might cut with eighty pounds! And a fortune might be made out of it, too, if it were used wisely, and not buried away in a wretched three-and-sixpenny cottage. Properly invested on judicious flat-race Certainties, it would double itself about twice a week. So he made it very plain to Nan that the sale of the cottage for what it would fetch and the handing over of the proceeds was a plan he insisted on. But the stupid woman wouldn’t see it. It was plain that she was beginning to over-estimate her importance in the establishment, by reason that of late she had not been sufficiently sworn at, shoved, thumped, and twisted and pinched on the arms. That was the worst of kindness to a woman—she took advantage. So that he was obliged to begin to thump again. There was no need to do it so that Johnny might know, and so cause a low disturbance. In fact, Johnny took little notice of things at home just now, no longer made inquiries, nor lifted the poker with so impudent a stare; and he was scarce indoors at all. Wherefore Mr. Butson punched and ruffianed—being careful to leave no disreputable marks in visible spots, such as black eyes—and sometimes he kicked; and he demanded more money and more, but all the while insisted on the sale of the cottage. The monstrous laws of conveyance made it impossible for him to lay hands on the deeds and sell the place himself, or he would have done it, of course. And he made it advisable, too, for Bessy to avoid him—and that had a better effect than any direct attack on Nan. Till at last the woman was so far reduced that she was near a very dangerous rebellion indeed—nearer than Mr. Butson suspected. For she began to think of attempting a separation by magistrate’s order, shameful as it would be in the neighbourhood. Though she feared greatly. So it was when Johnny turned toward home on an evening a little before nine o’clock, sick of blind searching, and ready to tell his mother the story of Nora Sansom, first to last. At Harbour Lane corner he saw Butson walking off, and wondered to see him about Blackwall so early in the evening. Nobody was in the shop, and Johnny went through so quietly that he surprised his mother and Bessy, in the shop-parlour, crying bitterly. Nan sat on a chair and Bessy bent over her, and no concealment was possible. Johnny was seized by a dire surmise. “Mother! What’s this?” he said. “What’s he been doing?” Nan bent lower, but answered nothing. Johnny looked toward Bessy, almost sternly. “He—he’s beaten mother again,” Bessy blurted, between sobs. “Beaten mother! Again!” Johnny’s face was white, and his nostrils stood wide and round. “Beaten mother! Again!” “He’s always doing it now,” Bessy sobbed. “And wanting more money. I’d a good mind to tell you before, but—but—” “Beaten mother!” The room swam before Johnny’s eyes. “Why—” Nan rose to close the door. “No, Johnny,” she said meekly. “I’m a bit upset, but don’t let it upset you. Don’t you—”