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"Oh, Sam, what have I done? What have I done?" I appealed to him.

"I

can't remember half of it, just bits. I can't believe I . " My head dropped again. I couldn't believe that I had used bad language and struck a policeman. I could believe that I had got drunk and perhaps had hit out at Mollie's husband. That reaction would only have been natural, but to use obscene language, no. I had been swearing inside my head a lot of late, but it hadn't been bad swearing, just swearing.

I gripped Sam's hands and said, " Constance? "

"Don't worry about her, she's young and she'll come round."

So that meant she had taken it badly. Well, in what way did I expect her to take it? My name would be a byword in the town now and she'd have to live it down. And there was Don. If in the past I had raised any doubts in her mind as regards the truth of Don's statements my actions last night would have wiped them completely away.

I did not go to Sam's house; I did not leave our house, even to go for an errand, for a solid month, and during this time Constance's condemnation was like a searing iron on my brain. It was silent, absolutely silent, and I had not the courage to break it. The first week she did not purposely look at me. When our eyes did meet at last I saw how deeply her pride was hurt. And to hurt the pride of the young is unforgivable. She went out more and I could not ask her where she was going. I was sick with dread in case she was taking jaunts secretly in Don's car. And my agony was of a high intensity, for I dare not now give myself the solace of whisky. Nine times out of ten it could make me happy and jolly and of a mind to cover the world with laughter, but there was the one time to be feared when it would bring forth a facet of character that in my sober moments I could not believe was a part of me. The strain told on me. My nerves became like tangled wires making my temper brittle, yet I could not vent my temper either.

Then on the fourth Saturday night Sam came in. I was sitting alone in the kitchen, not reading, not knitting, not doing anything, just sitting. And when he looked at me he didn't ;

speak but drew from his pocket a miniature whisky. Standing it on the table within my reach, he said, "Look, Christine, I'll ; bring you a drink if you'll promise me that you'll never go into j the bars again. I'll see that you get a couple at least, every week-end, but you've got to promise me that you're finished with the bars. "

There was something shameful in this. Although I continued to sit upright my body felt as if it was being drawn into ; the shape of a bow. I wanted to say, "Take it away, Sam, I can do without it," but the yellow-gold glinting through the ; bottle made my tongue move in my mouth, and my saliva j 232 :;| run in avid anticipation. Then I was leaning against him, crying into his shoulder, "Sam... Sam."

So it came about that Sam would bring me two glasses of whisky every Saturday night, and an odd one during the week, and this went on for a year. Then I began, privately, to kick against this control. I was working again, domestic servants were so hard to get few questions were asked. And with money in my pocket the temptation when passing a bar was almost overpowering. I had promised Sam not to go in, but now I told myself that I hadn't promised him not to go in to an outdoor beer shop. I did not put up any fight against the distinction, and so I began adding to my supply on the sly, but I saw to it that I indulged only in my room last thing at night before going to bed.

And what of Father EUis in all this? Father Howard had died and Father EUis was now our parish priest, and a very busy man. He did not visit us any more, but his new curate did, and I knew from the way he looked at me that he had been informed of my past. He did his duty by telling me constantly what would happen were I to die in a state of mortal sin and that I had better come to confession. He always put this as if he had private knowledge that my end was coming tomorrow. I was thirty-three and I did not feel my time was so near, though often and often I wished it was. Nor did I hold any resentment against this man, he was only doing his duty. That is, until one day when I saw him in the roadway laughing with Don Dowling and Constance. Then a great anger rose in me against him, for I felt that he should know the character of the man he was speaking to with his supposed goodness he should surely be able to smell out the evil in Don Dowling. Yet there he was, condoning as it were Don's association with my girl. It was the first time I had allowed myself to think that word association in connection with Don Dowling and Constance, but now I knew he was giving her driving lessons and meeting her at work, and he was buying her more presents than ever. I knew this because each drawer in her chest was locked. My fear for her was no longer isolated but was not supplemented by a great hurt feeling at the unfairness of things, the unfairness that made her believe this man yet despise me. For despise me she did.

One day, after walking at a distance behind Don and her up the bank, and hearing them laughing together and seeing his j|j hand on her shoulder, I entered the house boiling inside with rage. Yet I tried my utmost to speak to her with calmness, but my choice of words was not fortunate.

"Look," I started, my voice quite level, "I know I've got myself talked about in this town, but there's no need for you to go and do the same.

You hardly go up or down that road that he isn't with you."

She was taking off her hat, a long, woolly thing that they were all wearing now. It had a pompom on the end and, to my mind, looked silly.

She swung it round by the pompom and, turning and confronting me squarely, she said in calm even tones, "Don' not Uncle Don 'wants me to marry him."

For a second I was struck dumb, then the fury inside of me burst, and I was torn in pieces, and each piece was yelling. I think I must have gone mad. I said so much but it sounded incoherent, even to myself.

Then I saw her with the door in her hand and she half turned to me, saying with that same unruffled calmness, "I dont believe a word of it.

As for age, what's eighteen years? Yesterday a girl married a man twenty years older than herself, and in St. Margaret's in the old town."

All the pieces that were me were sinking now into a feeble mass.

"Your Grandad won't allow it," I said.

"Grandad can't do anything. I'm eighteen now and if I can't marry until I'm twenty-one, I'll wait, but if I want to marry badly I won't wait."

"I'll... I'll get Uncle Sam over to you."

She turned more fully to me now and her voice was laden with sarcasm as she said, "Uncle Sam. Why dont you marry him and stop making Grandad the excuse? Living like you both do, you're not fooling anybody."

The door closed on her and I dropped into the chair.

"Dear God! dear God!" Then I flung my arms wide. Couldn't I ever say anything but "Dear God! dear God!" Even my protestations were weak and ineffective. What had "Dear God' done for me? I must go to Sam, I must tell Sam. No, no; he would come over and go next door and God knew what the result of that could be.

