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THE NETHER WORLD

>'RINTEU BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.
KUlNiiURGH AND LONDON.

THE

Nether World

A NOVEL

BY

GEORGE GISSING

AUTHOR OF "DEMOS," ETC.

" La peinture d'un fumier peut etre justifi6e pourvu qu'il y pousse une
belle fleur ; sans cela, le fumier n'est que repoussant."

M. Renan, at the Academie Frangaise, Feb. 21, i88g.

IN THREE VOLS.
VOL. I.

LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE

Yfl

CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

^

PAGE

A THRALL OF THRALLS .

I

A FRIEND IN REQUEST .

23

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY

45

CLARA AND JANE .

71

JANE IS VISITED .

92

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST .

119

MRS. BYASS'S LODGINGS

143

PENNYLOAF CANDY.

166

PATHOLOGICAL

190

THE LAST COMBAT

215

A DISAPPOINTMENT

234

'*I0 SATURNALIA !"

252

THE BRINGER OF ILL NEWS

276

<S^

THE NETHEE WORLD.

CHAPTEU I.

A THRALL OF THEALLS.

In the troubled twilight of a March evening
ten years ago, an old man, whose equip-
ment and bearing suggested that he was
fresh from travel, walked slowly across
Clerkenwell Green, and by the graveyard of
St. James's Church stood for a moment look-
ing about him. His age could not be far
from seventy, but, despite the stoop of his
shoulders, he gave little sign of failing under
the burden of years ; his sober step indicated
gravity of character rather than bodily feeble-
ness, and his grasp of a stout stick was not
such as bespeaks need of support. His
attire was neither that of a man of leisure,
nor of the kind usually worn by English
VOL. I. A

2 THE NETHER WORLD.

mechanics. Instead of coat and waistcoat,
he wore a garment something like a fisher-
man's guernsey, and over this a coarse short
cloak, picturesque in appearance as it was
buffeted by the wind. His trousers were
of moleskin ; his boots reached almost to his
knees ; for head-covering he had the cheapest
kind of undyed felt, its form exactly that of
the old petasus. To say that his aspect was
venerable would serve to present him in a
measure, yet would not be wholly accurate,
for there was too much of past struggle and
present anxiety in his countenance to permit
full expression of the natural dignity of the
features. It was a fine face, and might have
been distinctly noble, but circumstances had
marred the purpose of Nature ; you perceived
that his cares had too often been of the kind
which are created by ignoble necessities, such
as leave to most men of his standing a bare
humanity of visage. He had long thin white
hair ; his beard was short and merely grizzled.
In his left hand he carried a bundle, which
probably contained clothing.

A THRALL OF THRALLS. J

The burial-ground by which he had paused
was as little restful to the eye as are most of
those discoverable in the byways of London.
The small trees that grew about it shivered
in their leaflessness ; the rank grass was wan
under the failing day ; most of the stones
leaned this way or that, emblems of neglect,
(they were very white at the top, and dark-
ened downwards till the damp soil made them
black), and certain cats and dogs were prowl-
ing or sporting among the graves. At this
corner the east wind blew with malice such
as it never puts forth save where there are
poorly clad people to be pierced ; it swept
before it thin clouds of unsavoury dust,
mingled with the light refuse of the streets.
Above the shapeless houses night was sig-
nalling a murky approach ; the sky — if sky
it could be called — gave threatening of sleet,
perchance of snow. And on every side was
the rumble of traffic, the voiceful evidence
of toil and of poverty; hawkers were cry-
ing their goods; the inevitable organ was
clanging before a public-house hard by ;

4 THE NETHEPw WORLD.

the crumpet-man was hastening along, with
monotonous ringing of his bell and hoarse
rhythmic wail.

The old man had fixed his eyes half ab-
sently on the inscription of a gravestone near
him ; a lean cat springing out between the
iron railings seemed to recall his attention,
and with a slight sigh he went forward along
the narrow street which is called St. James's
Walk. In a few minutes he had reached the
end of it, and found himself facing a high
grey-brick wall, wherein, at this point, was
an arched gateway closed with black doors.
He looked at the gateway, then fixed his gaze
on something that stood just above — some-
thing which the dusk half concealed, and by
so doing made more impressive. It was the
sculptured counterfeit of a human face, that
of a man distraught with agony. The eyes
stared wildly fi'om their sockets, the hair
straggled in maniac disorder, the forehead
was wrung with torture, the cheeks sunken,
the throat fearsomely wasted, and from the
wide lips there seemed to be issuing a

A THRALL OF THRALLS. 5

horrible cry. Above this hideous effigy was
carved the legend : '* Middlesex House of
Detention."

Something more than pain came to the
old man's face as he looked and pondered ;
his lips trembled like those of one in anger,
and his eyes had a stern, resentful gleaming.
He walked on a few paces, then suddenly
stopped where a woman was standing at an
open door.

"I ask your pardon," he said, addressing
her with the courtesy which owes nothing to
refined intercourse, *'but do you by chance
know any one of the name of Snowdon here-
abouts ? "

The woman replied with a brief negative ;
she smiled at the appearance of the ques-
tioner, and, with the vulgar instinct, looked
about for some one to share her amuse-
ment.

" Better inquire at the 'ouse at the corner,"
she added, as the man was moving away.
" They've been here a long time, I blieve."

He accepted her advice. But the people

6 THE NETHER WORLD.

at the public-house could not aid his search.
He thanked them, paused for a moment with
his eyes down, then again sighed slightly and
went forth into the gathering gloom.

Less than ^ve minutes later there ran
into the same house of refreshment a little
slight girl, perhaps thirteen years old ; she
carried a jug, and at the bar asked for " a
pint of old six." The barman, whilst drawl-
ing the ale, called out to a man who had
entered immediately after the child :

" Don't know nobody called Snowdon about
'ere, do you, Mr. Squibbs ? "

The individual addressed was very dirty,
very sleepy, and seemingly at odds with man-
kind. He replied contemptuously with a
word which, in phonetic rendering, may per-
haps be spelt " Xay-oo."

But the little girl was looking eagerly from
one man to the other ; what had been said
appeared to excite keen interest in her. She
forgot all about the beer-jug that was waiting,
and. after a brief but obvious struggle with
timidity, said in an uncertain voice :

A THRALL OF THRALLS. 7

" Has somebody been asking for that name,
sir?"

" Yes, they have," the barman answered,
in surprise. " Why 1 "

" My name's Snowdon, sir — Jane Snowdon."

She reddened over all her face as soon
as she had given utterance to the impulsive
words. The barman was regarding her with
a sort of semi-interest, and Mr. Squibbs also
had fixed his bleary (or beery) eyes upon
her. Neither would have admitted an active
interest in so pale and thin and wretchedly-
clad a little mortal. Her hair hung loose,
and had no covering ; it was hair of no
particular colour, and seemed to have been
for a long time utterly untended ; the wind,
on her run hither, had tossed it into much
disorder. Signs there were of some kind of
clothing beneath the short, dirty, worn dress,
but it was evidently of the scantiest descrip-
tion. The freely exposed neck was very thin,
but, like the outline of her face, spoke less
of a feeble habit of body than of the present
pinch of sheer hunger. She did not, indeed.

8 THE KETHER WORLD.

look like one of those children who are
born in disease and starvation and put tc
nurse upon the pavement ; her limbs were
shapely enough, her back was straight, she
had features that were not merely human,
but girl-like, and her look had in it the
light of an intelligence generally sought for
in vain among the children of the street.
The blush and the way in which she hung
her head were likewise tokens of a nature
endowed with ample sensitiveness.

"Oh, your name's Jane Snowdon, is it?"
said the barman. " Well, you're just three
minutes an' three-quarters too late. P'raps
it's a fortune a runnin' after you. He was
a rum old party as inquired. Never mind ;
it's all in a life. There's fortunes lost eveiy
week by a good deal less than three minutes
when it's 'orses — eh, Mr. Squibbs ? "

Mr. Squibbs swore with emphasis.

The little girl took her jug of beer and
was turning away.

"Hollo!" cried the barman. "Where's
the money, Jane ? — if you don't mind."

A THRALL OF THRALLS. 9

She turned again in increased confusion,
and laid coppers on the counter. Thereupon
the man asked her where she lived ; she
named a house in Clerkenwell Close, near
at hand.

"Father live there?"

She shook her head.

*' Mother?"

" I haven't got one, sir."

" Who is it as you live with, then ? "

" Mrs. Peckover, sir."

*'Well, as I was sayin', he was a queer
old joker as arsted for the name of Snowdon.
Shouldn't wonder if you see him goin' round."

And he added a pretty full description
of this old man, to which the girl listened
closely. Then she went thoughtfully — a little
sadly — on her way.

In the street, all but dark by this time,
she cast anxious glances onwards and behind,
but no old man in an odd hat and cloak
and with white hair was discoverable. Linger
she might not. She reached a house of
which the front-door stood open ; it looked

lO THE NETHER WORLD.

black and cavernous within, but she advanced
with the step of famiharity and went down-
stairs to a front-kitchen. Through the half-
open door came a strong odour and a hiss-
ing sound, plainly due to the frying of
sausages. Before Jane could enter, she was
greeted sharply in a voice which was young
and that of a female, but had no other
quality of graciousness.

" You've taken your time, my lady ! All
right ! just wait till I've 'ad my tea, that's
all ! Me an' you'll settle accounts to-night,
see if we don't. Mother told me as she
owed you a lickin', an' I'll pay it off, with
a little on my own account too. Only wait
till I've 'ad my tea, that's all. What are you
standin' there for, like a fool? Bring that
beer 'ere, an' let's see 'ow much you've drank."

''I haven't put my lips near it, miss;
indeed I haven't," pleaded the child, whose
face of dread proved both natural timidity
and the constant apprehension of ill-usage.

" Little liar ! that's what you always was,
an always will be. — Take that ! "

A THE ALL OF THE ALLS. J I

The speaker was a girl of sixteen, tall,
rather bony, rudely handsome ; the hand
with which she struck was large and coarse-
fibred, the muscles that impelled it vigorous.
Her dress was that of a work-girl, unsub-
stantial, ill-fitting, but of ambitious cut ; her
hair w^as very abundant, and rose upon the
back of her head in thick coils, an elegant
fringe depending in front. The fire had
made her face scarlet, and in the lamp-
light her large eyes glistened with many
joys.

First and foremost, Miss Clementina Peck-
over rejoiced because she had left work much
earlier than usual, and w^as about to enjoy
what she would have described as a " blow
out." Secondly, she rejoiced because her
mother, the landlady of the house, was absent
for the night, and consequently she would
exercise sole authority over the domestic
slave, Jane Snowdon, that is to say, would
indulge to the uttermost her instincts of
cruelty in tormenting a defenceless creature.
Finally — a cause of happiness antecedent to

12 THE NETHER WOELD.

the others, but less vivid in her mind at
this moment — in the next room lay await-
ing burial the corpse of Mrs. Peckover's
mother-in-law, whose death six days ago had
plunged mother and daughter into profound
delight, partly because they were relieved at
length from making pretence of humanity
to a bed-ridden old woman, partly owing to
the fact that the deceased had left behind
her a sum of seventy-five pounds, exclusive
of moneys due from a burial- club.

