It is an experience familiar to impulsive and self-confident men that a moment’s crisis may render scarcely intelligible a mode of thought or course of action which till then one had deemed perfectly rational.  Sidney, hopeless in spite of the pretences he made, stood aghast at the responsibility he had taken upon himself.  It was so obvious to him now that he ought to have communicated to John Hewett without loss of time the news which Mrs. Hewett brought on Saturday morning.  But could he be sure that John was still in ignorance of Clara’s movements?  Was it not all but certain that Mrs. Hewett must have broken the news before this?  If not, there lay before him a terrible duty.

The two went forth together, and another visit was paid to the lodging-house.  After that Sidney called upon Mrs. Tubbs, and made a simple inquiry for Clara, with the anticipated result.

‘You won’t find her in this part of London, it’s my belief,’ said the woman significantly.  ’She’s left the lodgings as she took—­so much I know.  Never meant to stay there, not she!  You’re a friend of her father’s, mister?’

Sidney could not trust himself to make a reply. lie rejoined Snowdon at a little distance, and expressed his intention of going at once to Clerkenwell Close.

‘Let me see you again to-day,’ said the old man sadly.

Sidney promised, and they took leave of each other.  It was now nearing ten o’clock.  In the Close an organ was giving delight to a great crowd of children, some of them wearing holiday garb, but most clad in the native rags which served them for all seasons and all days.  The volume of clanging melody fell with torture upon Kirkwood’s ear, and when he saw that the instrument was immediately before Mrs. Peckover’s house, he stood aside in gloomy impatience, waiting till it should move away.  This happened in a few minutes.  The house door being open, he walked straight upstairs.

On the landing he confronted Mrs. Hewett; she started on seeing him, and whispered a question.  The exchange of a few words apprised Sidney that Hewett did not even know of Clara’s having quitted Mrs. Tubbs’.

‘Then I must tell him everything,’ he said.  To put the task upon the poor woman would have been simple cowardice.  Merely in hearing his news she was blanched with dread.  She could only point to the door of the front room—­the only one rented by the family since Jane Snowdon’s occupation of the other had taught them to be as economical in this respect as their neighbours were.

Sidney knocked and entered.  Two months had passed since his latest visit, and he observed that in the meantime everything had become more squalid.  The floor, the window, the furniture, were not kept so clean as formerly—­inevitable result of the overcrowding of a room; the air was bad, the children looked untidy.  The large bed had not been set in order since last night; in it lay the baby, crying as always, ailing as it had done from the day of its birth.  John Hewett was engaged in mending one of the chairs, of which the legs had become loose.  He looked with surprise at the visitor, and at once averted his face sullenly.