He felt like some badgered animal beneath the claws and teeth of petty enemies which were yet sufficient to do him to death.

He felt that retreat and defence were alike impossible and inglorious.

He was aware of a monstrous impatience with it all, which was fairly blasphemy.

"What is it ?" he said, and Fanny realized that something was wrong.
"Come here, Andrew Brewster," she said, from the bedroom window, and Andrew pressed close to the window through a growth of sweetbrier which rasped his hands and sent up a sweet fragrance in his face.
Andrew tore away the clinging vines angrily.
"Well, what is it ?" he said again.
"Don't spoil that bush, Ellen sets a lot by it," said Fanny.

"What makes you act so, Andrew Brewster ?" Then she lowered her voice.
"She wants to know if she can have her pay to-night," she whispered.
"I 'ain't got a cent," replied Andrew, in a dogged, breathless voice.
"You 'ain't been to the bank to-day, then ?" "No, I 'ain't." Fanny still suspected nothing.