“Oh, yes, I will,” said Olver, seizing her by the wrists. “Do you call to mind what you once told me, that you saw them together, and it seemed a week wasn’t enough for all they had to say? Where are they now. Three miles apart, yet they haven’t seen one another for six months,--from the time the Downs were green to the time the Downs are white. And do you suppose he’s left her for a moment in thought, or she left him? Not they. They used to slip together to the Kennet, those two, and they’ve been suddenly divided. And you whine to me because you’re unhappy. You say you’re not well. Not well! You! Who cares? You could whelp a litter and be none the worse, and you can stand a bit of unhappiness just as well as you can stand your baby. I’ve no pity for you. But Nicco,--he’ll break,--he’ll die inside.” “Don’t, Olver, don’t; what’s the good of torturing me now. What can I do?” “What can you do? You can clear out, can’t you? Go and have your baby in a ditch, somewhere where Nicco can never find you again,” he said brutally. “Where would be the good of that? She’s married herself, Miss Warrener is, and I love Nicco, I keep on telling you; I can’t give him up,” cried Daisy, confused and hunted to the last extremity; and she thought of something she could say to Olver, something which would either silence him or else force him to throw down all his cards upon the table, “Whose fault is it, anyhow, that Nicco had to marry me, to save me from the shame his own brother brought upon me?” “You think you can trick me like you tricked him,” cried Olver, horrible with rage. “Why don’t you say the shame Peter Gorwyn brought on you? You might be a little nearer the mark.” “Peter Gorwyn?” They faced one another, all civilisation gone from them. They struck blindly at one another, keeping nothing back. “I saw you, oh, I saw you, the day of the Scouring.” “I loved Nicco, I do love him; I had to have him!” “_You_ love him?--you’re killing him.” “He couldn’t have got Miss Warrener,--not with a brother like you. Do you hear? ’Tisn’t me that keeps him from her; it’s you, you, you.” “Me?” shouted Olver. “You, did you never think of that before? It doesn’t matter whether my baby is your baby or Peter Gorwyn’s baby. It’s you that spoil his life for him, you and your mother, you mischievous dolt, and your dirty blood in him. He’s tainted, and he knows it. ’Tisn’t me. I came long after; I’m just an extra. ’Tis you and your mother destroyed him, from the day he was born.” She clasped her hands suddenly to her side and fell back on to her chair. “You’ve done for me,” she groaned. The door opened and Lovel stood upon the threshold. Olver ran to him, touching him all over with his hands, reaching up to pass his hands even over his brother’s head.