*'Ah!" exclaimed Miss Peckover (who
was affectionately known to her intimates
as " Clem "), as she watched Jane stagger
back from the blow and hide her face in
silent endurance of pain. " That's just a
morsel to stay your appetite, my lady ! You
didn't expect me back 'ome at this time,
did you ? You thought as you was goin' to
'ave the kitchen to yourself when mother
went. Ha ha ! ho ho ! — These sausages is
done ; now you clean that fiyin'-pan ; and
if I can find a speck of dirt in it as big
as 'arf a farden, I'll take you by the 'air of

A THRALL OF THRALLS. 1 3

the 'ed an' clean it with your face, that's
what I'll do ! Understand ? Oh, I mean
what I say, my lady ! Me an' you's a-goin'
to spend a evenin' together, there's no two
ways about that. Ho ho ! he he ! "

The frankness of Clem's brutality went
far towards redeeming her character. The
exquisite satisfaction with which she viewed
Jane's present misery, the broad joviality
with which she gloated over the prospect of
cruelties shortly to be inflicted, put her at
once on a par with the noble savage running-
wild in woods. Civilisation could bring no
charge against this young woman ; it and she
had no common criterion. Who knows but
this lust of hers for sanguinary domination
was the natural enough issue of the brutalis-
ing serfdom of her predecessors in the family
line of the Peckovers? A thrall suddenly
endowed with authority will assuredly make
bitter work for the luckless creature in the
next degree of thraldom.

A cloth was already spread across one end
of the deal table, with such other prepara-

14 THE KETHER WOELD.

tions for a meal as Clem deemed adequate.
The sausages — five in number — she had
emptied from the frying-pan directly on to
her plate, and with them all the black rich
juice that had exuded in the process of
cooking — pai-ticularly rich, owing to its
having several times caught fire and blazed
triumphantly. On sitting down and squar-
ing her comely frame to work, the first
thing Clem did was to take a long draught
out of the beer-jug ; refreshed thus, she
poured the remaining liquor into a glass.
Ready at hand was mustard, made in a tea-
cup ; having taken a certain quantity of this
condiment on to her knife, she proceeded
to spread each sausage with it from end
to end, patting them in a friendly way
as she finished the operation. Next she
sprinkled them with pepper, and after that
she constructed a little pile of salt on the
side of the plate, using her fingers to convey
it from the salt-cellar. It remained to cut
a thick slice of bread — she held the loaf
pressed to her bosom whilst doing this— and

A THRALL OF THRALLS. 1 5

to crush it down well into the black grease
beside the sausages ; then Clem was ready to
begin.

For five minutes she fed heartily, showing
really remarkable skill in conveying pieces
of sausage to her mouth by means of the
knife alone. Finding it necessary to breathe
at last, she looked round at Jane. The
hand-maiden w^as on her knees near the fire,
scrubbing very hard at the pan with successive
pieces of newspaper. It was a sight to in-
crease the gusto of Clem's meal, but of a
sudden there came into the girl's mind a
yet more delightful thought. I have men-
tioned that in the back-kitchen lay the body
of a dead woman ; it was already encoffined,
and w^aited for interment on the morrow,
when Mrs. Peckover would arrive with a cer-
tain female relative from St. Albans. Now
the proximity of this corpse was a ceaseless
occasion of dread and misery to Jane Snow-
don ; the poor child had each night to
make up a bed for herself in this front-room,
dragging together a little heap of rags when

1 6 THE NETHER WORLD.

mother and daughter were gone up to their
chamber, and since the old woman's death
it was much if Jane had enjoyed one hour of
unbroken sleep. She endeavoured to hide
these feelings, but Clem, with her Red Indian
scent, divined them accurately enough. She
hit upon a good idea.

" Go into the next room," she commanded
suddenly, *' and fetch the matches off of the
mantelpiece. I shall want to go upstaii's
presently, to see if you've scrubbed the bed-
room well."

Jane was blanched ; but she rose from
her knees at once, and reached a candle-
stick from above the fireplace.

"What's that for?" shouted Clem, with
her mouth full. " You've no need of a
light to find the mantelpiece. If you're not
off "

Jane hastened from the kitchen. Clem
yelled to her to close the door, and she
had no choice but to obey. In the dark pas-
sage outside there was darkness that might
be felt. The child all but fainted with the

A THRALL OF THRALLS. IJ

sickness of horror as she turned the handle
of the other door and began to grope her
way. She knew exactly where the coffin
was ; she knew that to avoid touching it in
the diminutive room w^as all but impossible.
And touch it she did. Her anguish uttered
itself, not in a mere sound of terror, but
in a broken word or two of a prayer she
knew by heart, including a name which
sounded like a charm against evil. She had
reached the mantelpiece ; oh, she could not,
could not find the matches ! Yes, at last
her hand closed on them. A blind rush,
and she was out again in the passage. She
re-entered the front-kitchen with limbs that
quivered, with the sound of dreadful voices
ringing about her, and blankness before her
eyes.

Clem laughed heartily, then finished her
beer in a long, enjoyable pull. Her appetite
was satisfied ; the last trace of oleaginous
matter had disappeared from her plate, and
now she toyed with little pieces of bread
lightly dipped into the mustard-pot. These

VOL. I. B

1 8 THE NETHER WOELD.

honnes houches put her into excellent humour ;
presently she crossed her arms and leaned
back. There was no denying that Clem
was handsome ; at sixteen she had all her
charms in apparent maturity, and they were
of the coarsely magnificent order. Her fore-
head was low and of great width ; her nose
was well shapen, and had large sensual
apertures ; her cruel lips may be seen on
certain fine antique busts ; the neck that
supported her heavy head was splendidly
rounded. In laughing, she became a model
for an artist, an embodiment of fierce life
independent of morality. Her health was
probably less sound than it seemed to be ;
one would have compared her, not to some
piece of exuberant normal vegetation, but
rather to a rank, evilly-fostered growth. The
putrid soil of that nether world yields other
forms besides the obviously blighted and
sapless.

" Have you done any work for Mrs. Hewett
to-day ? " she asked of her victim, after suffi-
ciently savouring the spectacle of terror.

A THRALL OF THRALLS. 1 9

" Yes, miss ; I did the front-room fireplace,
an' fetched fourteen of coals, an' washed out
a few things."

" What did she give you ? "

** A penny, miss. I gave it to Mrs. Peck-
over before she went."

*' Oh, you did ? Well, look 'ere ; you'll just
remember in future that all you get from
the lodgers belongs to me, an' not to mother.
It's a new arrangement, understand. An'
if you dare to give up a 'apenny to mother,
I'll lick you till you're nothin' but a bag
o' bones. Understand ? "

Having on the spur of the moment devised
this ingenious difficulty for the child, who
was sure to suffer in many ways from such
a conflict of authorities, Clem began to con-
sider how she should spend her evening.
After all, Jane was too poor-spirited a victim
to afford long entertainment. Clem would
have liked dealing with some one who showed
fight — some one with whom she could try
savage issue in real tooth-and-claw conflict.
She had in mind a really exquisite piece

20 THE NETHER WORLD.

of cruelty, but it was a joy necessarily post-
poned to a late hour of the night. In the
meantime, it would perhaps be as well to
take a stroll, w^ith a view of meeting a few
friends as they came away from the work-
rooms. She was pondering the invention of
some long and hard task to be executed
by Jane in her absence, when a knocking at
the house-door made itself heard. Clem at
Dnce went up to see who the visitor was.

A woman in a long cloak and a showy
bonnet stood on the step, protecting herself
with an umbrella from the bitter sleet which
the wind was now driving through the dark-
ness. She said that she wished to see Mrs.
Hewett.

"Second-floor front," replied Clem in the
offhand, impertinent tone wherewith she
always signified to strangers her position in
the house.

The visitor regarded her with a look of
lofty contempt, and, having deliberately
closed her umbrella, advanced towards the
stairs. Clem drew into the back regions for

A THRALL OF THRALLS. 2 1

a few moments, but as soon as she heard
the closing of a door in the upper part of
the house, she too ascended, going on tip-
toe, with a noiselessness which indicated
another side of her character. Having
reached the room which the visitor had
entered, she brought her ear close to the
keyhole, and remained in that attitude for
a long time — nearly twenty minutes, in fact.
Her sudden and swift return to the foot of
the stairs was followed by the descent of the
woman in the showy bonnet.

" Miss Peckover ! " cried the latter when
she had reached the foot of the stairs.

" Well, what is it ? " asked Clem, seeming
to come up from the kitchen.

"Will you 'ave the goodness to go an
speak to Mrs. Hewett for a hinstant?" said
the woman, with much affectation of refined
speech.

" All right ! I will just now, if I've time."

The visitor tossed her head and departed,
whereupon Clem at once ran upstairs. In
five minutes she was back in the kitchen.

2 2 THE NETHER WORLD.

"See 'ere," she addressed Jane. "You
know where Mr. Kirkwood works in St.
John's Square ? You've been before now.
Well, you're to go an' wait at the door till
he comes out, and then you're to tell him
to come to Mrs. Hewett at wunst. Under-
stand ? — Why ain't these tea-things all cleared
away 1 All right ! Wait till you come back,
that's all. Now be off, before I skin you
ahve ! "

On the floor in a corner of the kitchen
lay something that had once been a girl's
hat. This Jane at once snatched up and put
on her head. Without other covering, she
ran forth upon her errand.

( 23 )

CHAPTEH II.

A FEIEND IN REQUEST.

It was the hour of the unyoking of men.
In the highways and byways of Clerkenwell
there was a thronging of released toilers,
of young and old, of male and female.
Forth they streamed from factories and work-
rooms, anxious to make the most of the
few hours during which they might live for
themselves. Great numbers were still bent
over their labour, and would be for hours
to come, but the majority had leave to wend
stablewards. Along the main thoroughfares
the wheel-track was clangorous ; every omni-
bus that clattered by was heavily laden
with passengers ; tarpaulins gleamed over
the knees of those who sat outside. This
way and that the lights were blurred into a
misty radiance ; overhead was mere black-

24 THE NETHER WORLD.

ness, whence descended the lashing rain.
There was a ceaseless scattering of mud ;
there were blocks in the traffic, attended
with rough jest or angiy curse ; there was
jostling on the crowded pavement. Public-
houses began to brighten up, to bestir them-
selves for the evening's business. Streets that
had been hives of activity since early morn-
ing were being abandoned to silence and
darkness and the sweeping wind.

