‘Is Mr. Grail in?’

‘I think so.  I’ll just knock and see.’

Gilbert was at home, and Ackroyd went into the parlour.  The two were very friendly whenever they met, but that was seldom; Grail was surprised at the visit.  He was sitting with his mother; they seemed to have been talking, for no book lay on the table.  Luke explained why he had come to the house.

‘Will you let me sit here till she comes in, Grail?’

A chair was at once brought forward, with quiet readiness.  One chair there was in the room which no one ever used, though at evening it was always put in a particular position, between the table and the fireplace.  Gilbert kept his hand on the back of it as he talked.

Ackroyd railed against the Bowers.  Gilbert did not seem able to express very strong feeling, even when he had heard all that the other knew and suspected; his brows darkened, however, and he was anxious on Lydia’s account.

An oppressive silence had fallen upon the three, when at length they heard the front-door open.

‘Would you like mother to go upstairs to her and tell her?’ Gilbert asked.

’I should.  It would be kind of you, Mrs. Grail.  But only just speak as if it was an accident; I wouldn’t say anything else.’

Mrs. Grail left the room without speaking.  She returned in a few minutes, and, leaving the door a little open, said in her very low, tremulous voice, that Lydia was waiting in the passage.  Ackroyd shook hands with the two, and went out.

Lydia looked eagerly into his face.

‘Is he very bad, Mr. Ackroyd?’ she whispered.

‘I hope he’s come round by this time,’ was his reply.  ’My sister’s attending to him, and we’ve got things for him from the doctor.’

They passed into the street, and walked quickly side by side.

‘It was very good of you to take him in,’ Lydia said.  ’It would have been very hard to ask Mrs. Bower for help.’

‘Yes, yes; We don’t want them.’

Lydia and Mrs. Poole had never met.  They looked with interest at each other.  Ackroyd went down into the kitchen, leaving them together in the room with the old man.

The night went on.  Ackroyd and his brother-in-law smoked innumerable pipes by the kitchen fire.  Jim often nodded, but Luke was far from sleep; the sad still half-hour spent with the Grails had troubled his imagination, and thoughts of Thyrza had been revived in him.  Yes, he had loved Thyrza; all folly put aside, he knew that the memory of the sweet-voiced, golden-haired girl would for ever remain with him.  And all this night he did not once think of Totty Nancarrow.

Fortunately, as it was Saturday, they had no need to think of work next morning.  Jim would not go to bed; he kept up the most determined struggle with sleep, subduer of mortals.  His wife came down now and then, and was angry with him for his useless obstinacy, so plain it was that he could scarcely hold up his great thick head.  There was nothing good to report of the patient; he had not recovered consciousness.