e Sidney into council. But thereupon
his face darkened again, and he lost himself in troubled musing.

Midway in the Sunday morning Amy told him that Clara had risen and
would like him to go and sit with her. She would not leave her room;
Amy had put it in order, and the blind was drawn low. Clara sat by the
fireside, in her attitude of last night, hiding her face as far as she
was able. The beauty of her form would have impressed anyone who
approached her, the grace of her bent head; but the countenance was no
longer that of Clara Hewett; none must now look at her, unless to pity.
Feeling herself thus utterly changed, she could not speak in her former
natural voice; her utterance was oppressed, unmusical, monotonous.

When her father had taken a place near her she asked him, 'Have you got
that piece of newspaper still?'

He had, and at her wish produced it. Clara held it in the light of the
fire, and regarded the pencilled words closely. Then she inquired if he
wished to keep it, and on his answering in the negative threw it to be
burnt. Hewett took her hand, and for a while they kept silence.

'Do you live comfortably here, father?' she said presently.

'We do, Clara. It's a bit high up, but that don't matter much.'

'You've got new furniture.'

'Yes, some new things. The old was all done for, you know.'

'And where did you live before you came here?'

'Oh, we had a place in King's Cross Road--it wasn't much of a place,
but I suppose it might a' been worse.'

'And that was where--?'

'Yes--yes--it was there.'

'And how did you manage to buy this furniture?' Clara asked, after a
pause.

'Well, my dear, to tell you the truth--it was a friend as--an old
friend helped us a bit.'

'You wouldn't care to say who it was?'

John was gravely embarrassed. Clara moved her head a little, so as to
regard him, but at once turned away, shrinkingly, when she met his eyes.

'Why don't you like to tell me, father? Was it Mr. Kirkwood?'

'Yes, my dear, it was.'

Neither spoke for a long time. Clara's head sank lower; she drew her
hand away from her father's, and used it to shield her face. When she
spoke, it was as if to herself.

'I suppose he's altered in some ways?'

'Not much; I don't see much change, myself, but then of course-- No,
he's pretty much the same.'

'He's married, isn't he?

'Married? Why, what made you think that. Clara? No, not he. He had to
move not long ago; his lodgin's is in Red Lion Str