he hearth, in an old arm-chair, and there he had sat for
the last hour without speaking. His daughter had been in and out of
the room, and had endeavoured to gain his attention now and again by
a word, but he had never answered her, and had not even noticed her
presence. At the moment when Mrs. Crawley's step was heard upon the
gravel which led to the door, Jane was kneeling before the fire with
a hand upon her father's arm. She had tried to get her hand into his,
but he had either been unaware of the attempt, or had rejected it.

"Here is mamma, at last," said Jane, rising to her feet as her mother
entered the house.

"Are you all in the dark," said Mrs. Crawley, striving to speak in a
voice that should not be sorrowful.

"Yes, mamma; we are in the dark. Papa is here. Oh, mamma, how wet you
are!"

"Yes, dear. It is raining. Get a light out of the kitchen, Jane, and
I will go upstairs in two minutes." Then, when Jane was gone, the
wife made her way in the dark over to her husband's side, and spoke a
word to him. "Josiah," she said, "will you not speak to me?"

"What should I speak about? Where have you been?"

"I have been to Silverbridge. I have been to Mr. Walker. He, at any
rate, is very kind."

"I don't want his kindness. I want no man's kindness. Mr. Walker is
the attorney, I believe. Kind indeed!"

"I mean considerate. Josiah, let us do the best we can in this
trouble. We have had others as heavy before."

"But none to crush me as this will crush me. Well; what am I to do?
Am I to go to prison--to-night?" At this moment his daughter returned
with a candle, and the mother could not make her answer at once. It
was a wretched, poverty-stricken room. By degrees the carpet had
disappeared, which had been laid down some nine or ten years since,
when they had first come to Hogglestock, and which even then had not
been new. Now nothing but a poor fragment of it remained in front of
the fireplace. In the middle of the room there was a table which had
once been large; but one flap of it was gone altogether, and the
other flap sloped grievously towards the floor, the weakness of old
age having fallen into its legs. There were two or three smaller
tables about, but they stood propped against walls, thence obtaining
a security which their own strength would not give them. At the
further end of the room there was an ancient piece of furniture,
which was always called "papa's secretary", at which Mr. Crawley
customar