surprising extent of the information with which he had furnished himself.  Long before there existed a ‘Financial Reform Almanack,’ Eagles practically represented that work in his own person.  Disinterested, ardent, with thoughts for but one subject in the scope of human inquiry, he lived contentedly on his two pounds a week, and was for ever engaged in the theoretic manipulation of millions.  Utopian budgets multiplied themselves in his brain and his note-books.  He devised imposts such as Minister never dreamt of, yet which, he declared, could not fail of vast success.  ‘You just look at these figures!’ he would exclaim to Sidney, in his low, intense voice.  ‘There it is in black and white!’ But Sidney’s faculties were quite unequal to calculations of this kind, and Eagles could never summon resolve to explain his schemes before an audience.  Indefatigably he worked on, and the work had to be its own reward.

He was busy in the usual way this afternoon, as he sat on the bed, coatless, a trade journal open on his knees.  His wife never disturbed him; she was a placid, ruminative woman, generally finding the details of her own weekly budget quite a sufficient occupation.  When she had taken off her bonnet and was turning out the contents of her bag, Eagles remarked quietly: 

‘They’ll have a bad journey.’

’What a day for her to be travelling all that distance, poor thing!  But perhaps it ain’t so bad out o’ London.’

Lowering their voices, they began to talk of John Hewett and the daughter he was bringing from Lancashire, where she had lain in hospital for some weeks.  Of the girl and her past they knew next to nothing, but Hewett’s restricted confidences suggested disagreeable things.  The truth of the situation was, that John had received by post, from he knew not whom, a newspaper report of the inquest held on the body of Grace Danver, wherein, of course, was an account of what had happened to Clara Vale; in the margin was pencilled, ’Clara Vale’s real name is Clara Hewett.’  An hour after receiving this John encountered Sidney Kirkwood.  They read the report together.  Before the coroner it had been made public that the dead woman was in truth named Rudd; she who was injured refused to give any details concerning herself, and her history escaped the reporters.  Harbouring no doubt of the information thus mysteriously sent him—­ the handwriting seemed to be that of a man, but gave no further hint as to its origin—­Hewett the next day journeyed down into Lancashire, Sidney supplying him with money.  He found Clara in a perilous condition; her face was horribly burnt with vitriol, and the doctors could not as yet answer for the results of the shock she had suffered.  One consolation alone offered itself in the course of Hewett’s inquiries; Clara, if she recovered, would not have lost her eyesight.  The fluid had been thrown too low to effect the worst injury; the accident of a trembling hand, of a movement on her part, had kept her eyes untouched.