He understood, and was somewhat uneasy, but made no resistance.  Mr. Byass presented himself.  He had a very long face, and obviously brought news of grave import.  Joseph shook hands with him.

’You don’t know my wife, I think.  Mr. Byass, Clem.  Nothing wrong, I hope?’

Samuel, having made his best City bow, swung back from his toes to his heels, and stood looking down into his hat.  ‘I’m sorry to say,’ he began, with extreme gravity, ’that Mr. Snowdon is rather ill—­ in fact, very ill.  Miss Jane asked me to come as sharp as I could,’

‘Ill?  In what way?’

’I’m afraid it’s a stroke, or something in that line.  He fell down without a word of warning, just before ten o’clock.  He’s lying insensible.’

‘I’ll come at once,’ said Joseph.  ‘They’ve got a doctor, I hope?’

‘Yes; the doctor had been summoned instantly.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ said Clem, in a tone of decision.

‘No, no; what’s the good?  You’ll only be in the way.’

‘No, I shan’t.  If he’s as bad as all that, I shall come.’

Both withdrew to prepare themselves.  Mr. Byass, who was very nervous and perspiring freely, began to walk round and round the table, inspecting closely, in complete absence of mind, the objects that lay on it.

‘We’ll have a cab,’ cried Joseph, as he came forth equipped.  ’Poor Jane’s in a sad state, I’m afraid, oh?’

In a few minutes they were driving up Pentonville Road.  Clem scarcely ever removed her eye from Joseph’s face; the latter held his lips close together and kept his brows wrinkled.  Few words passed during the drive.

At the door of the house appeared Bessie, much agitated.  All turned into the parlour on the ground floor and spoke together for a few minutes.  Michael had been laid on his bed; at present Jane only was with him, but the doctor would return shortly.

‘Will you tell her I’m here?’ said Joseph to Mrs. Byass.  ’I’ll see her in the sitting-room.’

He went up and waited.  Throughout the house prevailed that unnatural, nerve-distressing quietude which tells the presence of calamity.  The church bells had ceased ringing, and Sunday’s silence in the street enhanced the effect of blankness and alarming expectancy.  Joseph could not keep still; he strained his ears in attention to any slight sound that might come from the floor above, and his heart beat painfully when at length the door opened.

Jane fixed her eyes on him and came silently forward.

‘Does he show any signs of coming round?’ her father inquired.

‘No.  He hasn’t once moved.’

She spoke only just above a whisper.  The shock kept her still trembling and her face bloodless.

‘Tell me how it happened, Jane.’

’He’d just got up.  I’d taken him his breakfast, and we were talking.  All at once he began to turn round, and then he fell down—­before I could reach him.’