o for you,' said the lawyer, kindly.

And on taking leave he held her hand for a moment, looking
compassionately into her pale face.

On Thursday morning there arrived a letter from Miss Lant, who happened
to be out of town and grieved that she could not return in time for the
funeral, which would be that day. There was nothing about the future,
excepting a promise that the writer would come very shortly.

Michael was buried at Abney Park Cemetery; no ray of sunlight fell upon
his open grave, but the weather was mild, and among the budded trees
passed a breath which was the promise of spring. Joseph Snowdon and the
Byasses were Jane's only companions in the mourning-carriage; but at
the cemetery they were joined by Sidney Kirkwood. Jane saw him and felt
the pressure of his hand, but she could neither speak nor understand
anything that was said to her.

On Friday morning, before she had made a show of eating the breakfast
Bessie Byass prepared for her, a visitor arrived.

'She says her name's Mrs. Griffin,' said Bessie, 'and she has something
very important to tell you. Do you feel you can see her?'

'Mrs. Griffin? Oh, I remember; she lives in the same house as
Pennyloaf. Yes: let her come in.'

The woman was introduced to the Byasses' parlour, which Bessie thought
more cheerful for Jane just now then the room upstairs.

'Have you heard anything of what's been goin on with the Hewetts,
Miss?' she began.

'No, I haven't been able to go out this week. I've had trouble at home.'

'I see at once as you was in in mournin', Miss, an' I'm sorry for it.
You're lookin' nothing like yourself. I don't know whether it's right
to upset you with other people's bothers, but there's that poor Mrs.
Hewett in such a state, and I said as I'd run round, 'cause she seems
to think there's nobody else can come to her help as you can. I always
knew as something o' this kind 'ud be 'appenin'.'

'But what is it? What has happened?'

Jane felt her energies revive at this appeal for help. It was the best
thing that could have befallen, now that she was wearily despondent
after yesterday's suffering.

'Her 'usband's dead, Miss.'

'Dead?'

'But that ain't the worst of it. He was took by the perlice last night,
which they wanted him for makin' bad money. I always have said as it's
a cruel thing that: 'cause how can you tell who gets the bad coin, an'
it may be some pore person as can't afford to lose not a 'apenny. But
that's what h