‘I never heard of such an extraordinary thing in my life,’ said her husband, who, nevertheless, was becoming rather uncomfortable under the coldness and decision of her manner, so different from the gentleness of Hannah’s general demeanour. ‘What the h--l will you do next? How long have you arrived at this decision?’ ‘Not long,’ she answered, passing her hand in a weary manner over her aching brow, ‘but this is not all, Henry! The money that Mr Crampton left to Wally. The child shall not keep it. It must be drawn out of the business at once, and if it is useless to try and persuade Mrs Crampton to take it back again, it must be spent in charity. No child of mine shall touch it.’ ‘Hannah!’ said her husband fiercely, catching her by the wrist, ‘what does all this mean? You have some latent reason for talking to me in this fashion. What is it? I insist upon knowing.’ ‘I don’t think there is any necessity to force me to put my meaning into so many words, Henry,’ replied his wife, quietly, but with a fast-beating heart, as she disengaged her wrist from his grasp; ‘the reason is, that you have taken to talking in your sleep of late, and last night you were so noisy that I opened the door between our rooms, and I heard--_all_!’ Hindes became as white as a sheet, as he stood gazing at her, and breathing hard. After a long pause he said,-- ‘Well, and what are you going to do?’ ‘The money must be given up, of course,’ she answered, as quietly as if they were discussing the most ordinary topic, ‘and the children must be removed from home. It seems hard, but I could not--I could not bear to see them--playing with you, or caressing you.’ Hindes groaned and turned away. That he had rendered himself an unfit associate for his little ones, was perhaps the worst thing he had been yet called upon to bear. ‘And you, Hannah,’ he whispered after a moment’s pause, ‘what shall you do?’ ‘I am your wife, Henry,’ she answered, simply; ‘my place is with you.’ ‘You will stay by me--knowing all--hating all?’ he asked, fearfully. ‘Knowing all and hating all,’ she said softly, ‘but not necessarily hating _you_.’ He crept to her side and, burying his face in the folds of her dress, burst into a flood of tears. CHAPTER VI. The town of Luton is almost entirely devoted to the business of plaiting straw for hats and bonnets. The windows of the cottages are filled with specimens of the art, from the finest plait possible, for the manufacture of Tuscan and Leghorn straw, to the coarse, rustic twist that has been so fashionable of late years. The town is, consequently, full of young women who, instead of going to service, earn their livelihood by plaiting straw. Amongst them was Rhoda Berry, who lived with her widowed mother in a cottage on the outskirts of the town.