home. To Michael he had said nothing of
what he knew concerning Clara; a fresh occasion of uneasy thought. Bob
Hewett--so John said--had no knowledge of his sister's situation,
otherwise Pennyloaf might have come to know about it, and in that case,
perchance, Jane herself. Why not? Into what a wretched muddle of
concealments and inconsistencies and insincerities had he fallen!

'It's far too long since I saw her,' he replied, in that softened tone
which he found it impossible to avoid when his eyes met Jane's.

She was on her way home from the soup-kitchen, where certain
occupations had kept her much later than usual; this, however, was far
out of her way, and Sidney remarked on the fact, perversely, when she
had offered this explanation of her meeting him, Jane did not reply.
They walked on together, towards Islington.

'Are you going to help at that place all the winter?' he inquired.

'Yes; I think so.'

If he had spoken his thought, he would have railed against the
soup-kitchen and all that was connected with it. So far had he got in
his revolt against circumstances; Jane's 'mission' was hateful to him;
he could not bear to think of her handing soup over a counter to ragged
wretches.

'You're nothing like as cheerful as you used to be, he said, suddenly,
and all but roughly. 'Why is it?'

What a question! Jane reddened as she tried to look at him with a
smile; no words would come to her tongue.

'Do you go anywhere else, besides to--to that place?'

Not often. She had accompanied Miss Lant on a visit to some people in
Shooter's Gardens.

Sidney bent his brows. A nice spot, Shooter's Gardens.

'The houses are going to be pulled down, I'm glad to say,' continued
Jane. 'Miss Lant thinks it'll be a good opportunity for helping a few
of the families into better lodgings. We're going to buy furniture for
them--so many have as good as none at all, you know. It'll be a good
start for them, won't it?'

Sidney nodded. He was thinking of another family who already owed their
furniture to Jane's beneficence, though they did not know it.

'Mind you don't throw away kindness on worthless people,' he said
presently.

'We can only do our best, and hope they'll keep comfortable for their
own sakes.'

'Yes, yes. Well, I'll say good-night to you here. Go home and rest; you
look tired.'

He no longer called her by her name. Tearing himself away, with a last
look, he raged inwardly that so sweet and gentle a creatur