Haworth had stopped when just within the door of the room and stood there for a little, looking across at the sleeping child; then he suddenly turned away and hurried down the stairs into the room below. Edith, following, felt her hands caught, with a sort of desperation, in his, and heard his whispered, “Good night ... good night, my dear!” He released her hands and was turning to leave her, when the front door, opening and closing again with a violent bang, shook the flimsy little house, and instantly thereafter Augustus Findlay plunged into the room. He was out of breath from running, and frenzied with precisely the right mixture of vindictive jealousy and vicious alcohol to produce perfect ignition. “I thought so!” he shouted between his gasps for wind. “By God! I just got on to it they were trying to hold me back!” He glared across at Haworth. “What the hell you doing here in the house with my wife?” He was pulling something like a glove on his right hand as he spoke. “I’m calling on Mrs. Findlay,” Haworth answered, quietly, and turned toward Edith as if to say a final word. “Calling, were you?” Augustus was striding toward him. “Well if you’re _calling_ I’ve got to show my hand—an’ here it is you —— —— ——!” Saying which he struck Haworth a savage blow in the face with the brass knuckles he’d been putting on his hand. Edith, uttering a subdued cry, tried to run in between the two, but Haworth put out his hand and held her back. He was standing quite unconcerned, though the blood was running down the left side of his face from an ugly cut just under the eye. Turning to Edith as though nothing out of the way had occurred, Haworth raised her hand to his lips, looked deeply into her eyes, and huskily murmuring “Good-bye,” walked out of the room and out of the house without so much as a glance at Findlay. For an instant the two left there stood silent; then Augustus recovering himself made for the stairs, up which he rushed with stumbling feet. When he came pounding down again a moment later he found Edith blocking the way. “You shan’t go!” she called out, breathlessly. “You shan’t go with that!” “What?” he demanded, stopping before her. “You’ve got it there under your coat!” “What if I have?” (Trying to pass her.) “You shan’t take it with you! No—no—no!” She was holding to his arm and trying to reach the gun. He shoved her violently aside and strode toward the door. “You think I’m going to stop for _you_, you —— ——! No, by God! an’ you’ll damned well get it yourself when I come back!” And he was gone before she had time to recover herself. * * * * * Augustus knew the streets Haworth would be likely to take to get home, and started after him on a run—an unsteady one, owing to the load of booze he was carrying, but he got over the ground. He had the gun gripped in his hand and was muttering threats and foul names as he plunged along.