At noon to-day there was sunlight on the
Surrey hills ; the fields and lanes were fra-
grant with the first breath of spring, and from
the shelter of budding copses many a prim-
rose looked tremblingly up to the vision of
blue sky. But of these things Clerkenwell
takes no count ; here it had been a day like
any other, consisting of so many hours, each
representing a fraction of the weekly wage.
Go where you may in Clerkenwell, on every
hand are multiform evidences of toil, intoler-
able as a nightmare. It is not as in those
parts of London where the main thorough-
fares consist of shops and warehouses and

A FlUEND IN REQUEST. 2$

workrooms, whilst the streets that are hidden
away on either hand are devoted in the main
to dwellings. Here every alley is thronged
with small industries ; all but every door and
window exhibits the advertisement of a craft
that is carried on within. Here you may see
how men have multiplied toil for toil's sake,
have wrought to devise work superfluous,
have worn their lives away in imagining new
forms of weariness. The energy, the inge-
nuity daily put forth in these grimy bur-
rows task the brain's power of wondering.
But that those who sit here through the live-
long day, through every season, through all
the years of the life that is granted them,
who strain their eyesight, who overtax their
muscles, who nurse disease in their frames,
who put resolutely from them the thought
of what existence might be — that these do it
all without prospect or hope of reward save
the permission to eat and sleep and bring into
the world other creatures to strive with them
for bread, surely that thought is yet more
marvellous.

26 THE NETHER WOELD.

Workers in metal, workers in glass and in
enamel, workers in wood, workers in every sub-
stance on earth, or from the waters under the
earth, that can be made commercially valuable.
In Clerkenwell the demand is not so much
for rude strength as for the cunning fingers
and the contriving brain. The inscriptions
on the house-fronts would make you believe
that you were in a region of gold and silver
and precious stones. In the recesses of dim
byways, where sunshine and free air are for-
gotten things, where families herd together
in dear-rented garrets and cellars, craftsmen
are for ever handling jewellery, shaping bright
ornaments for the necks and arms of such as
are born to the joy of life. Wealth inestim-
able is ever flowing through these workshops,
and the hands that have been stained with
gold-dust may, as likely as not, some day
extend themselves in petition for a crust.
In this house, as the announcement tells
you, business is carried on by a trader in
diamonds, and next door is a den full of
children who wait for their day's one meal

A FRIEND IN REQUEST. '27

until their mother has come home with her
chance earnings. A strange enough region
wherein to wander and muse. Inextin-
guishable laughter were perchance the fittest
result of such musing ; yet somehow the
heart grows heavy, somehow the blood is
troubled in its course, and the pulses begin
to throb hotly.

Amid the crowds of workpeople, Jane
Snowdon made what speed she might. It
was her custom, whenever dispatched on an
eiTand, to run till she could run no longer,
then to hasten along panting until breath
and strength were recovered. When it was
either of the Peckovers who sent her, she
knew that reprimand was inevitable on her
return, be she ever so speedy ; but her nature
was incapable alike of rebellion and of that
sullen callousness which would have come to
the aid of most girls in her position. She
did not serve her tyrants with willingness,
for their brutality filled her with a sense of
injustice ; yet the fact that she was utterly
dependent upon them for her livelihood,

28 THE NETHER WORLD.

that but for their grace — as they were per-
petually reminding her — she would have been
a workhouse child, had a mitigating effect
upon the bitterness she could not wholly
subdue.

There was, however, another reason why
she sped eagerly on her present mission.
The man to whom she was conveying Mrs.
Hewett's message was one of the very few
persons who had ever treated her with human
kindness. She had known him by name
and by sight for some years, and since her
mother's death (she was eleven when that
happened) he had by degrees grown to re-
present all that she understood by the word
"friend." It was seldom that words were
exchanged between them; the opportunity
came scarcely oftener than once a month ;
but whenever it did come, it made a bright
moment in her existence. Once before she
had fetched him of an evening to see Mrs.
Hewett, and as they walked together he
had spoken with what seemed to her won-
derful gentleness, with consideration incon-

A FEIEND IX REQUEST. 29

ceivable from a tall, bearded man, well-
dressed and well to do in the world. Perhaps
he would speak in the same way to-night ;
the thought of it made her regardless of the
cold rain that was drenching her miserable
garment, of the wind that now and then, as
she tui'ned a corner, took away her breath
and made her cease from running.

She reached St. John's Square, and paused
at length by a door on which was the in-
scription : " H. Lewis, Working Jeweller."
It was just possible that the men had already
left; she waited for several minutes with
anxious mind. No ; the door opened and
two workmen came forth. Jane's eagerness
impelled her to address one of them.

"Please, sir, ISIr. Kirkwood hasn't gone
yet, has he ? "

"No, he ain't," the man answered
pleasantly ; and turning back, he called to
some one within the doorway : " Hollo,
Sidney ! here's your sweetheart waiting
for you."

Jane shrank aside ; but in a moment she

30 THE NETHER WORLD.

saw a familiar figure ; she advanced again and
eagerly delivered her message.

" All right, Jane ! I'll walk on with you,'*
was the reply. And whilst the other two
men were laughing good-naturedly, Kirkwood
strode away by the girl's side. He seemed
to be absent-minded, and for some hundred
yards' distance was silent ; then he stopped of
a sudden and looked down at his companion.

"Why, Jane," he said, "you'll get your
death, running about in weather like this."
He touched her dress. " I thought so ; you're
wet through."

There followed an inarticulate growl, and
immediately he stripped ofi" his short overcoat.

" Here, put this on, right over your head.
Do as I tell you, child ! "

He seemed impatient to-night. Wasn't he
going to talk with her as before ? Jane felt
her heart sinking. With her hunger for
kind and gentle words, she thought nothing
of the character of the night, and that Sidney
Kirkwood might reasonably be anxious to
get over the ground as quickly as possible.

A FKIEND IN llEQUEST. 3 1

"How is Mrs. Hewett?" Sidney asked
when they were walking on again. " Still
poorly, eh ? And the baby 1 "

Then he was again mute. Jane had some-
thing she wished to say to him — wished very
much indeed, yet she felt it would have been
difficult even if he had encouraged her. As
he kept silence and walked so quickly, speech
on her part was utterly forbidden. Kirk-
wood, however, suddenly remembered that
his strides were disproportionate to the
child's steps. She was an odd figure thus
disguised in his over-jacket ; he caught a
glimpse of her face by a street-lamp, and
smiled, but with a mixture of pain.

*' Feel a bit warmer so 1 " he asked.

*' Oh yes, sir."

*' Haven't you got a jacket, Jane ? "

*'It's all to pieces, sir. They're goin' to
have it mended, I think.'*

" They " was the word by which alone Jane
ventured to indicate her aunt.

" Going to, eh ? I think they'd better be
quick about it."

32 THE NETHER WORLD.

Ha! that was the old tone of kindness!
How it entered into her blood and warmed
it ! She allowed herself one quick glance at
him.

*' Do I walk too quick for you ? "

" Oh no, sir. Mr. Kirkwood, please, there's
something I "

The sentence had, as it were, begun itself,
but timidity cut it short. Sidney stopped
and looked at her.

"What? Something you wanted to tell
me, Jane ? "

He encouraged her, and at length she
made her disclosure. It was of Avhat had
happened in the public-house. The young
man listened with much attention, walking
veiy slowly. He got her to repeat her
second-hand description of the old man
who had been inquiring for people named
Snowdon.

"To think that you should have been just
too late ! " he exclaimed with annoyance.
"Have you any idea who he was?"

" I can't think, sir," Jane replied sadly.

A FRIEND IN REQUEST. 2>0

Sidney took a hopeful tone — thought it
very likely that the inquirer would pursue
his search with success, being so near the
house where Jane's parents had lived.

"I'll keep my eyes open," he said. ** Per-
haps I might see him. He'd be easy to re-
cognise, I should think."

" And would you tell him, sir ? " Jane asked
eagerly.

"Why, of course I would. You'd like me
to, wouldn't you ? "

Jane's reply left small doubt on that score.
Her companion looked down at her again,
and said with compassionate gentleness :

"Keep a good heart, Jane. Things'll be
better some day, no doubt."

"Do you think so, sir?"

The significance of the simple words was
beyond all that eloquence could have con-
veyed. Sidney muttered to himself, as he
had done before, like one who is angry. He
laid his hand on the child's shoulder for a
moment.

A few minutes more and they were passing

VOL. I. 0

34 THE NETHER WORLD.

along by the prison wall, under the ghastly
head, now happily concealed by darkness.
Jane stopped a little short of the house and
removed the coat that had so effectually shel-
tered her.

*^ Thank you, sir," she said, returning it to
Sidney.

He took it without speaking, and threw it
over his arm. At the door, now closed, Jane
gave a single knock ; they were admitted
by Clem, who, in regarding Kirkwood, wore
her haughtiest demeanour. This young man
had never paid homage of any kind to Miss
Peckover, and such neglect was by no means
what she was used to. Other men who came
to the house took every opportunity of pay-
ing her broad compliments, and some went
so far as to offer practical testimony of their
admiration. Sidney merely had a " How do
you do, miss?" at her service. Coquetiy
had failed to soften him ; Clem accordingly
behaved as if he had given her mortal offence
on some recent occasion. She took care,
moreover, to fling a few fierce words at Jane

A FRIEND IN REQUEST. 35

before the latter disappeared into the house.
Thereupon Sidney looked at her sternly ; he
said nothing, knowing that interference would
only result in harsher treatment for the poor
little slave.

**You know your way upstairs, I b'lieve,"
said Clem, as if he were all but a stranger.

*' Thank you, I do," was Sidney's reply.

Indeed he had climbed these stairs in-
numerable times during the last three years ;
the musty smells were associated with ever
so many bygone thoughts and states of feel-
ing ; the stains on the wall (had it been day-
light), the irregularities of the bare wooden
steps, were remembrancers of projects and
hopes and disappointments. For many
months now every visit had been with heavier
heart ; his tap at the Hewetts' door had a
melancholy sound to him.

