"Poor little fellow," he said, kissing it again and again. "Was he left all alone?"
On the mantel leaning against the china greyhound a half sheet of note-paper caught his eye. He took it to the light and with the child on his arm bent forward to read: Mister Vale.
Dear Sir:
Just a line to say that Fawnie has decided as you are no husband for her she has decided to get out of here which is like a trap and her a poor thing trapped. You thot you were through with me didn't you but you weren't. She says to give baby milk warmed out of the bottle and some sugar and biscuits, etc. Any old thing you like I don't care please do not try to find us for if you do by god I'll run a nife into Fawnie before you can get her.
The baby clutched at the paper laughing, then he reached for the flame of the lamp. Derek moved away from the table and, seating himself on the settle, he re-read the note.
One thing came clearly out of the sprawling jumble of words: Fawnie had run away with Jammery.
She had left her baby. The unnatural little devil. He was alone with the baby. What in God's name should he do? Why hadn't he wrung Jammery's neck that day by the creek? He had felt like it. Why had he allowed himself to be hoodwinked into such a marriage? Talk about traps . . . he was the trapped one. . . . If he only had his hands on Jammery! He struck the arm of the settle with his clenched fist.
Fawnie gone.
He could not imagine the house without her. Here he was alone—alone. Except for an eight months' old baby. It hungry, too. It was yelling again and cramming its fist in its mouth. Had she had it in her mind to leave him
