On hearing this, he had
mercilessly insisted--well or ill--that the lady should go. There was
the hospital to take her to; and if the hospital shut its doors, there
was the workhouse to try next. If she was not out of the place in an
hour's time, he threatened to come back and take her out himself. His
wife knew but too well that he was brute enough to be as good as his
word; and no other choice had been left her but to do as she had done,
for the sake of the lady herself.
The woman told her shocking story, with every appearance of being
honestly ashamed of it. Toward the end, Kirke felt the clasp of the
burning fingers slackening round his hand. He looked back at the bed
again. Her weary eyes were closing; and, with her face still turned
toward the sailor, she was sinking into sleep.
"Is there any one in the front room?" said Kirke, in a whisper. "Come in
there; I have something to say to you."
The woman followed him through the door of communication between the
rooms.
"How much does she owe you?" he asked.
The landlady mentioned the sum. Kirke put it down before her on the
table.
"Where is your husband?" was his next question.
"Waiting at the public-house, sir, till the hour is up.
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