gh she would ask a question, and Sidney's grave attentiveness
indicated a surmise of what she was about to say. But her thought
remained unuttered, and there was a prolongation of silence.

Of course they were both thinking of Clara. That name had never been
spoken by either of them in the other's presence, but as often as
conversation turned upon the Hewetts, it was impossible for them not to
supplement their spoken words by a silent colloquy of which Clara was
the subject. From her grandfather Jane knew that, to this day, nothing
had been heard of Hewett's daughter; what people said at the time of
the girl's disappearance she had learned fully enough from Clem
Peckover, who even yet found it pleasant to revive the scandal, and by
contemptuous comments revenge herself for Clara's haughty usage in old
days. Time had not impaired Jane's vivid recollection of that
Bank-holiday morning when she herself was the first to make it known
that Clara had gone away. Many a time since then she had visited the
street whither Snowdon led her--had turned aside from her wonted paths
in the thought that it was not impossible she might meet Clara, though
whether with more hope or fear of such a meeting she could not have
said. When two years had gone by, her grandfather one day led the talk
to that subject; he was then beginning to change in certain respects
the tone he had hitherto used with her, and to address her as one who
had outgrown childhood. He explained to her how it came about that
Sidney could no longer be even on terms of acquaintance with John
Hewett. The conversation originated in Jane's bringing the news that
Hewett and his family had at length left Mrs. Peckover's house. For two
years things had gone miserably with them, their only piece of good
fortune being the death of the youngest child. John was confirmed in a
habit of drinking. Not that he had become a brutal sot; sometimes for
as much as a month he would keep sober, and even when he gave way to
temptation he never behaved with violence to his wife and children.
Still, the character of his life had once more suffered a degradation,
and he possessed no friends who could be of the least use to him.
Snowdon, for some reason of his own, maintained a slight intercourse
with the Peckovers, and through them he endeavoured to establish an
intimacy with Hewett; but the project utterly failed. Probably on
Kirkwood's account, John met the old man's advances with something more