" "You've been in prison. He's been in prison."
Beneath the seeming acquiescence of a man subject to domination from his
birth up, those four words covered in Hughs such a whirlpool of surging
sensation, such ferocity of bitterness, and madness, and defiance, that
no outpouring could have appreciably relieved its course. The same
four words summed up in Mrs. Hughs so strange a mingling of fear,
commiseration, loyalty, shame, and trembling curiosity at the new
factor which had come into the life of all this little family walking
giraffe-like back to Kensington that to have gone beyond them would have
been like plunging into a wintry river. To their son the four words were
as a legend of romance, conjuring up no definite image, lighting merely
the glow of wonder.
"Don't lag, Stanley. Keep up with your father."
The little boy took three steps at an increased pace, then fell behind
again. His black eyes seemed to answer: 'You say that because you don't
know what else to say.' And without alteration in their giraffe-like
formation, but again in silence, the three proceeded.
In the heart of the seamstress doubt and fear were being slowly knit
into dread of the first sound to pass her husband's lips. What would
he ask? How should she answer? Would he talk wild, or would he talk
sensible? Would he have forgotten that young girl, or had he nursed and
nourished his wicked fancy in the house of grief and silence? Would he
ask where the baby was? Would he speak a kind word to her? But alongside
her dread there was guttering within her the undying resolution not to
'let him go from her, if it were ever so, to that young girl.
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