They’re on their way now.” Instead she said to the dreadful, frightened face, “Not till ’arf-past ten.” He sat down, leaning against one of the veranda poles. His face broke up into little quivers. He shut his eyes, and tears streamed down his cheeks. “Nothing but a kid. An’ all them fellows after ’im. ’E don’t stand any more of a chance than a kid would.” “Try a bit of beef,” said Millie. “It’s the food you want. Something to steady your stomach.” She moved across the veranda and sat down beside him, the plate on her knees. “’Ere — try a bit.” She broke the bread and butter into little pieces, and she thought, “They won’t ketch ’im. Not if I can ’elp it. Men is all beasts. I don’t care wot ’e’s done, or wot ’e ’asn’t done. See ’im through, Millie Evans. ’E’s nothink but a sick kid.”

—

Millie lay on her back, her eyes wide open, listening. Sid turned over, hunched the quilt round his shoulders, muttered “Good night, ole girl.” She heard Willie Cox and the other chap drop their clothes on to the kitchen floor, and then their voices, and Willie Cox saying, “Lie down, Gumboil. Lie down, yer little devil,” to his dog. The house dropped quiet. She lay and listened. Little pulses tapped in her body, listening, too. It was hot. She was frightened to move because of Sid. “’E must get off. ’E must. I don’t care anythink about justice an’ all the rot they’ve bin spoutin’ to-night,” she thought savagely. “’Ow are yer to know what anythink’s like till yer do know. It’s all rot.” She strained to the silence. He ought to be moving…. Before there was a sound from outside, Willie Cox’s Gumboil got up and padded sharply across the kitchen floor and sniffed at the back door. Terror started up in Millie. “What’s that dog doing? Uh! What a fool that young fellow is with a dog ’anging about.