o tread firmly in any difficult path? She
hung her head, making no answer.

He examined her, seeming to measure the slightness of her frame. Sad,
unutterably sad, was the deep breath he drew as he turned his eyes away
again.

'Do you feel well this morning, Jane?'

'Yes, grandfather.'

'Have you slept?'

'I couldn't, You were grieving about me. I hoped never to have
disappointed you.'

He fell into reverie. Was he thinking of that poor wife of his, dead
long, long ago, the well-meaning girl of whom he had expected
impossible things? A second time had he thus erred, no longer with the
excuse of inexperience and hot blood. That cry of Jane's had made its
way to his heart. An enthusiast, he was yet capable of seeing by the
common light of day, when his affections were deeply stirred. And in
the night he had pondered much over his son's behaviour. Was he being
deceived in that quarter also, and there intentionally? Did Joseph know
this child better than he had done, and calculate upon her weakness?
The shock, instead of disabling him, had caused a revival of his
strength. He could walk more firmly this morning than at any time since
his accident. His brain was clear and active; he knew that it behoved
him to reconsider all he had been doing, and that quickly, ere it was
too late. He must even forget that aching of the heart until he had
leisure to indulge it.

'You shan't disappoint me, my dear,' he said gravely. 'It's my own
fault if I don't take your kindness as you mean it. I have to go out,
Jane, but I shall be back to dinner. Perhaps we'll talk again
afterwards.'

Of late, on the rare occasions of his leaving the house, he had always
told her where he was going, and for what purpose; Jane understood that
this confidence was at an end. When he was gone she found occupation
for a short time, but presently could only sit over the fire, nursing
her many griefs. She was no longer deemed worthy of confidence; worse
than that, she had no more faith in herself. If Sidney learnt what had
happened he could not even retain his respect for her. In this way she
thought of it, judging Kirkwood by the ideal standard, which
fortunately is so unlike human nature; taking it for granted--so
oppressed was her mind by the habit of dwelling on artificial
motives--that he only liked her because he had believed her strong in
purpose, forgetting altogether that his love had grown before he was
aware that anything unusual was requir