late
at night, she found Bessie in tears, utterly miserable.

'Don't bother about me!' was the reply to her sympathetic question.
'You've got your own upsets to think of. You might have come to speak
to me before this--but never mind. It's nothing to you.'

It needed much coaxing to persuade her to detail Sam's enormities, but
she found much relief when she had done so, and wept more copiously
than ever.

'It's nearly twelve o'clock, and there's no sign of him, Perhaps he
won't come at all. He's in bad company, and if he stays away all night
I'll never speak to him again as long as I live. Oh, he's a beast of a
husband, is Sam!'

Sam came not. All through that night did Jane keep her friend company,
for Sam came not. In the morning a letter, addressed in his well-known
commercial hand. Bessie read it and screamed. Sam wrote to her that he
had accepted a position as country traveller, and _perhaps_ he might be
able to look in at his home on that day month.

Jane could not go to work. The case had become very serious indeed;
Bessie was in hysterics; the four children made the roof ring with
their lamentations. At this juncture Jane put forth all her beneficent
energy. It happened that Bessie was just now servantless. There was Mr.
Scawthorne's breakfast only half prepared; Jane had to see to it
herself, and herself take it upstairs. Then Bessie must go to bed, or
assuredly she would be so ill that unheard-of calamities would befall
the infants. Jane would have an eye to everything; only let Jane be
trusted.

The miserable day passed; after trying in vain to sleep, Bessie walked
about her sitting-room with tear-swollen face and rumpled gown, always
thinking it possible that Sam had only played a trick, and that he
would come. But he came not, and again it was night.

At eight o'clock Mr. Scawthorne's bell rang. Impossible for Bessie to
present herself; Jane would go. She ascended to the room which had
once--ah! once!--been her own parlour, knocked and entered.

'I--I wished to speak to Mrs. Byass,' said Scawthorne, appearing for
some reason or other embarrassed by Jane's presenting herself.

'Mrs. Byass is not at all well, sir. But I'll let her know--'

'No, no; on no account.'

'Can't I get you anything, sir?'

'Miss Snowdon--might I speak with you for a few moments?'

Jane feared it might be a complaint. In a perfectly natural way she
walked forward. Scawthorne came in her direction, and--closed the door.