A woman's voice bade him enter. He
stepped into a room which was not disorderly
or unclean, but presented the chill discomfort
of poverty. The principal, almost the only,
articles of furniture were a large bed, a wash-

36 THE NETHER WORLD.

hand stand, a kitchen table, and two or three
chairs, of which the cane seats were bulged
and torn. A few meaningless pictures hung
here and there, and on the mantelpiece, which
sloped forward somewhat, stood some paltry-
ornaments, secured in their places by a piece
of string stretched in front of them. The
living occupants were four children and their
mother. Two little girls, six and seven years
old respectively, were on the floor near the
fire ; a boy of four was playing with pieces
of firewood at the table. The remaining
child was an infant, bom but a fortnight ago,
lying at its mother's breast. Mrs. Hewett
sat on the bed and bent forward in an
attitude of physical weakness. Her age was
twenty-seven, but she looked several years
older. At nineteen she had married ; her
husband, John Hewett, having two children
by a previous union. Her face could never
have been very attractive, but it was good-
natured, and wore its pleasantest aspect as
she smiled on Sidney's entrance. You would
have classed her at once with those feeble-

A FEIEND IN REQUEST. 2>7

willed, weak-minded, yet kindly-disposed
women, who are only too ready to meet
affliction half-way, and who, if circumstances
be calamitous, are more harmful than an
enemy to those they hold dear. She was
rather wrapped up than dressed, and her
hair, thin and pale-coloured, was tied in a
ragged knot. She wore slippers, the upper
parts of which still adhered to the soles only
by miracle. It looked very much as if the
same relation subsisted between her frame
and the life that informed it, for there was
no blood in her cheeks, no lustre in her eye.
The baby at her bosom moaned in the act of
sucking ; one knew not how the poor woman
could supply sustenance to another being.

The children were not dirty nor uncared
for, but their clothing hung very loosely upon
them ; their flesh was unhealthy, their voices
had an unnatural sound.

Sidney stepped up to the bed and gave his
hand.

"I'm so glad you've come before Clara,"
said Mrs. Hewett. "I hoped you would.

38 THE NETHEK WORLD.

But she can't be long, an I want to speak to
you first. It's a bad night, isn't it ? Yes, I
feel it in my throat, and it goes right through
my chest^'ust 'ere, look ! And I haven't
slep' not a hour a night this last week ; it
makes me feel that low. I want to get to
the Orspital, if I can, in a day or two."

" But doesn't the doctor come still]" asked
Sidney, drawing a chair near to her.

"Well, I didn't think it was right to go
on payin' him, an' that's the truth. I'll go
to the Orspital, an' they'll give me somethin'.
I look bad, don't I, Sidney? "

"You look as if you'd no business to be
out of bed," returned the young man in a
grumbling voice.

" Oh, I cant lie stiU, so it's no use talkin' !
But see, I want to speak about Clara. That
woman Mrs. Tubbs has been here to see me,
talkin' an' talkin'. She says she'll give Clara
five shillin' a week, as well as board an lodge
her. I don't know what to do about it, that
I don't. Clara, she's that set on goin', an'
her father's that set against it. It seems as

A FrJEXD IN REQUEST. 39

if it 'ud be a good thing, don't it, Sidney ? I
know yoit don't want her to go, but what's to
be done ? What is to be done ? "

Her wailing voice caused the baby to wail
likewise. Kirkwood looked about the room
with face set in anxious discontent.

" Is it no use, Mrs. Hewett? " he exclaimed
suddenly, turning to her. "Does she mean
it? Won't she ever listen to me? "

The woman shook her head miserably ; her
eyes filled with tears.

"I've done all I could," she replied, half
sobbing. " I have ; you know I have, Sidney !
She's that 'eadstrong, it seems as if she
w^ouldn't listen to nobody — at least nobody
as we knows anything about."

"What do you mean by that?" he in-
quired abruptly. "Do you think there's any
one else?"

"How can I tell? I've got no reason for
thinkin' it, but how can I tell? No, I
believe it's nothin' but her self-will an' the
fancies she's got into her 'ead. Both her
an' Bob, there's no doin' nothin' with them.

40 THE NETHER WORLD.

Bob, he's that wasteful with his money ; an'
now he talks about goin' an' gettin' a room
in another 'ouse, when he might just as well
make all the savin' he can. But no, that
ain't his idea, nor yet his sister s. I suppose
it's their mother as they take after, though
their father he won't own to it, an' I don't
blame him for not speakin' ill of her as is
gone. I should be that wretched if I thought
my own was goin' to turn out the same. But
there's John, he ain't a wasteful man ; no one
can't say it of him. He's got his fancies, but
they've never made him selfish to others, as
well you know, Sidney. He's been the best
'usband to me as ever a poor woman had, an'
I'll say it with my last breath."

She cried pitifully for a few moments.
Sidney, mastering his own wretchedness,
which he could not altogether conceal, made
attempts to strengthen her.

*' When things are at the worst they begin
to mend," he said. " It can't be much longer
before he gets work. And look here, Mrs.
Hewett, I won't hear a word against it ; you

A FRIEND IN REQUEST. 4 1

must and shall let me lend you something to
go on with ! "

" I dursn't, I dursn't, Sidney ! John won't
have it. He's always a-saying : ' Once begin
that, an' it's all up ; you never earn no more
of your own.' It's one of his fancies, an' you
know it is. You'll only make trouble, Sidney."

" Well, all I can say is, he's an unreason-
able and selfish man ! "

" No, no ; John ain't selfish ! Never say
that ! It's only his fancies, Sidney."

"Well, there's one trouble you'd better
get rid of, at all events. Let Clara go to
Mrs. Tubbs. You'll never have any peace
till she does, I can see that. Why shouldn't
she go, after all ? She's seventeen ; if she
can't respect herself now, she never wiU,
and there's no help for it. Tell John to let
her go."

There was bitterness in the tone with
which he gave this advice ; he threw out
his hands impatiently, and then flung him-
self back, so that the cranky chair creaked
and tottered.

42 THE NETHER WORLD.

"An' if 'arm comes to her, what then?"
returned Mrs. Hewett plaintively. *' We
know well enough why Mrs. Tubbs wants
her ; it's only because she's good-lookin', an'
she'll bring more people to the bar. John
knows that, an' it makes him wild. Mind
what I'm tellin' you, Sidney; if any 'arm
comes to that girl, her father'll go out of
his 'ead. I know he will ! I know he will !
He worships the ground as she walks on,
an' if it hadn't been for that, she'd never
have given him the trouble as she is doin'.
It 'ud a been better for her if she'd had
a father like mine, as was a hard, careless
man. I don't wish to say no 'arm of him
as is dead an' buried, an my own father
too, but he was a hard father to us, an'
as long as he lived w^e dursn't say not a
word as he didn't like. He'd a kiUed me
if I'd gone on like Clara. It was a good
thing as he was gone, before "

"Don't, don't speak of that," intei-posed
Kirkwood, with kindly firmness. "That's
long since over and done with and forgotten."

A FRIEND IN EEQUEST. 43

*' No, no ; not forgotten. Clara knows, an
that's partly why she makes so little of me ;
I know it is."

" I don't believe it ! She's a good-hearted
girl "

A heavy footstep on the stairs checked
him. The door was thrown open, and there
entered a youth of nineteen, clad as an
artisan. He was a shapely fellow, though
not quite so stout as perfect health would
have made him, and had a face of singular
attractiveness, clear - complexioned, delicate
featured, a-gleam with intelligence. The in-
telligence was perhaps even too pronounced ;
seen in profile, the countenance had an
excessive eagerness; there was selfish force
about the lips, moreover, which would have
been better away. His noisy entrance in-
dicated an impulsive character, and the nod
with which he greeted Kirkwood was self-
sufiicient.

"Where's that medal I cast last night,
mother ? " he asked, searching in various cor-
ners of the room and throwing things about.

44 THE NETHER WORLD.

" Now, do mind what you're up to, Bob ! "
remonstrated Mrs. Hewett. " You'll find it
on the mantel in the other room. Don't
make such a noise."

The young man rushed forth, and in a
moment returned. In his hand, which was
very black, and shone as if from the mani-
pulation of metals, he held a small bright
medal. He showed it to Sidney, saying,
*' What d'you think o' that ? "

The work was delicate and of clever
design ; it represented a racehorse at full
speed, a jockey rising in the stirrups and
beating it with orthodox brutality.

"That's * Tally-ho' at the Epsom Spring
Meetin'," he said. " I've got money on him ! "

And, with another indifferent nod, he flung
out of the room.

Before Mrs. Hewett and Kirkwood could
renew their conversation, there was another
step at the door, and the father of the
family presented himself.

( 45 )

CHAPTER III.

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY.

Kiekwood's face, as he turned to greet the
new-comer, changed suddenly to an expres-
sion of surprise.

" Why, what have you heen doing to your
hair?" he asked abruptly.

A stranger would have seen nothing re-
markable in John Hewett's hair, unless he
had reflected that, being so sparse, it had
preserved its dark hue and its gloss somewhat
unusually. The short beard and whiskers
were also of richer colour than comported
with the rest of the man's appearance.
Judging from his features alone, one would
have taken John for sixty at least ; his years
were in truth not quite two-and-fifty. He
had the look of one worn out with anxiety

46 THE NETHER ^yORLD.

and hardship; the lines engraven upon his
face were of extraordinary depth and fre-
quency ; there seemed to he httle flesh be-
tween the dry skin and the bones which
sharply outlined his visage. The lips were,
like those of his son, prominent and nervous,
but none of Bob's shrewdness was here dis-
coverable; feeling rather than intellect ap-
peared to be the father's characteristic. His
eyes expressed self-will, perhaps obstinacy,
and he had a pecuharly dogged manner of
holding his head. At the present moment
he was suffering from extreme fatigue ; he
let himself sink upon a chah, threw his hat
on to the floor, and rested a hand on each
knee. His boots were thickly covered with
mud ; his corduroy trousers were splashed
with the same. Eain had drenched him ; it
trickled to the floor from all his garments.

For answer to Sidney's question, he nodded
towards his wife and said in a thick voice,
" Ask her."

''He's dyed it," !Mi's. Hewett explained,
with no smile. "He thought one of the

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 47

reasons why he couldn't get work was his
lookin' too old."

*'An' so it was," exclaimed Hewett, with
an angry vehemence which at once declared
his position and revealed much of his histor}^
"So it was ! My hair was a bit turned, an'
now-a-days there's no chance for old men. Ask
any one you like. Why, there's Sam Lang
couldn't even get a job at gardenin' 'cause
his hair was a bit turned. It was him as
told me what to do. * Dye your hair, Jack,'
he says ; * it's what I've had to myself,' he
says. *They won't have old men now-a-
days, at no price.' Why, there's Jarvey the
painter ; you know him, Sidney. His guvnor
sent him on a job to Jones's place, an' they
sent him back. 'Why, he's an old man,'
they says. * What good's a man of that age
for liftin' ladders about ? ' An' Jarvey's no
older than me."

Sidney knitted his brows. He had heard
the complaint from too many men to be able
to dispute its justice.

"When there's twice too many of us for-

48 . THE NETHER WORLD.

the work that's to be done," pursued John,
"what else can you expect? The old uns
have to give way, of course. Let 'em beg;
let 'em starve ! What use are they ? "

Mrs. Hewett had put a kettle on the fire,
and began to arrange the table for a meal.

*' Go an' get your wet things ofi*, John,"
she said. "You'll be havin' your rheumatics
again."

