left with John the key of
their front door; a letter of some moment might arrive in their
absence, and John undertook to re-post it to them. The key was hung on
a nail in Clara's room.

'I'll just go down and see if the postman's left anything at Holland's
this morning,' said Amy Hewett, coming in between breakfast and the
time of starting for school.

She reached up to the key, but Clara, who sat by the fire with a cup of
tea on her lap, the only breakfast she ever took, surprised her by
saying, 'You needn't trouble, Amy. I shall be going out soon, and I'll
look in as I pass.'

The girl was disappointed, for she liked this private incursion into
the abode of other people, but the expression of a purpose by her
sister was so unusual that, after a moment's hesitating, she said,
'Very well,' and left the room again.

When silence informed Clara that the children were gone, Mrs. Eagles
being the only person besides herself who remained in the tenement, she
put on her hat, drew down the veil which was always attached to it, and
with the key in her hand descended to the Hollands' rooms. Had a letter
been delivered that morning, it would have been--in default of
box--just inside the door; there was none, but Clara seemed to have
another purpose in view. She closed the door and walked forward into
the nearest room; the blind was down, but the dusk thus produced was
familiar to her in consequence of her own habit, and, her veil thrown
back, she examined the chamber thoughtfully. It was a sitting-room,
ugly, orderly; the air felt damp, and even in semi-darkness she was
conscious of the layers of London dust which had softly deposited
themselves since the family went away forty-eight hours ago. A fire was
laid ready for lighting, and the smell of moist soot spread from the
grate. Having stood on one spot for nearly ten minutes, Clara made a
quick movement and withdrew; she latched the front door with as little
noise as possible, ran upstairs and shut herself again in her own room.

Presently she was standing at her window, the blind partly raised. On a
clear day the view from this room was of wide extent, embracing a great
part of the City; seen under a low, blurred, dripping sky, through the
ragged patches of smoke from chimneys innumerable, it had a gloomy
impressiveness well in keeping with the mind of her who brooded over
it. Directly in front, rising mist-detached from the lower masses of
building, stood in black majes