His hopeful craze seemed to mock her own want of hope with so bitter an
aptness that in her nervous irritation she could have screamed at him
outright. But she only said in self-mockery, and speaking to him as
though he had been sane, "Why, Captain Hagberd, your son may not even
want to look at me."

He flung his head back and laughed his throaty affected cackle of anger.

"What! That boy? Not want to look at the only sensible girl for miles
around? What do you think I am here for, my dear--my dear--my dear? . . .
What? You wait. You just wait. You'll see to-morrow. I'll soon--"

"Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!" howled old Carvil inside. "Bessie!--my pipe!"
That fat blind man had given himself up to a very lust of laziness. He
would not lift his hand to reach for the things she took care to leave
at his very elbow. He would not move a limb; he would not rise from his
chair, he would not put one foot before another, in that parlour (where
he knew his way as well as if he had his sight), without calling her to
his side and hanging all his atrocious weight on her shoulder. He would
not eat one single mouthful of food without her close attendance. He had
made himself helpless beyond his affliction, to enslave her better. She
stood still for a moment, setting her teeth in the dusk, then turned and
walked slowly indoors.

Captain Hagberd went back to his spade. The shouting in Carvil's cottage
stopped, and after a while the window of the parlour downstairs was lit
up. A man coming from the end of the street with a firm leisurely step
passed on, but seemed to have caught sight of Captain Hagberd, because
he turned back a pace or two. A cold white light lingered in the western