" Never mind me, Maggie. What business
have you to be up an' about? You need a
good deal more takin' care of than I do.
Here, let Amy get the tea."

The three children. Amy, Annie, and Tom,
had come forward, as only children do who
are wont to be treated affectionately on their
father's return. John had a kiss and a caress
for each of them ; then he stepped to the
bed and looked at his latest born. The
baby was moaning feebly ; he spoke no word
to it, and on turning away glanced about the
room absently. In the meantime his wife
had taken some clothing from a chest of
drawers, and at length he was persuaded to

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 49

go into the other room and change. When
he returned, the meal was ready. It con-
sisted of a scrap of cold steak, left over from
yesterday, and still upon the original dish
amid congealed fat ; a spongy half-quartern
loaf, that species of baker's bread of which a
great quantity can be consumed with small
effect on the appetite ; a shapeless piece of
something purchased under the name of
butter, dabbed into a shallow basin ; some
pickled cabbage in a tea-cup ; and lastly, a
pot of tea, made by adding a teaspoonful or
two to the saturated leaves which had already
served at breakfast and mid-day. This repast
was laid on a very dirty cloth. The cups
were unmatched and chipped, the knives
were in all stages of decrepitude ; the tea-
pot was of dirty tin, with a damaged spout.

Sidney began to affect cheerfulness. He
took little Annie on one of his knees, and Tom
on the other. The mature Amy presided.
Hewett ate the morsel of meat, evidently
without thinking about it ; he crumbled a
piece of bread, and munched mouthfuls in

VOL. I. D

50- THE NETHEll WORLD.

silence. Of the vapid liquor called tea lie
drank cup after cup.

" What's the time ? " he asked at length.
"Where's Clara 1"

" I daresay she's doin' overtime," replied
his wife. *' She won't be much longer."

The man was incapable of remaining in
one spot for more than a few minutes. Now
he went to look at the baby ; now he stirred
the fire ; now he walked across the room
aimlessly. He was the embodiment of worry.
As soon as the meal was over, Amy, Annie,
and Tom were sent off to bed. They occu-
pied the second room, together with Clara ;
Bob shared the bed of a fellow-workman
upstairs. This was great extravagance, obvi-
ously ; other people would have made two
rooms sufficient for all, and many such
families would have put up with one. But
Hewett had his ideas of decency, and stuck
to them with characteristic wilfulness.

*' Where do you think I've been this
afternoon ? " John began, when the three
little ones were gone, and Mrs. Hewett had

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY 5 I

been persuaded to lie down upon the bed.
*' Walked to Enfield an' back. I was told
of a job out there ; but it's no good ; they're
full up. They say exercise is good for the
'ealth. I shall be a 'ealthy man before long,
it seems to me. What do you think ? "

'* Have you been to see Corder again ? "
asked Sidney, after reflecting anxiously.

" No, I haven't ! " was the angry reply ;
" an' what's more, I ain't goin' to ! He's
one o' them men I can't get on with. As
long as you make yourself small before him,
an' say ' sir ' to him with every other word,
an' keep tellin' him as he's your Providence
on earth, an' as you don't know how ever
you'd get on without him — well, it's all square,
an' he'll keep you on the job. That's just
what I can't do — never could, an' never shall.
I should have to hear them children cryin for
food before I could do it. So don't speak to
me about Corder again. It makes me wild ! "

Sidney tapped the floor with his foot.
Himself a single man, without responsibili-
ties, always in fairly good work, he could not

UBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOIS

52 THE NETHER WORLD.

invariably sympathise with Hewett's sore and
impracticable pride. His own temper did
not err in the direction of meekness, but
as he looked round the room, he felt that
a home such as this would drive him to
any degree of humiliation. John knew what
the young man's thoughts were ; he resumed
in a voice of exasperated bitterness.

"No, I haven't been to Corder, — I beg
his pardon ; Mister Corder, — James Corder,
Esquu^e. But where do you think I went
this mornin' ? Mrs. Peckover brought up
a paper an' showed me an advertisement.
Gorbutt in Goswell Eoad wanted a man to
clean windows an' sweep up, an' so on ; —
offered fifteen bob a week. Well, I went.
Didn't I, mother? Didn't I go after that
job? I got there at half-past eight; an'
what do you think I found? If there was
one man standin' at Gorbutt's door, there
teas Jive hundred ! Don't you believe me ?
You go an' ask them as lives about there.
If there was one, there was five hundred !
Why, the p'lice had to come an' keep the

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 53

road clear. Fifteen bob ! What was the
use o' me stanclin' there, outside the crowd?
What was the use, I say? Such a lot o'
poor starvin' devils you never saw brought
together in all your life. There they was,
lookin' ready to fight with one another for
the fifteen bob a week. Didn't I come back
an' tell you about it, mother? An' if they'd
all felt like me, they'd a turned against the
shop an' smashed it up, — ay, an' every other
shop in the street! What use? Why, no
use ; but I tell you that's how I felt. If
any man had said as much as a rough word
to me, I'd a gone at him like a bulldog.
I felt like a beast. I wanted to fight, I
tell you, — to fight till the life was kicked
an' throttled out of me ! "

"John, don't, don't go on in that way,"
cried his wife, sobbing miserably. "Don't
let him go on like that, Sidney."

Hewett jumped up and walked about.

"W^hat's the time?" he asked the next
moment. And when Sidney told him that
it was half-past nine, he exclaimed, "Then

54 THE NETHER WORLD.

why hasn't Clara come *ome 1 What's gone
with her?"

"Perhaps she's at Mrs. Tubbs's," replied
his wife, in a low voice, looking at Kirkwood.

" An' what call has she to be there 1
Who gave her leave to go there ? "

There was another exchange of looks be-
tween Sidney and Mrs. Hewett ; then the
latter with hesitation and timidity, told of
Mrs. Tubbs's visit to her that evening, and
of the proposals the woman had made.

"I won't hear of it!" cried John. "I
won't have my girl go for a barmaid, so
there's an end of it. I tell you she shan't

go!"

" I can understand you, Mr. Hewett," said
Sidney, in a tone of argument softened by
deference ; "but don't you think you'd better
make a few inquiries, at all events. You see,
it isn't exactly a barmaid's place. I mean to
say, Mrs. Tubbs doesn't keep a public-house
where people stand about drinking all day.
It is only a luncheon-bar, and respectable
enough."

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 55

John turned and regarded him with aston-
ishment.

"Why, I thought you was as much set
against it as me? What's made you come
round like this? I s'pose you've got tired
of her, an' that's made you so you don't
care."

The young man's eyes flashed angrily, but
before he could make a rejoinder Mrs.
Hewett interposed.

" For shame 0' yourself, John ! If you
can't talk better sense than that, don't talk
at all. He don't mean it, Sidney. He's half
drove off his head with trouble."

"If he does think it," said Kirkwood,
speaking sternly but with self-command, " let
him say what he likes. He can't say worse
than I should deserve."

There was an instant of silence. Hewett's
head hung with more than the usual dogged-
ness. Then he addressed Sidney, sullenly,
but in a tone which admitted his error.

"What have you got to say? Never mind
me. I'm only the girl's father, an' there's not

56 THE NETHER WORLD.

much heed paid to fathers now-a-days. What
have you got to say about Clara ? If you've
changed your mind about her goin' there,
just tell me why."

Sidney could not bring himself to speak
at once, but an appealing look from Mrs.
Hewett decided him.

" Look here, Mr. Hewett," he began, with
blunt earnestness. " If any harm came to
Clara, I should feel it every bit as much as
you, and that you ought to know by this
time. All the same, what I've got to say is
this : Let her go to Mrs. Tubbs for a month's
trial. If you persist in refusing her, mark
my words, you'll be sony. I've thought it
all over, and I know what I'm talking about.
The girl can't put up with the workroom any
longer. It's ruining her health, for one thing,
anybody can see that, and it's making her
so discontented, she'll soon get reckless. I
understand your feeling well enough, but
I understand her as well ; at all events, I
believe I do. She wants a change ; she's
getting tired of her veiy life."

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 57

*' Very well," cried the father in shrill irri-
tation, "why doesn't she take the change
that's offered to her? She's no need to go
neither to workroom nor to bar. There's
a good home waiting for her, isn't there ?
What's come to the girl? She used to go
on as if she liked yon well enough."

*'A girl alters a deal between fifteen and
seventeen," Sidney replied, forcing himself
to speak with an air of calmness, of impar-
tiality. " She w^asn't old enough to know her
own mind. I'm tired of plaguing her. I feel
ashamed to say another word to her, and
that's the truth. She only gets more and
more set against me. If it's ever to come
right, it'll have to be by waiting ; we won't
talk about that any more. Think of her
quite apart from me, and what I've been
hoping. She's seventeen years old. You
can't deal with a girl of that age like you
can with Amy and Annie. You'll have to
trust her, Mr. Hewett. You'll have to, be-
cause there's no help for it. We're working
people, we are ; we're the lower orders ; our

58 THE NETHEE WORLD.

girls have to go out and get their livings.
We teach them the best we can, and the
devil knows they've got examples enough of
misery and ruin before their eyes to help
them to keep straight. Eich people can take
care of their daughters as much as they like ;
they can treat them like children till they're
married ; people of our kind can't do that,
and it has to be faced."

John sat with dark brow, his eyes staring
on vacancy.

"It's right what Sidney says, father," put
in Mrs. Hewett ; "we can't help it."

" You may perhaps have done harm when
you meant only to do good," pursued Sidney.
" Always being so anxious, and showing what
account you make of her, perhaps you've led
her to think a little too much of herself. She
knows other fathers don't go on in that way.
And now she wants more freedom, she feels
it worse than other girls do when you begin
to deny her. Talk to her in a different way ;
talk as if you trusted her. Depend upon it,
it's the only hold you have upon her. Don't

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 59

be SO much afraid. Clara has her faults, —
I see them as well as any one, — but I'll never
believe she'd darken your life of her own
free will."

There was an unevenness, a jerky vehe-
mence, in his voice, which told how difficult
it was for him to take this side in argument.
He often hesitated, obviously seeking phrases
which should do least injury to the father's
feelings. The expression of pain on his
forehead and about his lips testified to the
sincerity with which he urged his views, at
the same time to a lurking fear lest impulse
should be misleading him. Hewett kept
silence, in aspect as far as ever from yielding.
Of a sudden he raised his hand, and said,
" Husht ! " There was a familiar step on
the stairs. Then the door opened and ad-
mitted Clara.

The girl could not but be aware that the
conversation she interrupted had reference
to herself Her father gazed fixedly at her ;
Sidney glanced towards her with self-con-
sciousness, and at once averted his eyes ;

6o THE NETHER WORLD.

