did not fail to suggest. Moreover, he had seemed so
anxious that she should not broach the subject with her grandfather.
But what constrained her to silence? If, indeed, he had nothing but her
happiness at heart, he could not take it ill that she should seek to
understand the whole truth, and Michael must tell her whether Sidney
had indeed thus spoken to him.

Before she had obtained any show of control over her agitation Michael
came into the room. Evening was the old man's best time, and when he
had kept his own chamber through the day he liked to come and sit with
Jane as she had her supper.

'Didn't I hear your father's voice?' he asked, as he moved slowly to
his accustomed chair.

'Yes. He couldn't stay.'

Jane stood in an attitude of indecision. Having seated himself, Michael
glanced at her. His regard had not its old directness; it seemed
apprehensive, as if seeking to probe her thought.

'Has Miss Lent sent you the book she promised?'

'Yes, grandfather.'

This was a recently published volume dealing with charitable enterprise
in some part of London. Michael noticed with surprise the uninterested
tone of Jane's reply. Again he looked at her, and more searchingly.

'Would you like to read me a little of it?'

She reached the book from a side-table, drew near, and stood turning
the pages. The confusion of her mind was such that she could not have
read a word with understanding. Then she spoke, involuntarily.

'Grandfather, has Mr. Kirkwood said anything more--about me?'

The words made painful discord in her cars, but instead of showing
heightened colour she grew pallid. Holding the book partly open, she
felt all her nerves and muscles strained as if in some physical effort;
her feet were rooted to the spot.

'Have you heard anything from him?' returned the old man, resting his
hands on the sides of the easy-chair.

'Father has been speaking about him. He says Mr. Kirkwood has told you
something.'

'Yes. Come and sit down by me, Jane.'

She could not move nearer. Though unable to form a distinct conception,
she felt a foreboding of what must come to pass. The dread failure of
strength was more than threatening her; her heart was sinking, and by
no effort of will could she summon the thoughts that should aid her
against herself.

'What has your father told you?' Michael asked, when he perceived her
distress. He spoke with a revival of energy, clearly, commandingly.

'He says that Mr. Kirkwood