ane's profound common-sense reaped its reward the following spring
when she found herself obliged to earn her livelihood. 'Her mother
died, and the shop was sold, and an aunt in Cricklewood offered Jane a
home, on condition that she paid for her keep. This she was soon able
to do when she obtained a situation with a business firm in the city.
The work was hard and the salary small; but Jane had a brave heart and
held her head high. In her simple philosophy life was work, and
dreaming an occasional luxury. Her mother's death grieved her deeply,
for she was a girl of strong affections, and the breaking up of her
life with Paul seemed an irremediable catastrophe.

"It's just as well," said her aunt, "that there's an end of it, or
you'd be making a fool of yourself over that young actor chap with his
pretty face. I don't hold with any of them."

But Jane was too proud to reply.

On their last night together in the Barn Street house they sat alone in
the little back-parlour as they had done for the last six years--all
their impressionable childish days. It was the only home that Paul had
known, and he felt the tragedy of its dissolution. They sat on the old
horsehair sofa, behind the table, very tearful, very close together in
spirit, holding each other's hands. They talked as the young talk--and
the old, for the matter of that. She trembled at his wants unministered
to in his new lodgings. He waved away prospective discomfort: what did
it matter? He was a man and could rough it. It was she herself whose
loss would be irreparable. She sighed; he would soon forget her. He
vowed undying remembrance by all his gods. Some beautiful creature of
the theatre would carry him off. He laughed at such an absurdity. Jane
would always be his confidante, his intimate. Even though they lived
under different roofs, they would meet and have their long happy jaunts
together. Jane said dolefully that it could only be on Sundays, as
their respective working hours would never correspond--"And you haven't
given me your Sundays for a year," she added. Paul slid from the dark
theme and, to comfort her, spoke glowingly of the future, when he
should have achieved his greatness. He would give her a beautiful house
with carriages and servants, and she would not have to work.

"But if you are not there, what's the good of anything?" she said.

"I'll come to see you, silly dear," he replied ingenuously.

Before they parted for the night she threw he