as sick-nurse. It was of purpose that he caught her eye and regarded her with a gravity she could scarcely fail to comprehend.
Jane awoke from her fitful slumber. She looked with but half-conscious fearfulness at the figures darkening her view. Sidney moved so that his face was in the light, and, bending near to her, asked if she recognised him. A smile—slow-forming, but unmistakable at last—amply justified what her grandfather had said. She made an effort to move her hand towards him. Sidney responded to her wish, and again she smiled, self-forgetfully, contentedly.
Snowdon turned to Mrs. Peckover, and, after a few words with regard to the treatment that was being pursued, said that he would now relieve her; she lingered, but shortly left the room. Sidney, sitting by the bed, in a few minutes saw that Jane once more slept, or appeared to do so. He whispered to Snowdon that he was going to see his friends in the next room, and would look in again before leaving.
His tap at the door was answered by Amy, who at once looked back and said:
'Can Mr. Kirkwood come in, mother?'
'Yes; I want to see him,' was the answer.
Mrs. Hewett was lying in bed; she looked, if possible, more wretchedly ill than four days ago. On the floor were two mattresses, covered to make beds for the children. The baby, held in its mother's arms, was crying feebly.
'Why, I hoped you were getting much better by now,' said Sidney.
Mrs. Hewett told him that she had been to the hospital on Saturday, and seemed to have caught cold. A common enough occurrence; hours of waiting in an out-patients' room frequently do more harm than the doctor's advice can remedy. She explained that Mrs. Peckover had requested the use of the other room.
'There's too many of us to be livin' an' sleepin' in this Little place,' she said; 'but, after all, it's a savin' of rent. It's a good thing Clara isn't here. An' you've heard as John's got work?'
He had found a job at length with a cabinet-maker; tonight he would probably be working till ten or eleven o'clock. Good news so far. Then Mrs. Hewett began to speak with curiosity of the old man who claimed Jane as his grandchild. Sidney told her what had just happened.
'An' what did you say about the girl?' she asked anxiously.
'I said as little as I could; I thought it wisest. Do you know what made her ill?'
'It was that Clem as did it,' Mrs. Hewett replied, subduing her voice, And she related what had befallen after Sidney's last visit. 'Mrs. Peckover, she's that afraid the truth should get out. Of course I don't want to make no bother, but I do feel that glad the poor thing's got somebody to look after her at last. I never told you half the things as used to go on. That Clem's no better than a wild-beast tiger; but then what can you do? There's never any good comes out of makin' a bother with other people's business, is there? Fancy him comin' to see you! Mrs. Peckover's afraid of him, I can see that, though she pretends she isn't goin' to stand him interferin'. What do you think about him, Sidney? He's sent for a doctor out of Islington; wouldn't have nothin' to say to the other. He must have plenty of money, don't you think? Mrs. Peckover says he's goin' to pay the money owin' to her for Jane's keep. As if the poor thing hadn't more than paid for her bits of meals an' her bed in the kitchen! Do you think that woman 'ud ever have kept her if it wasn't she could make her a servant with no wages? If Jane 'ud been a boy, she'd a gone to the workhouse long ago. She's been that handy, poor little mite! I've always done what I could for her; you know that, Sidney. I do hope she'll get over it. If anything happens, mind my word, there'll be a nice to-do! Clara says she'll go to a magistrate an' let it all out, if nobody else will. She hates the Peckovers, Clara does.'
'It won't come to that,' said Sidney. 'I can see the old man'll take her away as soon as possible. He may have a little money; he's just come back from Australia. I like the look of him myself.'
He began to talk of other subjects; waxed wrath at the misery of this housing to which the family had shrunk; urged a removal from the vile den as soon as ever it could be managed. Sidney always lost control of himself when he talked with the Hewetts of their difficulties; the people were, from his point of view, so lacking in resource, so stubbornly rooted in profitless habit. Over and over again he had implored them to take a rational view of the case, to borrow a few pounds of him, to make a new beginning on clean soil. It was like contending with some hostile force of nature; lie spent himself in vain.
As Hewett did not return, he at length took his leave, and went into the back-room for a moment.
'She's asleep,' said Snowdon, rising from the chair where he had been sitting deep in thought. 'It's a good sign.'
Sidney just looked towards the bed, and nodded with satisfaction. The old man gave him a warm pressure of the hand, and he departed. All the way home, he thought with singular interest of the bare sick-room, of the white-headed man watching through the night; the picture impressed him in a way that could not be explained by its natural pathos merely; it kept suggesting all sorts of fanciful ideas, due in a measure, possibly, to Mrs. Hewett's speculations. For an hour he was so lost in musing on the subject that he even rested from the misery of his ceaseless thought of Clara.
He allowed three days to pass, then went to inquire about Jane's progress. It had been satisfactory. Subsequent visits brought him to terms of a certain intimacy with Snowdon. The latter mentioned at length that he was looking for two rooms, suitable for himself and Jane. He wished them to be in a decent house, somewhere in Clerkenwell, and the rent was not to be more than a working man could afford.
'You don't know of anything in your street?' he asked diffidently.
Something in the tone struck Sidney. It half expressed a wish to live in his neighbourhood if possible. He looked at his companion (they were walking together), and was met in return with a glance of calm friendliness; it gratified him, strengthened the feeling of respect and attachment which had already grown out of this intercourse. In Tysoe Street, however, no accommodation could be found. Sidney had another project in his thoughts; pursuing it, he paid a visit the next evening to certain acquaintances of his named Byass, who had a house in Hanover Street, Islington, and let lodgings. Hanover Street lies to the north of City Road; it is a quiet byway, of curving form, and consists of dwellings only. Squalor is here kept at arm's length; compared with regions close at hand, this and the contiguous streets have something of a suburban aspect.
Three or four steps led up to the house-door. Sidney's knock summoned a young, healthy-faced, comely woman, who evinced hearty pleasure on seeing who her visitor was. She brought him at once into a parlour on the ground-floor.
'Well, an' I was only this mornin' tellin' Sam to go an' look after you, or write a note, or somethin'! Why can't you come round oftener? I've no patience with you! You just sit at 'ome an' get humped, an' what's the good o' that, I should like to know? I thought you'd took offence with me, an' so I told Sam. Do you want to know how baby is? Why don't you ask, then, as you ought to do the first thing? He's a good deal better than he deserves to be, young rascal—all the trouble he gives me! He's fast asleep, I'm glad to say, so you can't see him. Sam'll be back in a few minutes; at least I expect him, but there's no knowin' nowadays when lie can leave the warehouse. What's brought you to-night, I wonder? You needn't tell me anything about the Upper Street business; I know all about that!'
'Oh, do you? From Clara herself?'
'Yes. Don't talk to me about her! There! I'm sick an tired of her—an' so are you, I should think, if you've any sense left. Her an' me can't get along, an' that's the truth. Why, when I met her on Sunday afternoon, she was that patronisin' you'd have thought she'd got a place in Windsor Castle. Would she come an' have a cup of tea? Oh dear, no! Hadn't time! The Princess of Wales, I suppose, was waitin' round the corner!'
Having
