heard them, and clasped each other's hands in alarm; but Bet sound,
very sound, asleep did not know when her father reeled into the room.
He had been out all night--a common practice of his--and he ought to
have been fairly sober now, for the public-houses had been shut for
many hours, but a boon companion had taken him home for a private
carouse. He was more tipsy than he had ever been known to be at that
hour of the morning, and consequently more savage. He entered the room
where his dead wife and his young daughter lay, cursing and
muttering,--a bad man every inch of him--terrible just then in his
savage imbecility.

"Bet," he said, "Bet, get up. Martha, I want my cup of tea. Get it for
me at once--I say, at once! I'm an hour late now for the docks, and
Jim Targent will get my job. I must have my tea,--my head's reeling!
Get up, Martha, or I'll kick you!"

"I'll get you the tea, father," said Bet.

She had risen instantly at the sound of his voice. "Set down in that
chair and keep still; keep still, I say--you'd better."

She pushed him on to a hard wooden chair, shaking him not a little as
she did so.

"There, I'll put the kettle on and make the tea for you--not that I'll
ever do it again--no, never, as long as I live. There, you'd better
set quiet, or not one drop shall pass your lips."

"Why don't the woman get it for me?" growled Granger. "I didn't mean
you to be awoke, Bet. Young gels must have their slumber out. Why don't