Necessity brought the father back to London almost at once, but the news sent him at brief intervals continued to be favourable.  Now that the girl could be removed from the infirmary, there was no retreat for her but her father’s home.  Mr. Peel, the manager, had made her a present of 20_l_.—­it was all he could do; the members of the company had subscribed another 5_l_., generously enough, seeing that their tour was come perforce to an abrupt close.  Clara’s career as an actress had ended. . . .

When the fog’s artificial night deepened at the close of the winter evening, Mrs. Eagles made the Hewetts’ two rooms as cheerful as might be, expecting every moment the arrival of John and his companion.  The children were aware that an all but forgotten sister was returning to them, and that she had been very ill; they promised quietude.  Amy set the tea-table in order, and kept the kettle ready. . . .  The knock for which they were waiting!  Mrs. Eagles withdrew into her own room; Amy went to the door.

A tall figure, so wrapped and veiled that nothing but the womanly outline could be discerned, entered, supported by John Hewett.

‘Is there a light in the other room, Amy?’ John inquired in a thick voice.

‘Yes, father.’

He led the muffled form into the chamber where Amy and Annie slept.  The door closed, and for several minutes the three children stood regarding each other, alarmed, mute.  Then their father joined them.  He looked about in an absent way, slowly drew off his overcoat, and when Amy offered to take it, bent and kissed her cheek.  The girl was startled to hear him sob and to see tears starting from his eyes.  Turning suddenly away, he stood before the fire and made a pretence of warming himself; but his sobs overmastered him.  He leaned his arms on the mantel-piece.

‘Shall I pour out the tea, father?’ Amy ventured to ask, when there was again perfect silence.

‘Haven’t you had yours?’ he replied, half-facing her.

‘Not yet.’

’Get it, then—­all of you.  Yes, you can pour me out a cup—­and put another on the little tray.  Is this stuff in the saucepan ready?’ ‘Mrs. Eagles said it would be in five minutes.’.

‘All right.  Get on with your eatin’, all of you.’

He went to Mrs. Eagles’ room and talked there for a short time.  Presently Mrs. Eagles herself came out and silently removed from the saucepan a mixture of broth and meat.  Having already taken the cup of tea to Clara, Hewett now returned to her with this food.  She was sitting by the fire, her face resting upon her hands.  The lamp was extinguished; she had said that the firelight was enough.  John deposited his burden on the table, then touched her shoulder gently and spoke in so soft a voice that one would not have recognised it as his.

‘You’ll try an’ eat a little, my dear?  Here’s somethin’ as has been made particular.  After travellin’—­just a spoonful or two.’