“现在怎么样，宝贝？”他可怜兮兮、低声下气地问。

    “你自己看！”她回答。

    他弯下腰，双手挟着膝盖躬着身，查看伤口。她转过脸去，尽量扭着头躲开那张胡子拉茬的脸。她像块石头般冷淡而毫无表情。紧闭着嘴。他看着她的这副神态，感到脆弱而绝望。他失望地转过身，看到一滴血从她那躲避着转过的伤口里滴到小孩柔软发亮的头发上。他一动不动地看着这滴深红色的血在亮闪闪的发丝上挂着，并逐渐往下渗。又一滴掉下来了，它会流到婴儿的头皮上的。他一动不动地看着，终于，他那男子汉的气概完全被摧毁。

    “孩子有啥好看的？”妻子就问了这一声。但是，她低沉的认真的语气使他的头垂得更低。她又用和缓语气说：“从中间抽屉里给我拿点棉花。”

    他顺从地跌跌撞撞地走去。一会儿拿过来一块棉花。她把棉花在火上烧化。然后敷到前额上。她做这些事的时候坐着。婴儿仍躺在她的膝盖上。

    “再拿一条干净的下井用的围巾。”

    他又笨手笨脚地在抽屉里翻了一阵。很快就拿 出一条窄窄的红围巾。她接过来。颤抖着双手把围巾系到头上。

    “我帮你系吧。”他谦恭地说。

    “我自己能系。”她回答。系好后，告诉他去封火锁门。然后她上了楼。

    早晨，莫瑞尔太太说：

    “蜡烛灭了，我摸着黑去拿火拨，头碰到煤房里的门闩上了。”她的两个孩子睁着惊愕的眼睛望着她。 他们什么也没说。可是他们张着嘴下意识表明他们已经明白到了这场悲剧。

    第二天，沃尔特·莫瑞尔一直在床上躺到吃饭的时候。他没有想昨夜发生的事，他很少想什么事，他也不愿想那件事。他像条正在发怒的狗躺在床上，他内心的创伤和痛苦不亚于妻子。而且更让他难受的是，他绝不肯对她说一句致歉的话。他试图摆脱苦恼。“这是她自己的错。”他心里想。然而，没有什么可以阻止他的良知对他的处罚。这像铁锈一样腐蚀他的心灵，他只能借酒浇愁。

    他不想起床，不想说一句话，不想干任何事，只能像木头一样躺着。而且，他头也痛得厉害。这是个星期天，快到中午，他起来了。在食品柜里给自己找了点吃的，低关头吃着。然后登上他的靴子出去了，到三点钟他才回来，稍微带点醉意，心情也畅快了些。回来后又径直上了床。晚上六点钟他又起来了，喝了点茶后又出门了。

    星期天也一样，睡到中午。在帕尔马斯顿呆到二点半。然后吃饭，几乎一句话不说。将近四点，莫瑞尔太太上楼换她的礼服时，他已经睡熟了。如果他对她说一声：“亲爱的，是我不对。”她就会可怜他。但是没有，他始终认为这是她的错。他也苦恼极了，而她只好对他不闻不问。他们之间就这么僵着，从情感上来说她是赢家。

    全家人一起喝茶。只有星期天的时候全家人才能坐在一起吃饭喝茶。

    “爸爸不打算起床了吗？”威廉问道。

    “让他躺着去吧。”母亲回答。

    家庭笼罩一种忧愁的气氛。孩子们如同嗅到了被污染了的空气，他们也闷闷不乐，不知道干什么玩什么才好。

    莫瑞尔醒来之后，立即起床。他生来就闲不住，两个早晨没什么事干，他几乎都要窒息了。

    他下楼时已经快六点了。这次他毫不犹豫地进 来，强硬的态度取代了他的敏感的畏缩，他不再顾虑家里人怎么想怎么感觉的。

    茶具都摆在桌上。威廉正在大声朗读《儿童世界》。安娜在一边听着。不时地问“为什么？”两个孩子听到父亲穿袜子的脚重重地走近的声音，马上不作声了。他进来时，他们都缩成一团。虽然他平常对他们也很宽容的。

