respects disturbed his judgment, which made him desperately eager to secure his end now that he felt life slipping away from him—­between him and such a girl as Jane there was a wider gulf than either of them could be aware of.  Little as he desired it, he could not help using a tone which seemed severe rather than tenderly trustful.  Absorbed in his great idea, conscious that it had regulated every detail in his treatment of Jane since she came to live with him, he forgot that the girl herself was by no means adequately prepared to receive the solemn injunctions which he now delivered to her.  His language was as general as were the ideas of beneficent activity which he desired to embody in Jane’s future; but instead of inspiring her with his own zeal, he afflicted her with grievous spiritual trouble.  For a time she could only feel that something great and hard and high was suddenly required of her; the old man’s look seemed to keep repeating, ‘Are you worthy?’ The tremor of bygone days came back upon her as she listened, the anguish of timidity, the heart-sinking, with which she had been wont to strain her attention when Mrs. Peckover or Clem imposed a harsh task.

One thing alone had she grasped as soon as it was uttered; one word of reassurance she could recall when she sat down in solitude to collect her thoughts.  Her grandfather had mentioned that Sidney Kirkwood already knew this secret.  To Sidney her whole being turned in this hour of distress; he was the friend who would help her with counsel and teach her to be strong.  But hereupon there revived in her a trouble which for the moment she had forgotten, and it became so acute that she was driven to speak to Michael in a way which had till now seemed impossible.  When she entered his room—­it was the morning after their grave conversation—­Michael welcomed her with a face of joy, which, however, she still felt to be somewhat stern and searching in its look.  When they had talked for a few moments, Jane said: 

‘I may speak about this to Mr. Kirkwood, grandfather?’

’I hope you will, Jane.  Strangers needn’t know of it yet, but we can speak freely to him.’

After many endeavours to find words that would veil her thought, she constrained herself to ask: 

‘Does he think I can be all you wish?’

Michael looked at her with a smile.

‘Sidney has no less faith in you than I have, be sure of that.’

‘I’ve been thinking—­that perhaps he distrusted me a little.’

‘Why, my child?’

’I don’t quite know.  But there’s been a little difference in him, I think, since we came back.’

Michael’s countenance fell.

‘Difference?  How?’

But Jane could not go further.  She wished she had not spoken.  Her face began to grow hot, and she moved away.

‘It’s only your fancy,’ continued Michael.  ’But may be that—­You think he isn’t quite so easy in his talking to you as he was?’