David Herbert Lawrence

not hurt. She balanced her head to keep equilibrium, so that the blood

ran into her eye.

Walter Morel remained as he had stood, leaning on the table with one

hand, looking blank. When he was sufficiently sure of his balance,

he went across to her, swayed, caught hold of the back of her

rocking-chair, almost tipping her out; then leaning forward over her,

and swaying as he spoke, he said, in a tone of wondering concern:

"Did it catch thee?"

He swayed again, as if he would pitch on to the child. With the

catastrophe he had lost all balance.

"Go away," she said, struggling to keep her presence of mind.

He hiccoughed. "Let's--let's look at it," he said, hiccoughing again.

"Go away!" she cried.

"Lemme--lemme look at it, lass."

She smelled him of drink, felt the unequal pull of his swaying grasp on

the back of her rocking-chair.

"Go away," she said, and weakly she pushed him off.

He stood, uncertain in balance, gazing upon her. Summoning all her

strength she rose, the baby on one arm. By a cruel effort of will,

moving as if in sleep, she went across to the scullery, where she bathed

her eye for a minute in cold water; but she was too dizzy. Afraid lest

she should swoon, she returned to her rocking-chair, trembling in every

fibre. By instinct, she kept the baby clasped.

Morel, bothered, had succeeded in pushing the drawer back into its

cavity, and was on his knees, groping, with numb paws, for the scattered

spoons.

Her brow was still bleeding. Presently Morel got up and came craning his

neck towards her.

"What has it done to thee, lass?" he asked, in a very wretched, humble

tone.

"You can see what it's done," she answered.

He stood, bending forward, supported on his hands, which grasped his

legs just above the knee. He peered to look at the wound. She drew away

from the thrust of his face with its great moustache, averting her

own face as much as possible. As he looked at her, who was cold and

impassive as stone, with mouth shut tight, he sickened with feebleness

and hopelessness of spirit. He was turning drearily away, when he saw

a drop of blood fall from the averted wound into the baby's fragile,

glistening hair. Fascinated, he watched the heavy dark drop hang in

the glistening cloud, and pull down the gossamer. Another drop fell. It

would soak through to the baby's scalp. He watched, fascinated, feeling

it soak in; then, finally, his manhood broke.

"What of this child?" was all his wife said to him. But her low, intense

tones brought his head lower. She softened: "Get me some wadding out of

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