Mrs. Hewett examined her with apprehen-
sion. Having carelessly closed the door with
a push, she placed her umbrella in the cor-
ner and began to unbutton her gloves. Her
attitude was one of affected unconcern ; she
held her head stiffly, and let her eyes wan-
der to the farther end of the room. The ex-
pression of her face was cold, preoccupied ;
she bit her lower lip so that the under pari;
of it protruded.

" Where have you been, Clara ? " her father
asked.

She did not answer immediately, but
finished drawing off her gloves and rolled
them up by turning one over the other.
Then she said indifferently :

" I've been to see Mrs. Tubbs."

" And who gave you leave ? " asked Hewett
with irritation.

*'I don't see that I needed any leave. I
knew she was coming here to speak to you
or mother, so I went, after work, to ask what
you'd said."

She was not above the middle stature of

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 6 1

women, but her slimness and erectness, and
the kind of costume she wore, made her seem
tall as she stood in this low-ceiled room.
Her features were of very uncommon type,
at once sensually attractive and bearing the
stamp of intellectual vigour. The profile was
cold, subtle, original ; in full face, her high
cheek-bones and the heavy, almost horizontal
line of her eyebrows were the points that first
drew attention, conveying an idea of force of
character. The eyes themselves were hazel-
coloured, and, whatever her mood, preserved
a singular pathos of expression, a look as of
self-pity, of unconscious appeal against some
injustice. In contrast with this, her lips were
defiant, insolent, unscrupulous ; a shadow of
the naivete of childhood still lingered upon
them, but, though you divined the earlier
pout of the spoilt girl, you felt that it must
have foretold this danger-signal in the ma-
ture woman. Such cast of countenance could
belong only to one who intensified in her
personality an inheritance of revolt ; who,
combining the temper of an ambitious woman

62 THE NETHER WORLD.

with the forces of a man's brain, had early
learnt that the world was not her friend nor
the world's law.

Her clothing made but poor protection
against the rigours of a London winter. Its
peculiarity (bearing in mind her position)
was the lack of any pretended elegance. A
close-fitting, short jacket of plain cloth made
evident the grace of her bust ; beneath w^as
a brown dress, with one row of kilting. She
wore a hat of brown felt, the crown rising
from back to front, the narrow brim closely
turned up all round. The high collar of the
jacket alone sheltered her neck. Her gloves,
though w^om, were obviously of good kid ;
her boots — strangest thing of all in a work-
girl's daily attire — were both strong and
shapely. This simplicity seemed a declara-
tion that she could not afford genuine luxuries
and scorned to deck herself with shams.

The manner of her reply inflamed Hewitt
with impotent wrath. He smote the table
violently, then sprang up and flung his chair
aside.

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 63

" Is that the way you've learnt to speak to
your father ?" he shouted. "Haven't I told
you you're not to go nowhere without my
leave or your mother's? Do you pay no
heed to what I bid you ? If so, say it ! Say
it at once, and have done with it."

Clara was quietly removing her hat. In
doing so, she disclosed the one thing which
gave proof of regard for personal appearance.
Her hair was elaborately dressed. Drawn
up from the neck, it was disposed in thick
plaits upon the top of her head ; in front
were a few rows of crisping. She affected
to be quite unaware that words had been
spoken to her, and stood smoothing each side
of her forehead.

John strode forward and laid his hands
roughly upon her shoulders.

*' Look at me, wiU you ? Speak, will
you?"

Clara jerked herself from his grasp and
regarded him w^ith insolent surprise. Of fear
there was no trace upon her countenance ;
she seemed to experience only astonishment

64 THE NETHER WORLD.

at such unwonted behaviour from her father,
and resentment on her own behalf. Sidney
Kirkwood had risen and advanced a step or
two, as if in apprehension of harm to the
girl, but his interference was unneeded.
Hewett recovered his self-control as soon as
Clara repelled him. It was the first time he
had ever laid a hand upon one of his children
other than gently ; his exasperation came of
over-tried nerves, of the experiences he had
gone through in search of work that day, and
the keen sufi'ering occasioned by his argu-
ment with Sidney. The practical confirma-
tion of Sidney's warning that he must no
longer hope to control Clara like a child
stung him too poignantly ; he obeyed an un-
reasoning impulse to recover his authority
by force.

The girl's look entered his heart hke a
stab ; she had never faced him like this
before, saying more plainly than with words
that she defied him to control her. His
child's face, the face he loved best of all !
yet at this moment he was searching it vainly

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 65

for the lineaments that were familiar to him.
Something had changed her, had hardened
her against him, in a moment. It seemed
impossible that there should come such sever-
ance between them. John revolted against
it, as against all the other natural laws that
visited him harshly.

" What's come to you, my girl 1 " he said
in a thick voice. " What's wrong between
us, Clara? Haven't I always done my best
for you ? If I was the worst enemy you had,
you couldn't look at me crueller."

"I think it's me that should ask what's
come to you, father," she returned, with her
former self-possession. *'You treat me as
if I was a baby. — I want to know what
you're going to say about Mrs. Tubbs. I
suppose mother's told you what she offers
me?"

Sidney had not resumed his chair. Before
Hewett could reply he said :

"I think I'll leave you to talk over this
alone."

" No ; stay where you are," said John

VOL. I. ^

66 THE Is'ETHER WORLD.

gruffly. "Look here, Clara. Sidney's been
talkin' to me ; he's been sayin' that I ought
to let you have your own way in this. Yes,
you may well look as if it surprised you."
Clara had just glanced at the young man,
slightly raising her eyebrows, but at once
looked away again with a careless movement
of the head. " He says what it's hard an'
cruel for me to believe, though I half begin
to see that he's right ; he says you won't
pay no more heed to what / wish, an' it's
me now must give way to you. I didn't
use to think me an' Clara would come to
that ; but it looks like it — it looks like it."

The girl stood with downcast eyes. Once
more her face had suffered a change ; the
lips were no longer malignant, her forehead
had relaxed from its haughty frown. The
past fortnight had been a period of contest
between her father's stubborn fears and her
own determination to change the mode of
her hfe. Hej self-will was only intensified
by opposition. John had often enough ex-
perienced this, but hitherto the points at

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 67

issue had been trifles, matters in which the
father could yield for the sake of pleasuring
his child. Serious resistance brought out
for the first time all the selfish forces of her
nature. She was prepared to go all lengths
rather than submit, now the question of her
liberty had once been broached. Already
there was a plan in her mind for quitting
home, regardless of all the misery she would
cause, reckless of what future might be in
store for herself. But the first sign of
yielding on her father's part touched the
gentler elements of her nature. Thus was
she constituted ; merciless in egotism when
put to the use of all her weapons, moved
to warmest gratitude as soon as concession
was made to her. To be on ill terms with
her father had caused her pain, the only
efiect of which, however, was to heighten
the sullen impracticability of her temper. At
the first glimpse of relief from overstrained
emotions, she desired that all angry feeling
should be at an end. Having gained her
point, she could once more be the affection-

6S THE NETHER WORLD.

ately wilful girl whose love was the first
necessity of John Hewett's existence.

" Well," John pursued, reading her features
eagerly, '' I'll say no more about that, and I
won't stand in the way of what you've set
your mind on. But understand, Clara, my
girl ! It's because Sidney persuaded me.
Sidney answers for it, mind you that ! "

His voice trembled, and he looked at the
young man with something like anger in his
eyes.

*'I'm willing to do that, INIr. Hewett," said
Kirkwood in a low but firm voice, his eyes
turned away from Clara. "No human being
can answer for another in the real meaning
of the word ; but I take upon myseK to say
that Clara will bring you no sorrow. She
hears me say it. They're not the kind of
words that a man speaks without thought of
what they mean."

Clara had seated herself by the table, and
was moving a finger along the pattern of
the dirty white cloth. She bit her under-Hp
in the manner abeady described, seemingly

A SUPERFLUOUS FAMILY. 69

her habit when she wished to avoid any-
marked expression of countenance.

"I can't see what Mr. Kirkwood's got
to do with it at all," she said with indiffer-
ence, which now, however, was rather good-
humoured than the reverse. *' I'm sure I
don t want anybody to answer for me'' A
slight toss of the head. "You'd have let
me go in any case, father ; so I don't see you
need bring Mr. Kirkwood's name in."

Hewett turned away to the fireplace and
hung his head. Sidney, gazing darkly at the
girl, saw her look towards him, and she
smiled. The strange effect of that smile
upon her features ! It gave gentleness to
the mouth, and, by making more manifest
the intelligent light of her eyes, emphasised
the singular pathos inseparable from their
regard. It was a smile to which a man
would concede anything, which would van-
quish every prepossession, which would in-
spire pity and tenderness and devotion in the
heart of sternest resentment.

Sidney knew its power only too well ; he

70 THE NETHER WOELD.

averted his face. Then Clara rose again and
said :

*'I shall just walk round and tell Mrs.
Tubbs. It isn't late, and she'd like to know
as soon as possible."

" Oh, surely it'll do in the mornin' ! " ex-
claimed Mrs. Hewett, who had followed the
conversation in silent anxiety.

Clara paid no attention, but at once put
on her hat again. Then she said, " I won't
be long, father," and moved towards the
door.

Hewett did not look round.

*'Will you let me walk part of the way
with you ? " Sydney asked abruptly.

" Certainly, if you like."

He bade the two who remained "Good-
night," and followed Clara downstairs.

( 71 )

CHAPTER lY.

CLARA AND JANE.

Eain no longer fell, but the gusty and bitter
wind still swept about the black streets.
Walking side by side without speech, Clara
and her companion left the neighbourhood
of the prison and kept a northward direction
till they reached the junction of highways
where stands the "Angel." Here was the
wonted crowd of loiterers and the press of
people waiting for tramcar or omnibus, east,
west, south, or north ; newsboys, eager to
get rid of their last batch, were crying as
usual, " Ech-ow I Exteree speciul ! Ech-ow !
Steendard ! " and a brass band was blaring
out its saddest strain of merry dance-music.
The lights gleamed dismally in rain-puddles
and on the wet pavement. With the wind

"]! THE NETHER WORLD.

came whiffs of tobacco and odours of the
drinking-bar.

They crossed, and walked the length of
Islington High Street, then a short way along
its continuation, Upper Street. Once or twice
Clara had barely glanced at Kirkwood, but
his eyes made no reply, and his lips were
resolutely closed. She did not seem offended
by this silence ; on the contrary, her face
was cheerful and she smiled to herself now
and then. One would have imagined that
she found pleasure in the sombreness of
which she was the cause.

She stopped at length, and said :

*' I suppose you don't want to go in with
me?"

"No."

"Then I'll say good-night. Thank you
for coming so far out of your way."

" I'll wait. I may as well walk back with
you, if you don't mind."

" Oh, very well. I shan't be many
minutes."