    莫瑞尔自己随便做了点吃的，在吃饭喝水时故意弄出很多声响。没有人跟他说话，家庭生活的温馨在他进来之后就消失了，留下一片沉默。不过， 他也不在乎他们之间的疏远。

    他喝完茶，立即匆忙地站起身，走了出去。就是他的这种匆忙，这种急于要 走的神情让莫瑞尔太太厌恶。她听到他哗哗啦啦地在冷水里洗头，听到他急切地用梳子蘸着水梳头时钢梳子碰撞着脸盆的声音，她厌恶地合上了眼睛。他弯腰穿靴子时，他动作中的那种粗野和家里其他人那种含蓄谨慎截然不同。他总想逃避内心的冲突，甚至在他内心深处，他仍为自己解脱说：“如果她不这么说，根本就不会出现这种情况，她是自作自受。”孩子们耐心地等着他准备就绪，他一出门，他们如蒙大赦。

    他心情愉快地带上门。这是一个雨天的傍晚，帕马尔斯顿酒店似乎更显得亲切。他满怀希望地向前匆匆走着，河川区的石瓦屋顶在雨中闪闪烁烁，那常年黑乎乎满是煤灰的路现在全变成黑乎乎的泥浆，他沿路匆匆行进。帕马尔斯顿酒店里乌烟瘴气，走廊里湿漉漉的泥脚走来走去。虽然空气污浊，屋里人声鼎沸，弥漫着浓浓的烟味和啤酒味。但是气氛却很温暖。

    “要点什么。沃尔特？”当莫瑞尔刚出现在门口。就有一个声音问。

    “哦。吉姆。我的老伙计。你从哪来的？”

    人群中让 出个位子，热情地接纳了他。他对此满心欢喜，一两分钟之后，他们就让他的责任感、羞悔和烦恼烟消云散。他轻松得像欢快的晚钟。

    到了下个星期三，莫瑞尔已经身无分文。他害怕他的妻子，因为伤了她的心。他也恨她，他不知道那个晚上应该怎样度过才好。因为他已经欠下了很多债，连去帕马尔斯顿酒店的两便士也没有了。于是，当他的妻子带着小孩子下楼去花园时，他乘机在妻子平时放钱包的碗柜最上面的抽屉里翻寻，他找到了钱包。打开看了看，里面有一枚半克朗，两枚半便士，还有一枚六便士。于是他拿了那枚六便士，然后小心地把钱包放回原处， 出了门。

    第二天，她要给蔬菜水果商付钱，她拿 出钱包找那六便士，她的心往下沉。她坐下来想：“六便士哪儿去了？我没有花呀？而且我也没有乱放？”

    她心烦透了，到处翻找这六便士。后来，她想着想着，一个想法冒出脑海，丈夫拿走了。钱包里剩下的这点钱是她所有的积蓄，可他还从钱包里偷，这真让人难以忍受。他已经干过两次，第一次她没有责备他。到了周末他又把那一个先令放回她的钱包里，她由此知道是他拿 走了钱。第二次他没有把钱放回 去。

    她觉得这也太过分了。当他吃完了饭——那天他回来的很早——她冷冷地对他说：

    “昨天晚上你从我钱包里拿走了六便士吗？”

    “我！”他装出一种被冤枉的神情抬起头来回答。“没有，我没拿！我连你的钱包见都没见过。”

    她明白他在撒谎。

    “哼，你心里明白。”他平静地说。

    “告诉你我没有。”他喊了起来，“你又冲着我来了，是不是？我可受够了。”

    “你趁我收衣服时，从我钱包里拿走了六便士。”

    “我要让你对此付出代价。”他说着拼命推回他的椅子，急急地洗了把脸，头也不回地上楼了。一会儿，他穿好衣服下来，手里拿着一个大包袱，用蓝格子大手帕包着。

    “行啦。”他说：“你再别想见我。”

