egular intervals by the
black silhouettes of the scaffolding-poles of the new Town Hall.
Beautiful! She was filled with a delicious sadness. It was Janet's
train. In some first-class compartment Janet and her father were shut
together, side by side, intimate, mutually understanding. Again, a
beautiful relation! From the summit of a high kiln in the middle
distance, flames shot intermittently forth, formidable. Crockery was
being fired in the night: and unseen the fireman somewhere flitted about
the mouths of the kiln. And here and there in the dim faces of the
streets a window shone golden... there were living people behind the
blind! It was all beautiful, joy-giving. The thought of her mother
fidgeting for her return home was delightful. The thought of Mr. Cannon
and Miss Gailey, separated during many years, and now destined to some
kind of reconciliation was indescribably touching, and beautiful in a
way that she could not define.

"I was only thinking the other day," said Mr. Cannon, treating her as an
equal in years and wisdom--"I was only thinking I'd got the very thing
for my half-sister--the very opening for her--a chance in a thousand, if
only she'd..." It was unnecessary for him to finish the sentence.

"And is it too late now?" Hilda asked eagerly.

"No," he said. "It isn't too late. I shall go round and see her
to-morrow morning first thing. It wouldn't do for me to go to-night--you
see--might seem too odd."

"Yes," Hilda murmured. "Well, good night."

They separated. She knew that he was profoundly stirred. Nevertheless,
he had inquired for no further details concerning Miss Gailey. He was
too proud, and beneath his inflexibility too sensitive, to do so. He
meant to discover the truth for himself. He had believed--that was the
essential. His behaviour had been superb. The lying letter to Ezra Brunt
was a mere peccadillo, even if it was that, even if it was not actually
virtuous.

She walked off rapidly, trying to imitate the fine, free, calmly defiant
bearing of Mr. Cannon and the policeman.

IV

"Florrie gone to bed?" she asked briskly of her mother, who was fussing
about her in the parlour, pretending to be fretful, but secretly
enchanted to welcome her, with a warm fire and plenteous food, back
again into the house. And Hilda, too, was enchanted at her reception.

"Florrie gone to bed? I should just think Florrie has gone to bed.
Half-past ten and after! Eh my! This going out after tea. I nev