chine
would be running, for her to see if she chose.

"Oh! This takes you to the shop, does it? How funny to be behind the
counter!"

He thought she spoke self-consciously, in the way of small talk: which
was contrary to her habit.

"Here's my handkerchief!" she cried, with pleasure. It was on the
counter, a little white wisp in the grey-sheeted gloom. Stifford must
have found it on the floor and picked it up.

The idea flashed through Edwin's head: "Did she leave her handkerchief
on purpose, so that we should have to come back here?"

The only illumination of the shop was from three or four diamond-shaped
holes in the upper part of as many shutters. No object was at first
quite distinct. The corners were very dark. All merchandise not in
drawers or on shelves was hidden in pale dust cloths. A chair wrong
side up was on the fancy-counter, its back hanging over the front of the
counter. Hilda had wandered behind the other counter, and Edwin was in
the middle of the shop. Her face in the twilight had become more
mysterious than ever. He was in a state of emotion, but he did not know
to what category the emotion belonged. They were alone. Stifford had
gone for the half-holiday. Darius, sickly, would certainly not come
near. The printers were working as usual in their place, and the
clanking whirr of a treadle-machine overhead agitated the ceiling. But
nobody would enter the shop. His excitement increased, but did not
define itself. There was a sudden roar in Duck Square, and then cries.

"What can that be?" Hilda asked, low.

"Some of the strikers," he answered, and went through the doors to the
letter-hole in the central shutter, lifted the flap, and looked through.

A struggle was in progress at the entrance to the Duck Inn. One man was
apparently drunk; others were jeering on the skirts of the lean crowd.

"It's some sort of a fight among them," said Edwin loudly, so that she
could hear in the shop. But at the same instant he felt the wind of the
door swinging behind him, and Hilda was silently at his elbow.

"Let me look," she said.

Assuredly her voice was trembling. He moved, as little as possible, and
held the flap up for her. She bent and gazed. He could hear various
noises in the Square, but she described nothing to him. After a long
while she withdrew from the hole.

"A lot of them have gone into the public-house," she said. "The others
seem to be moving away. There's a po