‘I thought perhaps you’d gone up the hill,’ she said, resting her arms on the wall by which he was standing.

Then they kept silence, enjoying the sweetness of the hour.  Differently, it is true; for Kirkwood’s natural sensitiveness had been developed and refined by studies of which Jane had no conception.  Imperfect as his instruction remained, the sources of spiritual enjoyment were open to him, and with all his feeling there blended that reflective bitterness which is the sad privilege of such as he.  Jane’s delight was as simple as the language in which she was wont to express herself.  She felt infinitely more than Pennyloaf, for instance, would have done under the circumstances; but her joy consisted, in the main, of a satisfaction of pure instincts and a deep sense of gratitude to those who made her life what it was.  She could as little have understood Sidney’s mind at this moment as she could have given an analytic account of her own sensations.  For all that, the two were in profound sympathy; how different soever the ways in which they were affected, the result, as they stood side by side, was identical in the hearts of both.

Sidney began to speak of Michael Snowdon, keeping his voice low, as if in fear of breaking those subtle harmonies wherewith the night descended.

’We must be careful not to over-tire him, He looked very pale when he went upstairs.  I’ve thought lately that he must suffer more than he tells us.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid he often does,’ Jane assented, as if relieved to speak of it.  ’Yet he always says it’s nothing to trouble about, nothing but what is natural at his age.  He’s altered a great deal since father came,’ she added, regarding him diffidently.

’I hope it isn’t because he thinks your father may be wanting to take you away?’

’Oh, it can’t be that!  Oh, he knows I wouldn’t leave him!  Mr. Kirkwood, you don’t think my father will give us any trouble?’

She revealed an anxiety which delicacy of feeling had hitherto prevented her expressing.  Sidney at once spoke reassuringly, though he had in fact no little suspicion of Joseph Snowdon’s tactics.

‘It’s my grandfather that I ought to think most of,’ pursued Jane earnestly.  ’I can’t feel to my father as I do to him.  What should I have been now if—­’

Something caused her to leave the speech unfinished, and for a few moments there was silence.  From the ground exhaled a sweet fresh odour, soothing to the senses, and at times a breath of air brought subtler perfume from the alleys of the garden.  In the branches above them rustled a bird’s wing.  At a distance on the country road sounded the trotting of a horse.

‘I feel ashamed and angry with myself,’ said Sidney, in a tone of emotion, ’when I think now of t hose times.  I might have done something, Jane.  I had no right to know what you were suffering and just go by as if it didn’t matter!’