‘An’ it’s you as comes tellin’ me this!’ John exclaimed, a note of anguish blending with his fury. ‘You have the face to stand there an’ speak like that to me, when you know it’s all your own doing! Who was the cause as the girl went away from ’ome? Who was it, I say? Haven’t been as friendly as we used to be, haven’t we? An’ why? Haven’t I seen it plainer an’ plainer what you was thinkin’ when you told me to let her have her own way? I spoke the truth then—’cause I felt it; an’ I was fool enough, for all that, to try an’ believe I was in the wrong. Now you come an’ stand before me—why, I couldn’t a’ thought there was a man had so little shame in him!’ Mrs. Hewett entered the room; the loud angry voice had reached her ears, and in spite of terror she came to interpose between the two men. ‘Do you know what he’s come to tell me?’ cried her husband. ‘Oh, you do! He’s been tryin’ to talk you over, has he? You just answer to me, an’ tell the truth. Who was it persuaded me to let Clara go from ’ome? Who was it come here an’ talked an’ talked till he got his way? He knew what ‘ud be the end of it—he knew, I tell you,—an’ it’s just what he wanted. Hasn’t he been drawin’ away from us ever since the girl left? I saw it all that night when he came here persuadin’ me, an’ I told it him plain. He wanted to ‘a done with her, and to a’ done with us. Am I speakin’ the truth or not?’ ‘Why should he think that way, John?’ pleaded the woman faintly. ‘You know very well as Clara ‘ud never listen to him. What need had he to do such things?’ ‘Oh yes, I’m wrong! Of course I’m wrong! You always did go against me when there was anything to do with Clara. She’d never listen to him? No, of course she wouldn’t, an’ he couldn’t rest until he saw her come to harm. What do _you_ care either? She’s no child of yours. But I tell you I’d see you an’ all your children beg an’ die in the streets rather than a hair of my own girl’s head should be touched!’ Indulgence of his passion was making a madman of him. Never till now had he uttered an unfeeling word to his wife, but the look with which he accompanied this brutal speech was one of fiery hatred. ‘Don’t turn on _her_!’ cried Sidney, with bitterness. ‘Say what you like to me, and believe the worst you can of me; I shouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t been ready to bear everything. It’s no good speaking reason to you now, but maybe you’ll understand some day.’ ‘Who know’s as she’s come to harm?’ urged Mrs. Hewett. ‘Nobody can say it of her for certain, yet.’ ‘I’d have told him that, if he’d only listened to me and given me credit for honesty,’ said Kirkwood. ‘It is as likely as not she’s gone away just because I angered her on Saturday. Perhaps she said to herself she’d have done with me once for all. It would be just her way.’