    “那你别回来。”她回答道。听到这，他拿着那个大包袱大踏步地出了门。她坐在那儿身子轻轻地发抖，心里充满对他的轻蔑。如果他去了别的矿井，找到了别的工作，跟别的女人搞上了，她该怎么办？不 过她太了解他了—— 他不会这么做。她对他非常有把握。不过，她的内心还是或多或少有点痛苦迷惘。

    “爸爸在哪？”威廉从学校回来。

    “他说他走了。”他的母亲回答。

    “ 去哪儿？”

    “嗯，我不知道。他拿着蓝布包袱出去了，还说他不回来了。”

    “那我们怎么办？”小男孩喊起来。

    “哦。别着急。他不会走远。”

    “如果他不回来呢。”安妮哭叫着。

    她和威廉缩在沙发里哭泣着。莫瑞尔太太坐下不禁大笑起来。

    “你们这一对傻瓜！”她大声说：“天黑之前你们就会看到他的。”

    但这也安慰不了孩子。黄昏降临，莫瑞尔太太由困倦变得焦急起来。她一会儿想要是以后再永远不见他倒是一种解脱，可一想到抚养孩子的问题又烦恼起来。平心而论，到目前为止，她还不能让他走。说到底，她也明白，他不能彻底一走了之。

    她走到花园尽头煤房去，觉得门后有什么东西。看了一眼，原来黑暗中躺着那个蓝色的包袱，她坐在煤块上大笑起来。一看到这个包袱，这么大，又这么丢人现眼，鬼鬼祟祟地呆在黑暗的角落里，两头打结处像耷拉下来的耳朵，她又大笑起来，她心里轻松多了。

    莫瑞尔太太坐在那里寻着。她知道他不名一文，如果他在外面过夜，就得欠债。她对他真是讨厌——讨厌透顶了。他甚至没有勇气把他那个包袱带出家门。

    她沉思着，大约九点钟。他打开门进来，鬼鬼祟祟地。不过仍然板着脸，面含温怒，努力装成威风凛凛的样子。

    “哼。你能去哪儿？你甚至连包袱都不敢拿出花园。”她说。

    他那副傻样，让她没法跟他生气。他脱了鞋子，准备上床。

    “我不 知道你的蓝手帕里包些什么。”她说：“如果你还把它放在那儿，明天早晨孩子们会去拿走的。”

    他起身出了屋，不一会就回来了。别着脸穿过厨房，匆匆忙忙地上了楼。莫瑞尔太太看到他鬼鬼祟祟地快速穿过里面过道，手里还拿着那个包袱，她偷偷地笑了，但是她的内心很痛苦。因为她曾爱过他。

