nk, sir,' Jane replied sadly.

Sidney took a hopeful tone--thought it very likely that the inquirer
would pursue his search with success, being so near the house where
Jane's parents had lived.

'I'll keep my eyes open,' he said. 'Perhaps I might see him. He'd be
easy to recognise, I should think.'

'And would you tell him, sir,' Jane asked eagerly.

'Why, of course I would. You'd like me to, wouldn't you?'

Jane's reply left small doubt on that score. Her companion looked down
at her again, and said with compassionate gentleness:

'Keep a good heart, Jane. Things'll be better some day, no doubt.'

'Do you think so, sir?'

The significance of the simple words was beyond all that eloquence
could have conveyed. Sidney muttered to himself, as he had done before,
like one who is angry. He laid his hand on the child's shoulder for a
moment.

A few minutes more, and they were passing along by the prison wall,
under the ghastly head, now happily concealed by darkness. Jane stopped
a little short of the house and removed the coat that had so
effectually sheltered her.

'Thank you, sir,' she said, returning it to Sidney.

He took it without speaking, and threw it over his arm. At the door,
now closed, Jane gave a single knock; they were admitted by Clem, who,
in regarding Kirkwood, wore her haughtiest demeanour. This young man
had never paid homage of any kind to Miss Peckover, and such neglect
was by no means what she was used to. Other men who came to the house
took every opportunity of paying her broad compliments, and some went
so far as to offer practical testimony of their admiration. Sidney
merely had a 'How do you do, miss?' at her service. Coquetry had failed
to soften him; Clem accordingly behaved as if he had given her mortal
offence on some recent occasion. She took care, moreover, to fling a
few fierce words at Jane before the latter disappeared into the house.
Thereupon Sidney looked at her sternly; he said nothing, knowing that
interference would only result in harsher treatment for the poor little
slave.

'You know your way upstairs, I b'lieve,' said Clem, as if he were all
but a stranger.

'Thank you, I do,' was Sidney's reply.

Indeed he had climbed these stairs innumerable times during the last
three years; the musty smells were associated with ever so many bygone
thoughts and states of feeling; the stains on the wall (had it been
daylight), the irregularities of the bare wooden steps, were