A little before sunset there came a knocking at the house-door.  Jane went down to open, and found that the visitor was Sidney Kirkwood.  The joyful look with which she recognised him changed almost in the same moment; his face wore an expression that alarmed her; it was stern, hard-set in trouble, and his smile could not disguise the truth.  Without speaking, he walked upstairs and entered Snowdon’s room.  To Sidney there was always something peculiarly impressive in the first view of this quiet chamber; simple as were its appointments, it produced a sense of remoteness from the common conditions of life.  Invariably he subdued his voice when conversing here.  A few flowers such as can be bought in the street generally diffused a slight scent through the air, making another peculiarity which had its effect on Sidney’s imagination.  When Jane moved about, it was with a soundless step; if she placed a chair or arranged things on the table, it was as if with careful avoidance of the least noise.  When his thoughts turned hitherwards, Sidney always pictured the old man sitting in his familiar mood of reverie, and Jane, in like silence, bending over a book at the table.  Peace, the thing most difficult to find in the world that Sidney knew, had here made itself a dwelling.

He shook hands with Snowdon and seated himself.  A few friendly words were spoken, and the old man referred to an excursion they had agreed to make together on the morrow, the general holiday.

‘I’m very sorry,’ replied Kirkwood, ’but it’ll be impossible for me to go.’

Jane was standing near him; her countenance fell, expressing uttermost disappointment.

‘Something has happened,’ pursued Sidney, ’that won’t let me go away, even for a few hours.  I don’t mean to say that it would really prevent me, but I should be so uneasy in my mind all the time that I couldn’t enjoy myself, and I should only spoil your pleasure.  Of course you’ll go just the same?’

Snowdon reassured him on this point.  Jane had just been about to lay supper; she continued her task, and Sidney made a show of sharing the meal.  Soon after, as if conscious that Sidney would speak with more freedom of his trouble but for her presence, Jane bade them good-night and went to her own room.  There ensued a break in the conversation; then Kirkwood said, with the abruptness of one who is broaching a difficult subject: 

’I should like to tell you what it is that’s going wrong with me.  I don’t think anyone’s advice would be the least good, but it’s a miserable affair, and I shall feel better for speaking about it.’

Snowdon regarded him with eyes of calm sympathy.  There is a look of helpful attention peculiar to the faces of some who have known much suffering; in this instance, the grave force of character which at all times made the countenance impressive heightened the effect of its gentleness.  In external matters, the two men knew little more of each other now than after their first meeting, but the spiritual alliance between them had strengthened with every conversation.  Each understood the other’s outlook upon problems of life, which are not commonly discussed in the top rooms of lodging-houses; they felt and thought differently at times, but in essentials they were at one, and it was the first time that either had found such fruitful companionship.