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Frere had cowered before this frightful torrent of rage,
but, at the scream which accompanied the last words, he
stepped forward as though to seize her. In her desper-
ate courage, she flung herself before him. ‘Strike me! You
daren’t! I defy you! Bring up the wretched creatures who
learn the way to Hell in this cursed house, and let them see
you do it. Call them! They are old friends of yours. They all
know Captain Maurice Frere.’
‘Sarah!’
‘You remember Lucy Barnes—poor little Lucy Barnes
that stole sixpennyworth of calico. She is downstairs now.
Would you know her if you saw her? She isn’t the bright-faced
baby she was when they sent her here to ‘reform’, and when
Lieutenant Frere wanted a new housemaid from the Fac-
tory! Call for her!—call! do you hear? Ask any one of those
beasts whom you lash and chain for Lucy Barnes. He’ll tell
you all about her—ay, and about many more—many more
poor souls that are at the bidding of any drunken brute that
has stolen a pound note to fee the Devil with! Oh, you good
God in Heaven, will You not judge this man?’
Frere trembled. He had often witnessed this creature’s
whirlwinds of passion, but never had he seen her so violent
as this. Her frenzy frightened him. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Sar-
ah, be quiet. What is it you want? What would you do?’
‘I’ll go to this girl you want to marry, and tell her all I
know of you. I have seen her in the streets—have seen her
look the other way when I passed her—have seen her gath-
er up her muslin skirts when my silks touched her—I that
nursed her, that heard her say her baby-prayers (O Jesus,

10 For the Term of His Natural Life