I sat very very still for a long time, and there was only one thought in my head: Would it be possible to kill Don Dowling?

The thought stayed with me all that night and all the next day until it wore a groove in my mind, and back and forwards in this deepening furrow there now followed one suggestion after another, one plan after another. But I realized each was impossible because of one vital flaw, contact. I had never spoken to him or come in contact with him for years. How was I, short of rushing out at him and stabbing him in the back, for I would never get a chance to do it from the front, how was I to accomplish this overpowering desire. It would have been easy had he frequented the house as he had done years ago, for then, my tortured mind told me, I could have poisoned him. One thing only was settled in my tormented brain: I would do it before I allowed him to marry Constance, for I knew he was using her as a weapon against me.

The years that had gone were as days, so fresh was his desire for revenge.

Then something happened that brought me such relief, I almost became young again. Constance won a competition. It was run by a newspaper which offered a hundred pounds for the words of a song under the title of "Hope'. In her excitement she forgot for the moment that there was anything between us, and she exclaimed as she held the letter containing the good news to her breast, " I knew I would do it some day, I knew I would. "

Dad was over the moon and he asked her the question I had stopped myself from asking, "What are you going to do with the money?" And she replied, "Oh, I dont really know. Gran- dad. The only think I can think of is I've won something at last."

The next day, about five o'clock, a knock came on the front door, and when I opened it standing in the street was a young man. He was not more than twenty. He was well made and had wide, grey eyes and he asked if Constance was in. I said she wasn't but she wouldn't be long.

He was from the Fell- bum Review he said, and would like to know how she had reacted to winning the song contest.

"Come in," I said. When he was in the kitchen I asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" and in the most homely manner he answered, "I would very much."

So we drank a cup of tea together and I offered him a piece One day, after walking at a distance behind Don and her up the bank, and hearing them laughing together and seeing his hand on her shoulder, I entered the house boiling inside with rage. Yet I tried my utmost to speak to her with calmness, but my choice of words was not fortunate.

"Look," I started, my voice quite level, "I know I've got myself talked about in this town, but there's no need for you to go and do the same.

You hardly go up or down that road that he isn't with you."

She was taking off her hat, a long, woolly thing that they were all wearing now. It had a pompom on the end and, to my mind, looked silly.

She swung it round by the pompom and, turning and confronting me squarely, she said in calm even tones, "Don' not Uncle Don 'wants me to marry him."

For a second I was struck dumb, then the fury inside of me burst, and I was torn in pieces, and each piece was yelling. I think I must have gone mad. I said so much but it sounded incoherent, even to myself.

Then I saw her with the door in her hand and she half turned to me, saying with that same unruffled calmness, "I dont believe a word of it.

As for age, what's eighteen years? Yesterday a girl married a man twenty years older than herself, and in St. Margaret's in the old town."

All the pieces that were me were sinking now into a feeble mass.

"Your Grandad won't allow it," I said.

"Grandad can't do anything. I'm eighteen now and if I can't marry until I'm twenty-one, I'll wait, but if I want to marry badly I won't wait."

"I'll... I'll get Uncle Sam over to you."

She turned more fully to me now and her voice was laden with sarcasm as she said, "Uncle Sam. Why dont you marry him and stop making Grandad the excuse? Living like you both do, you're not fooling anybody."

The door closed on her and I dropped into the chair.

"Dear God! dear God!" Then I flung my arms wide. Couldn't I ever say anything but "Dear God! dear God!" Even my protestations were weak and ineffective. What had "Dear God' done for me? I must go to Sam, I must tell Sam. No, no; he would come over and go next door and God knew what the j result of that could be. I I sat very very still for a long time, and there was only one | ^34 'i thought in my head: Would it be possible to kill Don Dowling?

The thought stayed with me all that night and all the next day until it wore a groove in my mind, and back and forwards in this deepening furrow there now followed one suggestion after another, one plan after another. But I realized each was impossible because of one vital flaw, contact. I had never spoken to him or come in contact with him for years. How was I, short of rushing out at him and stabbing him in the back, for I would never get a chance to do it from the front, how was I to accomplish this overpowering desire. It would have been easy had he frequented the house as he had done years ago, for then, my tortured mind told me, I could have poisoned him. One thing only was settled in my tormented brain: I would do it before I allowed him to marry Constance, for I knew he was using her as a weapon against me.

The years that had gone were as days, so fresh was his desire for revenge.

Then something happened that brought me such relief, I almost became young again. Constance won a competition. It was run by a newspaper which offered a hundred pounds for the words of a song under the title of "Hope'. In her excitement she forgot for the moment that there was anything between us, and she exclaimed as she held the letter containing the good news to her breast, " I knew I would do it some day, I knew I would. "

Dad was over the moon and he asked her the question I had stopped myself from asking, "What are you going to do with the money?" And she replied, "Oh, I dont really know. Gran- dad. The only think I can think of is I've won something at last."

The next day, about five o'clock, a knock came on the front door, and when I opened it standing in the street was a young man. He was not more than twenty. He was well made and had wide, grey eyes and he asked if Constance was in. I said she wasn't but she wouldn't be long.

He was from the Fell- bum Review he said, and would like to know how she had reacted to winning the song contest.

"Come in," I said. When he was in the kitchen I asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" and in the most homely manner he answered, "I would very much."

So we drank a cup of tea together and I offered him a piece of egg-and-bacon pie, which he took and ate with a relish that was a compliment to my cooking. And then we talked. I can't remember what we talked about but I knew I laughed as I hadn't laughed for a long time, and while we were laughing Constance appeared in the scullery doorway.

I hadn't heard her come in, and I got swiftly to my feet and said,