She passed on and entered the place of

CLAEA AND JANE. 73

refreshment that was kept by Mrs. Tubbs.
Till recently it had been an ordinary eating-
house or coffee-shop ; but, having succeeded
in obtaining a license to sell strong liquors,
Mrs. Tubbs had converted the establishment
into one of a more pretentious kind. She
called it " Imperial Restaurant and Luncheon
Bar." The front shone vrith vermilion paint ;
the interior was aflare with many gas-jets ;
in the window was disposed a tempting
exhibition of " snacks " of fish, cold roast
fowls, ham-sandwiches, and the like ; whilst
farther back stood a cooking-stove whereon
frizzled and vapoured a savoury mess of
sausages and onions.

Sidney turned away a few paces. The
inclemency of the night made Upper Street —
the promenade of a great district on account
of its spacious pavement — less frequented
than usual, but there were still numbers of
people about, some hastening homewards,
some sauntering hither and thither in the
familiar way, some gathered into gossipping
groups. Kirkwood was irritated by the con-

74 THE NETHER WORLD.

versation and laughter that fell on his ears,
initated by the distant strains of the band,
irritated above all by the fume of frying that
perv^aded the air for many yards about Mrs.
Tubbs's precincts. He observed that the cus-
tomers tending that way were numerous ;
they consisted mainly of lads and young men
who had come forth from neighbouring places
of entertainment. The locality and its char-
acteristics had been familiar to him from
youth upwards, but his nature was not sub-
dued to what it worked in, and the pre-
sent fit of disgust was only an accentuation
of a mood by which he was often possessed.
To the Hewetts he had spoken impartially of
Mrs. Tubbs and her bar; probably that was
the right view ; but now there came back upon
him the repugnance with which he had re-
garded Clara's proposal when it was first made.
It seemed to him that he had waited nearly
half an hour when Clara came forth again.
In silence she walked on beside him. Again
they crossed by the "Angel" and entered
St. John Street Eoad.

CLARA AND JANE. 75

" You've made your arrangements ? " Sid-
ney said, now that there were few people
passing.

" Yes ; I shall go on Monday."

** You're going to live there altogether? "

** Yes ; it'll be more convenient, and then
it'll give them more room at home. Bob can
sleep with the children, and save money."

*' To be sure ! " observed the young man
with bitter irony.

Clara flashed a glance at him. It was a new
thing for Sidney to take this tone with her ;
not seldom he had expressed unfavourable
judgments by silence, but he had never
spoken to her otherwise than with deference
and gentleness.

"You don't seem in a very good temper
to-night, Mr. Kirkwood," she remarked in a
suave tone.

He disregarded her words, but in a few
moments turned upon her and said scorn-
fully :

*' I hope you'll enjoy the pleasant ladylike
work you've found! I should think it'll

76 THE NETHER WORLD.

improve your self-respect to wait on the gen-
tlemen of Upper Street ! "

Irony is not a weapon much in use among
working-people ; their wits in general are too
slow. With Sidney, however, it had always
been a habit of speech in indignant criticism,
and sympathy made him aware that nothing
would sting Clara more acutely. He saw
that he was successful when she turned her
head away and moved it nervously.

" And do you suppose I go there because
the place pleases me ? " she asked in a cold,
hostile voice. " You make a great mistake,
as you always do when you pretend to know
anything about me. Wait till I've learned a
little about the business ; you won't find me
in Upper Street then."

" I understand."

Again they walked on in silence. They
were nearing Clerkenwell Close, and had to
pass a comer of the prison in a dark lane,
where the wind moaned drearily. The line
of the high blank wall was relieved in colour-
less gloom against a sky of sheer night.

CLARA AND JANE* 77

Opposite, the shapes of poverty- eaten houses
and grimy workshops stood huddling in the
obscurity. From near at hand came shrill
voices of children chasing each other about —
children playing at midnight between slum
and gaol !

"We're not likely to see much of each
other after to-night," said Sidney, stopping.

" The less the better, I should say, if this
is how you're going to talk to me."

" The less the better, perhaps, — at all events
for a time. But there's one or two things
on my mind, and I'll say them now. I don't
know whether you think anything about
it, but you must have seen that things are
getting worse and worse at home. Your
mother "

" She's no mother of mine ! " broke in
Clara angrily.

*' She's been a mother to you in kindness,
that's certain, and you've repaid her almost
as ill as you could have done. Another girl
would have made her hard life a bit easier.
No ; you've only thought of yourself Your

yS THE NETHER WORLD.

father walks about day after day trying to get
work, and how do you meet him when he
comes home ? You fret him and anger him ;
you throw him back ill-tempered words when
he happens to think diflferent from you ; you
almost break his heart, because you won't
give way in things that he only means for
your good — he that would give his life for
you ! It's as well you should hear the truth
for once, and hear it from me, too. Any one
else might speak from all sorts of motives ;
as for me, it makes me sufier more to say
such things than it ever could you to hear
them. Laugh if you like ! I don't ask you
to pay any heed to what I've wished and
hoped ; but just give a thought to your
father, and the rest of them at home. I told
him to-night he'd only to trust you, that you
never could do anything to make him ashamed
of you. I said so, and I believe it. Look,
Clara ! with all my heart I believe it. But now
you've got your way, think of them a little."

"It isn't your fault if I don't know how
bad I am," said the girl with a half smile.

CLARA AND JANE. 79

That she did not resent his lecture more
decidedly was no doubt due to its having
afforded new proof of the power she had over
him. Sidney was shaken with emotion ; his
voice all but failed him at the last.

"Good-bye," he said, turning away.

Clara hesitated, looked at him, but finally
also said " Good-bye," and went on alone.

She walked with bent head, and almost
passed the house-door in absence of thought.
On the threshold was standing Miss Peckover ;
she drew aside to let Clara pass. Between
these two was a singular rivalry. Though by
date a year younger than Clara, Clem gave
no evidence of being physically less mature.
In the matter of personal charms she re-
garded herself as by far Miss Hewett's
superior, and resented vigorously the tone
of the latter's behaviour to her. Clara, on
the other hand, looked down upon Miss
Peckover as a mere vulgar girl ; she despised
her brother Bob because he had allowed
himself to be inveigled by Clem ; in intel-
lect, in social standing, she considered her-

8o THE NETHER WORLD.

self out of all comparison with the landlady's
daughter. Clem had the obvious advantage
of being able to ridicule the Hewetts' poverty,
and did so without sparing. Now, for in-
stance, when Clara was about to pass with
a distant " Good-night," Clem remarked :

''It's cold, ain't it? I wonder you don't
put on a ulster, a night like this."

'* Thank you," was the reply. *'I shan't
consult you about how I'm to dress."

Clem laughed, knowing she had the best
of the joke.

The other went upstairs, and entered the
back-room, where it was quite dark.

"That you, Clara?" asked Amy's voice.
''The candle's on the mantel-shelf"

" Why aren't you asleep ? " Clara returned
sharply. But the irritation induced by Clem's
triumph quickly passed in reflection on Sid-
ney's mode of leave-taking. That had not
at all annoyed her, but it had made her
thoughtful. She lit the candle. Its light dis-
closed a room much barer than the other one.
There was one bed, in which Amy and Annie

CLARA AND JANE. 8 1

lay (Clara had to share it with them), and a
mattress placed on the floor, where reposed
little Tom ; a low chest of drawers with a
very small looking-glass upon it, a wash-
stand, a few boxes. Handsome girls, unfor-
tunate enough to have brains to boot, do not
cultivate the patient virtues in chambers of
this description.

There was a knock at the door. Clara
found her father standing there.

" Have you anything to tell me, my girl ? "
he asked in a subdued voice, furtively re-
garding her.

"I shall go on Monday."

He drew back a step, and seemed about
to return to the other room.

"Father, I shall have to give Mrs. Tubbs
the five shillings for a few weeks. She's
going to let me have a new dress."

** Your earnin's is your own, Clara."

"Yes, but I hope very soon to be able
to give you something. Its hard for you,
having no work."

John brightened wonderfully.

VOL. L p

82 THE NETHER WORLD.

"Don't you trouble, my dear. That's all
right. Things'll come round somehow. You're
a good girl. Good-night, my darlin ! "

He kissed her, and went consoled to his rest.

Miss Peckover kept going up and down
between the kitchen and the front-door.
Down below, Jane was cleaning a copper
kettle. Clem, who had her sweetest morsel
of cruelty yet in store, had devised this
pleasant little job as a way of keeping the
child employed till all was quiet.

She had just come down to watch the
progress of the work, and to give a smart
rap or two on the toiling fingers, when a
heavy footstep in the passage caused her to
dart upstairs again. It was Bob Hewett,
returned from his evening recreations.

" Oh, that's you, is it ? " cried Clem.
*' Come down ; I want to speak to you."

"Wait till to-mon'ow," answered Bob,
advancing towards the stairs.

"Wait ! we'll see about that ! "

She sprang forward, and with a prompt

CLARA AND JANE. 83

iexertion of muscle, admirable in its way,
whirled Bob round and dragged him to the
head of the kitchen flight. The young fellow
took it in good part, and went down with her.

*' You go up into the passage/* said Clem
to her servant, and was immediately obeyed.

*' Now," resumed Miss Peckover, when she
had closed the door, ''who have you been
goin' about with to-night ? "

" What are you talking about ? " returned
Bob, who had seated himself on the table,
and was regarding Clem jocosely. "I've
been with some pals, that's all."

"Pals! what sort o' pals? Do you call
Pennyloaf Candy one o' your pals ? "

She stood before him in a superb attitude,
her head poised fiercely, her arms quivering
at her sides, all the stature and vigour of her
young body emphasised by muscular strain.

" Pennyloaf Candy ! " Bob repeated, as if
in scorn of the person so named. " Get on
with you ! I'm sick of hearing you talk
about her. Why, I haven't seen her not
these three weeks."

84 THE NETHER WORLD.

'' It's a lie ! " Clem's epithet was too

vigorous for reproduction. " Sukey Jollop
saw you with her down by the meat-market,
an' Jeck Bartley saw you too."

"Jeck did?" He laughed with obstre-
perous scorn. *' Why, Jeck's gone to Homer-
ton to his mother till Saturday night. Don't
be such a bloomin' fool ! Just because Suke
Jollop's dead nuts on me, an' I won't have
nothin' to say to her, she goes tellin' these
bloomin' lies. When I see her next, I'll
make her go down on her marrow-bones an'
beg my pardon. See if I don't just ! "

There was an engaging frankness in Bob's
way of defending himself which evidently
impressed Miss Peckover, though it did not
immediately soothe her irritation. She put
her arms akimbo, and examined him with a
steady suspicion which would have discon-
certed most young men. Bob, however, only
laughed more heartily. The scene was pro-
longed. Bob had no recourse to tenderness
to dismiss the girl's jealousy. His self-con-
ceit was supreme, and had always stood him

CLARA AND JANE. 85

in such stead with the young ladies who, to
use his own expression, were " dead nuts on
him,'* that his love-making, under whatever
circumstances, always took the form of genial
banter de haul en has. *' Don't be a bloomin'
fool ! " was the phrase he deemed of most
efficacy in softening the female heart ; and
the result seemed to justify him, for after
some half-hour s wrangling, Clem abandoned
her hostile attitude, and eyed him with a
savage kind of admiration.

