as
thunder. If only a good rattling storm would sweep the bituminous
atmosphere, and allow a breath of pure air before midnight.

She could not be far from thirty. Of course there prevails much
conventional nonsense about women's age; there are plenty of women who
reckon four decades, and yet retain all the essential charm of their
sex. And as a man gets older, as he begins to persuade himself that at
forty one has scarce reached the prime of life----

The storm was coming on in earnest. Big drops began to fall. He
quickened his pace, reached home, and rang the bell for a light.

His landlady came in with the announcement that a gentleman had called
to see him, about an hour ago; he would come again at seven o'clock.

'What name?'

None had been given. A youngish gentleman, speaking like a Londoner.

It might be Earwaker, but that was not likely. Godwin sat down to his
plain meal, and after it lit a pipe. Thunder was still rolling, but now
in the distance. He waited impatiently for seven o'clock.

To the minute, sounded a knock at the house-door. A little delay, and
there appeared Christian Moxey.

Godwin was surprised and embarrassed. His visitor had a very grave
face, and was thinner, paler, than three years ago; he appeared to
hesitate, but at length offered his hand.

'I got your address from Earwaker. I was obliged to see you--on
business.'

'Business?'

'May I take my coat off? We shall have to talk.'

They sat down, and Godwin, unable to strike the note of friendship lest
he should be met with repulse, broke silence by regretting that Moxey
should have had to make a second call.

'Oh, that's nothing! I went and had dinner.--Peak, my sister is dead.'

Their eyes met; something of the old kindness rose to either face.

'That must be a heavy blow to you,' murmured Godwin, possessed with a
strange anticipation which he would not allow to take clear form.

'It is. She was ill for three months.' Whilst staying in the country
last June she met with an accident. She went for a long walk alone one
day, and in a steep lane she came up with a carter who was trying to
make a wretched horse drag a load beyond its strength. The fellow was
perhaps half drunk; he stood there beating the horse unmercifully.
Marcella couldn't endure that kind of thing--impossible for her to pass
on and say nothing. She interfered, and tried to persuade the man to
lighten his cart. He was insolent, attacked the horse more furious