　　"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 graspedhis 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 fallfrom 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 soakthrough to the baby's scalp. He watched, fascinated, feeling itsoak 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 the middle drawer," she said.
　　He stumbled away very obediently, presently returning with apad, which she singed before the fire, then put on her forehead,as she sat with the baby on her lap.
　　"Now that clean pit-scarf."
　　Again he rummaged and fumbled in the drawer, returning presentlywith a red, narrow scarf. She took it, and with trembling fingersproceeded to bind it round her head.
　　"Let me tie it for thee," he said humbly.
　　"I can do it myself," she replied. When it was done shewent upstairs, telling him to rake the fire and lock the door.
　　In the morning Mrs. Morel said:
　　"I knocked against the latch of the coal-place, when Iwas getting a raker in the dark, because the candle blew out." Her two small children looked up at her with wide, dismayed eyes. They said nothing, but their parted lips seemed to express theunconscious tragedy they felt.
　　Walter Morel lay in bed next day until nearly dinner-time. Hedid not think of the previous evening's work. He scarcely thoughtof anything, but he would not think of that. He lay and suffered likea sulking dog. He had hurt himself most; and he was the more damagedbecause he would never say a word to her, or express his sorrow. He tried to wriggle out of it. "It was her own fault," he saidto himself. Nothing, however, could prevent his inner consciousnessinflicting on him the punishment which ate into his spirit like rust,and which he could only alleviate by drinking.
　　He felt as if he had not the initiative to get up, or to say a word,or to move, but could only lie like a log. Moreover, he had himselfviolent pains in the head. It was Saturday. Towards noon he rose,cut himself food in the pantry, ate it with his head dropped,then pulled on his boots, and went out, to return at three o'clockslightly tipsy and relieved; then once more straight to bed. He rose again at six in the evening, had tea and went straight out.
　　Sunday was the same: bed till noon, the Palmerston Arms till2.30, dinner, and bed; scarcely a word spoken. When Mrs. Morelwent upstairs, towards four o'clock, to put on her Sunday dress,he was fast asleep. She would have felt sorry for him, if hehad once said, "Wife, I'm sorry." But no; he insisted to himselfit was her fault. And so he broke himself. So she merely lefthim alone. There was this deadlock of passion between them,and she was stronger.
　　The family began tea. Sunday was the only day when all satdown to meals together.
　　"Isn't my father going to get up?" asked William.
　　"Let him lie," the mother replied.
　　There was a feeling of misery over all the house. The childrenbreathed the air that was poisoned, and they felt dreary. They wererather disconsolate, did not know what to do, what to play at.
　　Immediately Morel woke he got straight out of bed. That wascharacteristic of him all his life. He was all for activity. The prostrated inactivity of two mornings was stifling him.
　　It was near six o'clock when he got down. This time he enteredwithout hesitation, his wincing sensitiveness having hardened again. He did not care any longer what the family thought or felt.
　　The tea-things were on the table. William was reading aloudfrom "The Child's Own", Annie listening and asking eternally "why?" Both children hushed into silence as they heard the approachingthud of their father's stockinged feet, and shrank as he entered. Yet he was usually indulgent to them.
　　Morel made the meal alone, brutally. He ate and drankmore noisily than he had need. No one spoke to him. The familylife withdrew, shrank away, and became hushed as he entered. But he cared no longer about his alienation.
　　Immediately he had finished tea he rose with alacrity to go out. It was this alacrity, this haste to be gone, which so sickenedMrs. Morel. As she heard him sousing heartily in cold water,heard the eager scratch of the steel comb on the side of the bowl,as he wetted his hair, she closed her eyes in disgust. As he bent over,lacing his boots, there was a certain vulgar gusto in his movementthat divided him from the reserved, watchful rest of the family. He always ran away from the battle with himself. Even in his ownheart's privacy, he excused himself, saying, "If she hadn't saidso-and-so, it would never have happened. She asked for what she's got." The children waited in restraint during his preparations. When hehad gone, they sighed with relief.
　　He closed the door behind him, and was glad. It was arainy evening. The Palmerston would be the cosier. He hastenedforward in anticipation. All the slate roofs of the Bottoms shoneblack with wet. The roads, always dark with coal-dust, were fullof blackish mud. He hastened along. The Palmerston windows were steamedover. The passage was paddled with wet feet. But the air was warm,if foul, and full of the sound of voices and the smell of beerand smoke.
　　"What shollt ha'e, Walter?" cried a voice, as soon as Morelappeared in the doorway.
