During the last days be had been more affectionate with her than was his habit; she remembered it with gratitude.  Words of endearment seldom came to his lips, but since the reconciliation he had more than once spoken tenderly.  Doubtless he was anxious to assure her that she had again all his confidence.  Strengthening herself in that reflection, she strove to put everything out of her mind save the duty which must henceforth direct her.  Happily, there could be no more strife with the promptings of her weaker self; circumstances left but one path open before her; and that, however difficult, the one she desired to tread.  Henceforth memory must dwell on one thing only in the past, her rescue by Michael Snowdon, her nurture under his care.  Though he could no longer speak, the recollection of his words must be her unfailing impulse.  In her his spirit must survive, his benevolence still be operative.

At her wish, her father acquainted Sidney Kirkwood with what had happened.  Sidney did not visit her, but he wrote a letter, which, having read it many times, she put carefully away to be a resource if ever her heart failed.  Mr. Percival came to the house on Monday, in the company of Joseph Snowdon; he was sympathetic, but made no direct reference to her position either now or in the future.  Whilst he and her father transacted matters of business in the upper rooms, Jane remained downstairs with Mrs. Byass.  Before quitting the house he asked her if she had had any communication with Miss Lant yet.

‘I ought to write and tell her,’ replied Jane.

‘I will do so for you,’ said the lawyer, kindly.

And on taking leave he held her hand for a moment, looking compassionately into her pale face.

On Thursday morning there arrived a letter from Miss Lant, who happened to be out of town and grieved that she could not return in time for the funeral, which would be that day.  There was nothing about the future, excepting a promise that the writer would come very shortly.

Michael was buried at Abney Park Cemetery; no ray of sunlight fell upon his open grave, but the weather was mild, and among the budded trees passed a breath which was the promise of spring.  Joseph Snowdon and the Byasses were Jane’s only companions in the mourning-carriage; but at the cemetery they were joined by Sidney Kirkwood.  Jane saw him and felt the pressure of his hand, but she could neither speak nor understand anything that was said to her.

On Friday morning, before she had made a show of eating the breakfast Bessie Byass prepared for her, a visitor arrived.

‘She says her name’s Mrs. Griffin,’ said Bessie, ’and she has something very important to tell you.  Do you feel you can see her?’

’Mrs. Griffin?  Oh, I remember; she lives in the same house as Pennyloaf.  Yes:  let her come in.’

The woman was introduced to the Byasses’ parlour, which Bessie thought more cheerful for Jane just now then the room upstairs.