He came and sat down at the corner of the table, close to her, his chin
on his hand.

''Ow did yer spend it?' he said, startled, as the words came out, by his
own voice, so grinding and ugly was the note of it.

Her miserable eyes travelled over his face, seeking as it were, for some
promise, however faint, of future help and succour, however distant.

Apparently she saw none, for her own look flamed to fresh defiance.

'I didn't spend it. Saunders wor lyin.'

''Ow did yer get them half-crowns?'

'I got 'em at Bedford. Mr. Grimstone give 'em me.'

Isaac looked at her hard, his shame burning into his heart. This was how
she had got her money for the gin. Of course, she had lied to him the
night before, in her account of her fall, and of that mark on her
forehead, which still showed, a red disfigurement, under the hair she
had drawn across it. The sight of it, of her, began to excite in him a
quick loathing. He was at bottom a man of violent passions, and in the
presence of evil-doing so flagrant, so cruel--of a household ruin so
complete--his religion failed him.

'When was it as yer opened that box fust?' he asked her again, scorning
her denials.

She burst into a rage of tears, lifting her apron to her eyes, and