`If he lives,' she thought to herself, `what will become of him -- what will he be?'
Her heart was anxious.
`I will call him "Paul,"' she said suddenly; she knew not why.
After a while she went home. A fine shadow was flung over the deep green meadow, darkening all.
As she expected, she found the house empty. But Morel was home by ten o'clock, and that day, at least, ended peacefully.
Walter Morel was, at this time, exceedingly irritable. His work seemed to exhaust him. When he came home he did not speak civilly to anybody. If the fire were rather low he bullied about that; he grumbled about his dinner; if the children made a chatter he shouted at them in a way that made their mother's blood boil, and made them hate him.
On the Saturday, he was not home by eleven o'clock. The baby was unwell, and was restless, crying if he were put down. Mrs Morel, tired to death, and still weak, was scarcely under control.
`I wish the nuisance would come,' she said wearily to herself.
The child at last sank down to sleep in her arms. She was too tired to carry him to the cradle.
`But I'll say nothing, whatever time he comes,' she said. `It only works me up; I won't say anything. But I know if he does anything it'll make my blood boil,' she added to herself.
She sighed, hearing him coming, as if it were something she could not bear. He, taking his revenge, was nearly drunk. She kept her head bent over the child as he entered, not wishing to see him. But it went through her like a flash of hot fire when, in passing, he lurched against the dresser, setting the tins rattling, and clutched at the white pot knobs for support. He hung up his hat and coat, then returned, stood glowering from a distance at her, as she sat bowed over the child.
`Is there nothing to eat in the house?' he asked, insolently, as if to a servant. In certain stages of his intoxication he affected the clipped, mincing speech of the towns. Mrs Morel hated him most in this condition.
`You know what there is in the house,' she said, so coldly, it sounded impersonal.
He stood and glared at her without moving a muscle.
`I asked a civil question, and I expect a civil answer,' he said affectedly.
`And you got it,' she said, still ignoring him.
He glowered again. Then he came unsteadily forward. He leaned on the table with one hand, and with the other jerked at the table drawer to get a knife to cut bread. The drawer stuck because he pulled sideways. In a temper he dragged it, so that it flew out bodily, and spoons, forks, knives, a hundred metallic things, splashed with a clatter and a clang upon the brick floor. The baby gave a little convulsed start.
`What are you doing, clumsy, drunken fool?' the mother cried.
`Then tha should get the flamin' thing thysen. Tha should get up, like other women have to, an' wait on a man.'
`Wait on you -- wait on you?' she cried. `Yes, I see myself.'