The house was dark--all but one window, behind the yellow blind of which a light shone. She drew out her latchkey and at first fumbled at the opening with a shaking hand. Then she recalled her courage, found the latch at once, slipped in the key and pushed the door open. No sound: the stairs stretched up before her into pitchy darkness. She held her breath; tried to listen. Still no sound but one in her ears--the thump-thump of her own overstrained heart. She closed the door as softly as she could, and mounted the first flight. Hark! the sound of a step above, followed by a faint glimmer of light. At the turn of the stairs she looked up and faced him. He stood on the landing outside their bedroom door, with a candle held aloft. His eyes were blazing. He must be met quietly, and quietly she went up. "See how quick I have been!" she said gaily, and her voice did not shake. She passed in by the open door. He followed her stupidly and set the candle down. "They have arrived," she said, drawing off her mittens. Her eyes travelled round the room to assure her that no weapon lay handy, though for her own sake she had no wish to live. "Come here," he commanded thickly. "Yes, dear: what is it?" "Where have you been?" "Why, to Johnson's Court, as you know." "Conspiring against me, eh?" He pushed his face close to hers: his reeking breath sickened her: but she smiled on, expecting him to strike. "Come here!"--though she was close already. "Stand up. I'll teach you to gossip about me. You and your gentry, my fine madam. I'll teach you--I'll teach you!" He struck now, blow after blow. She turned her quivering shoulders to it, shielding the unborn child. He beat her to her knees. Still she curved her back, holding her arms stiffly before her, leaving her head and neck exposed. Would the next blow kill her? She waited. The table went over with a crash, the light with it. He must have fallen across it: for, an instant later, she heard the thud of his head against the floor. It seemed to her that she crouched there for an endless while, waiting for him to stir. He lay close beside her foot. Her heel touched him as she rose. She groped for the tinder-box, found the candle, lit it, held it over him. A trickle of blood ran from his right temple, where it had struck against the bed-post. His eyes were closed. She loosened his collar, put forth all her strength--her old maiden strength for a moment restored to her--and lifted him on to the bed. By and by his lips parted in a sigh. He began to breathe heavily--to sleep, as she thought. Still the blood trickled slowly from his temple and on to the pillow. She stepped to the water-jug, dipped her handkerchief in it, and drawing a chair to the bedside, seated herself and began to bathe the wound.