with which he speedily answered Sidney's look of trouble was full of
reassurance.

'You couldn't have said anything that would give me more pleasure,' he
replied, just above his breath. 'Does she know it? Did you speak to
her?'

'We were talking of years ago, and I mentioned Clara Hewett. I said
that I had forgotten all about her except that she'd befriended Jane.
But nothing more than that. I couldn't say what I was feeling just
then. Partly I thought that it was right to speak to you first; and
then--it seemed to me almost as if I should be treating her unfairly.
I'm so much older--she knows that it isn't the first time I--and she's
always thought of me just as a friend.'

'So much older?' repeated Michael, with a grave smile. 'Why, you're
both children to my sight. Wait and let me think a bit, Sidney. I too
have something I want to say. I'm glad you've spoken this afternoon,
when there's time for us to talk. Just wait a few minutes, and let me
think.'

Sidney had as good as forgotten that there was anything unusual in his
friend's circumstances; this last day or two he had thought of nothing
but Jane and his love for her. Now he recalled the
anticipation--originating he scarcely knew how--that some kind of
disclosure would before long be made to him. The trouble of' his mind
was heightened; he waited with all but dread for the next words.

'I think I've told you,' Michael resumed at length, steadying his
voice, 'that Joseph is my youngest son, and that I had three others.
Three others: Michael, Edward, and Robert--all dead. Edward died when
he was a boy of fifteen; Robert was killed on the railway--he was a
porter--at three-and-twenty. The eldest went out to Australia; he took
a wife there, and had one child; the wife died when they'd been married
a year or two, and Michael and his boy were drowned, both together. I
was living with them at the time, as you know. But what I've never
spoken of' Sidney, is that my son had made his fortune. He left a deal
of land, and many thousands of pounds, behind him. There was no finding
any will; a lawyer in the nearest town, a man that had known him a long
time, said he felt sure there'd been no will made. So, as things were,
the law gave everything to his father.'

He related it with subdued voice, in a solemn and agitated tone. The
effect of the news upon Sidney was a painful constriction of the heart,
a rush of confused thought, an involvement of all his perceptions in