gned to speak were driven from memory.
He could say nothing, could only glance at her veiled face and await
what she had to ask of him.

'Will you sit down? I shall feel grateful if you can spare me a few
minutes. I have asked you to see me because--indeed, because I am sadly
in want of the kind of help a friend might give me. I don't venture to
call you that, but I thought of you; I hoped you wouldn't refuse to let
me speak to you. I am in such difficulties--such a hard position--'

'You may be very sure I will do anything I can to be of use to you,'
Sidney replied, his thick voice contrasting so strongly with that which
had just failed into silence that he coughed and lowered his tone after
the first few syllables. He meant to express himself without a hint of
emotion, but it was beyond his power. The words in which she spoke of
her calamity seemed so pathetically simple that they went to his heart.
Clara had recovered all her faculties. The fever and the anguish and
the dread were no whit diminished, but they helped instead of checking
her. An actress improvising her part, she regulated every tone with
perfect skill, with inspiration; the very attitude in which she seated
herself was a triumph of the artist's felicity.

'I just said a word or two in my note,' she resumed, 'that you might
have replied if you thought nothing could be gained by my speaking to
you. I couldn't explain fully what I had in mind. I don't know that
I've anything very clear to say even now, but--you know what has
happened to me; you know that I have nothing to look forward to, that I
can only hope to keep from being & burden to my father. I am getting
stronger; it's time I tried to find something to do. But I--'

Her voice failed again. Sidney gazed at her, and saw the dull lamplight
just glisten on her hair. She was bending forward a little, her hands
joined and resting on her knee.

'Have you thought what kind of--of work would be best for you?' Sidney
asked. The 'work' stuck in his throat, and he seemed to himself brutal
in his way of uttering it. But he was glad when he had put the question
thus directly; one at least of his resolves was carried out.

'I know I've no right to choose, when there's necessity,' she answered,
in a very low tone. 'Most women would naturally think of needlework;
but I know so little of it; I scarcely ever did any. If I could--I
might perhaps do that at home, and I feel--if I could only avoid--if I
could on