‘Mr. Hewett,’ Kirkwood began, without form of greeting, ’on Saturday morning I heard something that I believe I ought to have let you know at once.  I felt, though, that it was hardly my business; and somehow we haven’t been quite so open with each other just lately as we used to be.’

His voice sank.  Hewett had risen from his crouching attitude, and was looking him full in the face with eyes which grew momentarily darker and more hostile.

‘Well?  Why are you stopping?  What have you got to say?’

The words came from a dry throat; the effort to pronounce them clearly made the last all but violent.

‘On Friday night,’ Sidney resumed, his own utterance uncertain, ’Clara left her place.  She took a room not far from Upper Street, and I saw her, spoke to her.  She’d quarrelled with Mrs. Tubbs.  I urged her to come home, but she wouldn’t listen to me.  This morning I’ve been to try and see her again, but they tell me she went away yesterday afternoon.  I can’t find where she’s living now.’

Hewett took a step forward.  His face was so distorted, so fierce, that Sidney involuntarily raised an arm, as if to defend himself.

‘An’ it’s you as comes tellin’ me this!’ John exclaimed, a note of anguish blending with his fury.  ’You have the face to stand there an’ speak like that to me, when you know it’s all your own doing!  Who was the cause as the girl went away from ’ome?  Who was it, I say?  Haven’t been as friendly as we used to be, haven’t we?  An’ why?  Haven’t I seen it plainer an’ plainer what you was thinkin’ when you told me to let her have her own way?  I spoke the truth then—­ ‘cause I felt it; an’ I was fool enough, for all that, to try an’ believe I was in the wrong.  Now you come an’ stand before me—­why, I couldn’t a’ thought there was a man had so little shame in him!’

Mrs. Hewett entered the room; the loud angry voice had reached her ears, and in spite of. terror she came to interpose between the two men.

‘Do you know what he’s come to tell me?’ cried her husband.  ’Oh, you do!  He’s been tryin’ to talk you over, has he?  You just answer to me, an’ tell the truth.  Who was it persuaded me to let Clara go from ‘ome?  Who was it come here an’ talked an’ talked till he got his way?  He knew what ’ud be the end of it—­he knew, I tell you,—­ an’ it’s just what he wanted.  Hasn’t he been drawin’ away from us ever since the girl left?  I saw it all that night when he came here persuadin’ me, an’ I told it him plain.  He wanted to ’a done with her, and to a’ done with us.  Am I speakin’ the truth or not?’

‘Why should he think that way, John?’ pleaded the woman faintly.  ’You know very well as Clara ’ud never listen to him.  What need had he to do such things?’

’Oh yes, I’m wrong!  Of course I’m wrong!  You always did go against me when there was anything to do with Clara.  She’d never listen to him?  No, of course she wouldn’t, an’ he couldn’t rest until he saw her come to harm.  What do you care either?  She’s no child of yours.  But I tell you I’d see you an’ all your children beg an’ die in the streets rather than a hair of my own girl’s head should be touched!’