ing,
showed a white bloodless face for a couple of years afterwards, and
remained always liable at the slightest emotion to an extraordinary
ghost-like whiteness. The end came in the abomination of desolation of
the poor child's miserable cry for help: "Charley! Charley!" coming
from her throat in hidden gasping efforts. Her enlarged eyes had
discovered him where he stood motionless and dumb.

He started from his immobility, a hand withdrawn brusquely from the
pocket of his overcoat, strode up to the woman, seized her by the arm
from behind, saying in a rough commanding tone: "Come away, Eliza." In
an instant the child saw them close together and remote, near the door,
gone through the door, which she neither heard nor saw being opened or
shut. But it was shut. Oh yes, it was shut. Her slow unseeing glance
wandered all over the room. For some time longer she remained leaning
forward, collecting her strength doubting if she would be able to stand.
She stood up at last. Everything about her spun round in an oppressive
silence. She remembered perfectly--as she told Mrs Fyne--that clinging
to the arm of the chair she called out twice "Papa! Papa!" At the
thought that he was far away in London everything about her became quite
still. Then, frightened suddenly by the solitude of that empty room,
she rushed out of it blindly.

With that fatal diffidence in well doing, inherent in the present
condition of humanity, the Fynes continued to watch at their window.
"It's always so difficult to know what to do for the best," Fyne assured
me. It is. Good intentions stand in their own way so much. Whereas if
you want to do harm to anyone you needn't hesitate. You have only to go
on. No one will reproach you with your mistakes or call you a
confounded, clumsy meddler. The Fynes watched the door, the closed
street door inimical somehow to their benevolent thoughts, the face of
the house cruelly impenetrable. It was just as on any other day. The
unchanged daily aspect of inanimate things is so impressive that Fyne
went back into the room for a moment, picked up the paper again, and ran
his eyes over the item of news. No doubt of it. It looked very bad.
He came back to the window and Mrs Fyne. Tired out as she was she sat
there resolute and ready for responsibility. But she had no suggestion
to offer. People do fear a rebuff wonderfully, and all her audacity was
in her thoughts. She shrank from the incomparably