　　"Oh, Jim, my lad, wheriver has thee sprung frae?"
　　The men made a seat for him, and took him in warmly. He was glad. In a minute or two they had thawed all responsibility out of him,all shame, all trouble, and he was clear as a bell for a jolly night.
　　On the Wednesday following, Morel was penniless. He dreadedhis wife. Having hurt her, he hated her. He did not know what todo with himself that evening, having not even twopence with whichto go to the Palmerston, and being already rather deeply in debt. So, while his wife was down the garden with the child, he huntedin the top drawer of the dresser where she kept her purse, found it,and looked inside. It contained a half-crown, two halfpennies,and a sixpence. So he took the sixpence, put the purse carefully back,and went out.
　　The next day, when she wanted to pay the greengrocer, she lookedin the purse for her sixpence, and her heart sank to her shoes. Then she sat down and thought: "WAS there a sixpence? I hadn'tspent it, had I? And I hadn't left it anywhere else?"
　　She was much put about. She hunted round everywhere for it. And, as she sought, the conviction came into her heart that herhusband had taken it. What she had in her purse was all the moneyshe possessed. But that he should sneak it from her thus was unbearable. He had done so twice before. The first time she had not accused him,and at the week-end he had put the shilling again into her purse. So that was how she had known he had taken it. The second time hehad not paid back.
　　This time she felt it was too much. When he had had his dinner--he came home early that day--she said to him coldly:
　　"Did you take sixpence out of my purse last night?"
　　"Me!" he said, looking up in an offended way. "No, I didna! I niver clapped eyes on your purse."
　　But she could detect the lie.
　　"Why, you know you did," she said quietly.
　　"I tell you I didna," he shouted. "Yer at me again, are yer? I've had about enough on't."
　　"So you filch sixpence out of my purse while I'm takingthe clothes in."
　　"I'll may yer pay for this," he said, pushing back hischair in desperation. He bustled and got washed, then wentdeterminedly upstairs. Presently he came down dressed,and with a big bundle in a blue-checked, enormous handkerchief.
　　"And now," he said, "you'll see me again when you do."
　　"It'll be before I want to," she replied; and at that he marchedout of the house with his bundle. She sat trembling slightly,but her heart brimming with contempt. What would she do if he wentto some other pit, obtained work, and got in with another woman? But she knew him too well--he couldn't. She was dead sure of him. Nevertheless her heart was gnawed inside her.
　　"Where's my dad?" said William, coming in from school.
　　"He says he's run away," replied the mother.
　　"Where to?"
　　"Eh, I don't know. He's taken a bundle in the blue handkerchief,and says he's not coming back."
　　"What shall we do?" cried the boy.
　　"Eh, never trouble, he won't go far."
　　"But if he doesn't come back," wailed Annie.
　　And she and William retired to the sofa and wept. Mrs. Morelsat and laughed.
　　"You pair of gabeys!" she exclaimed. "You'll see him beforethe night's out."
　　But the children were not to be consoled. Twilight came on. Mrs. Morel grew anxious from very weariness. One part of her saidit would be a relief to see the last of him; another part frettedbecause of keeping the children; and inside her, as yet, she couldnot quite let him go. At the bottom, she knew very well he couldNOT go.
　　When she went down to the coal-place at the end of the garden,however, she felt something behind the door. So she looked. And there in the dark lay the big blue bundle. She sat on a pieceof coal and laughed. Every time she saw it, so fat and yetso ignominious, slunk into its corner in the dark, with its endsflopping like dejected ears from the knots, she laughed again. She was relieved.
　　Mrs. Morel sat waiting. He had not any money, she knew,so if he stopped he was running up a bill. She was very tired of him--tired to death. He had not even the courage to carry his bundlebeyond the yard-end.
　　As she meditated, at about nine o'clock, he opened the doorand came in, slinking, and yet sulky. She said not a word. He took off his coat, and slunk to his armchair, where he beganto take off his boots.
　　"You'd better fetch your bundle before you take your boots off,"she said quietly.
　　"You may thank your stars I've come back to-night," he said,looking up from under his dropped head, sulkily, trying to be impressive.
　　"Why, where should you have gone? You daren't even get yourparcel through the yard-end," she said.
　　He looked such a fool she was not even angry with him. He continued to take his boots off and prepare for bed.
　　"I don't know what's in your blue handkerchief," she said. "But if you leave it the children shall fetch it in the morning."
　　Whereupon he got up and went out of the house, returning presentlyand crossing the kitchen with averted face, hurrying upstairs. As Mrs. Morel saw him slink quickly through the inner doorway,holding his bundle, she laughed to herself: but her heart was bitter,because she had loved him.