"But, Emma, you were asleep when I came in."
"How can you tell such infernal lies? I——. To think I'm chained to a man who can't say a word of truth! God help me! To have to lie night after night in the same bed with a liar!"
The child in the first room lay quaking with terror, dreading one of those cruel and shameful scenes which had made a hell of his childhood.
"Hush, Emma!" the man kept saying. "Do be reasonable. Think of the children. They'll hear us."
"I don't care if they do. They'll know soon enough, God knows! I wish I was under the turf!"
"Emma, do be reasonable."
"Reasonable! I——"
The child was crying again. The father came back to the first room, got something from his coat pocket, and took it in.
"Nils, are you quite mad, or do you want to drive me mad? Don't give the child that rattle! You must be either mad or a brute, and my nerves in this state. Haven't you got the slightest consideration for——"
"It's not a rattle, Emma; it's a doll."
"There you go again! Flinging your money away on rubbish that'll be on the dust-heap to-morrow, and your poor wife slaving her finger-nails off for you in this wretched hole, and not a decent rag to her back. Me, your clever wife that ought to be——. Light those candles and bring me a wet towel for my head. I must read now, and try and compose my nerves, if I can."
When the father returned to the first room,
