyes with her hand. “Oh, mother, poor mother--are you hurt?” whispered Fan, trying to draw the hand away to look into the bowed face.