difficulty controlling
himself, said in a husky voice--

"Is the mood gone?"

Eve nodded, and sighed.

CHAPTER XX

At the time appointed for their next meeting, Hilliard waited in vain.
An hour passed, and Eve, who had the uncommon virtue of punctuality,
still did not come. The weather was miserable--rain, fog, and
slush--but this had heretofore proved no obstacle, for her lodgings
were situated less than half a mile away. Afraid of missing her if he
went out, he fretted through another hour, and was at length relieved
by the arrival of a letter of explanation. Eve wrote that she had been
summoned to Dudley; her father was stricken with alarming illness, and
her brother had telegraphed.

For two days he heard nothing; then came a few lines which told him
that Mr. Madeley could not live many more hours. On the morrow Eve
wrote that her father was dead.

To the letter which he thereupon despatched Hilliard had no reply for
nearly a week. When Eve wrote, it was from a new address at Dudley.
After thanking him for the kind words with which he had sought to
comfort her, she continued--

"I have at last found something to do, and it was quite time, for I
have been very miserable, and work is the best thing for me. Mr.
Welland, my first employer, when I was twelve years old, has asked me
to come and keep his books for him, and I am to live in his house. My
brother has gone into lodgings, and we see no more of the cottage on
Kate's Hill. It's a pity I have to be so far from you again, but there
seems to be no hope of getting anything to do in Birmingham, and here I
shall be comfortable enough, as far as mere living goes. On Sunday I
shall be quite free, and will come over as often as possible; but I
have caught a bad cold, and must be content to keep in the house until
this dreadful weather changes. Be more careful of yourself than you
generally are, and let me hear often. In a few months' time we shall be
able to spend pleasant hours on the Castle Hill. I have heard from
Patty, and want to tell you about her letter, but this cold makes me
feel too stupid Will write again soon."

It happened that Hilliard himself was just now blind and voiceless with
a catarrh. The news from Dudley by no means solaced him. He crouched
over his fire through the long, black day, tormented with many
miseries, and at eventide drank half a bottle of whisky, piping hot,
which at least assured him of a night's sleep.

Just to see