*'When are you goin to buy me that
locket, Bob, to put a bit of your 'air in ? "
she inquired pertinently.

*' You just wait, can't you ? There's a
event coming off next week. I won't say
nothing, but you just wait."

" I'm tired o' waitin . See 'ere ; you ain't
goin' to best me out of it ? "

" Me best you ? Don't be a bloomin' fool,
Clem ! "

He laughed heartily, and in a few minutes
allowed himself to be embraced and sent off
to his chamber at the top of the house.

86 THE NETHER WOELD.

Clem summoned her servant from the pas-
sage. At the same moment there entered
another lodger, the only one whose anival
Clem still awaited. His mode of ascending
the stairs w^as singular; one would have
imagined that he bore some heavy weight,
for he proceeded very slowly, with a great
clumping noise, sui'mounting one step at a
time in the manner of a child. It was Mr.
Marple, the cab-driver, and his way of going
up to bed was very simply explained by the
fact that a daily sixteen houi's of sitting on
the box left his legs in a numb and practically
useless condition.

The house was now quiet. Clem locked
the front-door and returned to the kitchen,
eager with anticipation of the jest she was
going to carry out. First of all she had to
pick a quarrel with Jane ; this was very easily
managed. She pretended to look about the
room for a minute, then asked fiercely :

" What's gone with that sixpence I left on
the dresser 1 "

Jane looked up in terror. She was worn

CLAKA AND JANE. Sj

almost to the last point of endurance by her
day and night of labour and agitation. Her
face was bloodless, her eyelids were swollen
with the need of sleep.

V' Sixpence ! " she faltered, *' I'm sure I
haven't seen no sixpence, miss."

"You haven't? Now, I've caught you at
last. There's been nobody 'ere but you.
Little thief! We'll see about this in the
mornin', an' to-night you shall sleep in the
back-kitchen I "

The child gasped for breath. The terror of
sudden death could not have exceeded that
which rushed upon her heart when she was
told that she must pass her night in the room
where lay the coffin.

" An' you shan't have no candle, neither,"
proceeded Clem, delighted with the effect
she w^as producing. " Come along ! I'm off
to bed, an' I'll see you safe locked in first, so
as no one can come an' hurt you."

" Miss ! please ! — I can't, I durstn't ! "

Jane pleaded in inarticulate anguish. But
Clem had caught her by the arm, was drag-

88 THE NETHER WORLD.

ging her on, on, till she was at the very door
of that ghastly death-cellar. Though thirteen
years old, her slight frame was as incapable
of resisting Clem Peckover's muscles as an
infant's would have been. The door was
open, but at that moment Jane uttered a
shriek which rang and echoed through the
whole house. Startled, Clem relaxed her
grasp. Jane tore herself away, fled up the
kitchen-stairs, fled upwards still, flung herself
at the feet of some one who had come out
onto the landing and held a light.

*' Oh, help me! Don't let her! Help me!"

*' What's up with you, Jane ? " asked Clara,
for it was she who, not being yet in bed, had
come forth at once on hearing the scream.

Jane could only cling to her garment, pant
hysterically, repeat the same words of entreaty
again and again. Another door opened, and
John Hewett appeared half dressed.

*' What's wrong?" he cried. *'The 'ouse
o' fire 1 Who yelled out like that ? "

Clem was coming up ; she spoke from the
landing below.

CLARA AND JANE. 89

" It's that Jane, just because I gave her a
rap as she deserved. Send her down again."

" Oh, no I " cried the poor girl. " Miss
Hewett I be a friend to me ! She's goin'
to shut me up all night with the coffin.
Don't let her, miss ! I durstn't ! Oh, be a
friend to me ! "

** Little liar!" shouted Clem. '^ Oh, that
bloomin little liar ! when I never said a word
o' such a thing ! "

"I'll believe her a good deal sooner than
you," returned Clara sharply. *'Why, any-
body can see she's tellin' the truth, — can't
they, father? She's half scared out of her
life. Come in here, Jane ; you shall stay
here till morning."

By this time all the grown-up people in
the house were on the staircase ; the clang of
tongues was terrific. Clem held her ground
stoutly, and in virulence was more than a
match for all her opponents. Even Bob did
not venture to take her part ; he grinned
down over the banisters, and enjoyed the en-
tertainment immensely. Dick Snape, whose

90 THE ^^ETHEE- WOELD.

room Bob shared, took the opportunity of
paying off certain old scores he had standing
against Clem. Mr. Marple, the cab-driver,
was very loud and very hoarse in condemna-
tion of such barbarity. Mrs. Hewett, look-
ing as if she had herself risen from a coffin,
cried shame on the general heartlessness with
which Jane was used.

Clara held to her resolve. She led Jane
into the bedroom, then, with a parting shot
at Miss Peckover, herself entered and locked
the door.

"Drink some water, Jane," she said, doing
her best to reassure the child. "You're safe
for to-night, and we'll see what Mrs Peck-
over says about this when she comes back
to-morrow."

Jane looked at her rescuer with eyes in
which eternal gratitude mingled with fear for
the future. She could cry now, poor thing,
and so little by little recover herself. Words
to utter her thanks she had none ; she could
only look something of what she felt, Clara
made her undress and lie down with little

CLARA AND ^ANE. 9I

Tom on the mattress. In a quarter of an
hour the candle was extinguished, and but
for the wind, which rattled sashes and doors,
and made ghostly sounds in the chimneys,
there was silence throughout the house.

Something awoke Clara before dawn. She
sat up, and became aware that Jane was talk-
ing and crying wildly, evidently re-acting in
her sleep the scene of a few hours ago.
With difficulty Clara broke her slumber.

" Don't you feel well, Jane ? " she asked,
noticing a strangeness in the child's way of
replying to her.

*' Not very, miss. My head's bad, an' I'm
so thirsty. May I drink out of the jug,
miss i

*' Stay where you are. I'll bring it to you."

Jane drank a great deal. Presently she
fell again into slumber, which was again
broken in the same way. Clara did not go
to sleep, and as soon as it was daylight she
summoned her father to come and look at the
child. Jane was ill, and, as every one could
see, rapidly grew worse.

( 92 )

CHAPTER V.

JANE IS VISITED.

At ten o'clock next morning Mrs. Peckover
reached home. She was a tall, big-boned
woman of fifty, with an arm like a coal-
heaver's. She had dark hair, which shone
and was odorous with unguents ; a sallow,
uncomely face, and a handsome moustache.
Her countenance was more difficult to read
than Clem's ; a coarse, and most likely brutal,
nature was plain enough in its lines, but
there was also a suggestion of self-restraint,
of sagacity, at all events of cunning, qualities
which were decidedly not inherited by her
daughter. With her came the relative whose
presence had been desired at the funeral
to-day. This was Mrs. Gully, a stout person
with a veiy red nose and bleared eyes. The

JANE IS VISITED. 93

credit of the family demanded that as many
relatives as possible should follow the hearse,
and Mrs. Peckover's reason for conducting
Mrs. Gully hither was a justifiable fear lest,
if she came alone, the latter would arrive in
too manifest a state of insobriety. A certain
amount of stimulant had been permitted on
the way, just enough to assist a genteel loqua-
city, for which Mrs. Gully had a reputation.
She had given her word to abstain from
further imbibing until after the funeral.

The news which greeted her arrival was
anything but welcome to Mrs. Peckover. In
the first place, there would be far more work
than usual to be performed in the house to-
day, and Jane could be ill spared. Worse
than that, however. Clara Hewett, who was
losing half a day's work on Jane's account,
made a very emphatic statement as to the
origin of the illness, and said that if any-
thing happened to Jane, there would be dis-
agreeable facts forthcoming at a coroner's
inquest. Having looked at the sick child,
Mrs. Peckover went downstairs and shut

94 THE NETHER WORLD.

herself up with Clem. There was a stormy
interview.

*' So you thought you'd have yer fling, did
you, just because I wasn't 'ere? You must
go makin trouble, just to suit yer own
fancies ! I'll pay you, my lady ! Gr-r-r ! "

Whereupon followed the smack of a large
hand on a fleshy cheek, so vigorous and un-
expected a blow that even the sturdy Clem
staggered back.

"You leave me alone, will you?" she
roared out, her smitten cheek in a flame.
*'Do that again, an' I'll give you somethin'
for yerself! See if I don't! You just try
it on ! "

The room rang with uproarious abuse, with
disgusting language, with the terrific threats
which are such common flowers of rhetoric
in that world, and generally mean nothing
whatever. The end of it all was that Clem
went to fetch a doctor, one in whom Mrs.
Peckover could repose confidence. The man
was, in fact, a druggist, with a shop in an
obscui'e street over towards St. Luke's; in

JANE IS VISITED. 95

his window was exhibited a card which stated
that a certain medical man could be consulted
here daily. The said medical man had, in
fact, so much more business than he could
attend to — his name appearing in many
shops — that the druggist was deputed to act
as his assistant, and was considerately sup-
plied with death- certificates, already signed,
and only needing to be filled in with de-
tails. Summoned by Mrs. Peckover, whose
old acquaintance he was, the druggist left
the shop in care of his son, aged fifteen, and
sped to Clerkenwell Close. He made light
of Jane's ailment. *' A little fever, that was
all — soon pull her round. Any wounds, by
the bye ? No ? Oh, soon pull her round.
Send for medicines."

"We'll have her down in the back-kitchen
as soon as the corfiin's away," said Mrs.
Peckover to Mrs. Hewett. " Don't you upset
yerself about it, my dear; you've got quite
enough to think about, Yer. 'usband got
anythink yet? Dear, dear! Don't you put
yerself out. I'm sure it was a great kind-

96 THE NETHER WORLD.

ness of you to let the troublesome thing lay
'ere all night."

Funeral guests were beginning to assemble.
On arriving, they were conducted first of all
into the front-room on the ground-floor, the
Peckovers' parlour. It was richly furnished.
In the centre stood a round table, which
left small space for moving about, and was
at present covered with refreshments. A
polished sideboard supported a row of des-
sert plates propped on their edges, and a
number of glass vessels, probably meant for
ornament alone, as they could not possibly
have been put to any use. A low cupboard
in a recess was surmounted by a frosted card-
board model of St. Paul's under a glass case,
behind which was reared an oval tray painted
with flowers. Over the mantelpiece was the
regulation mirror, its gilt frame enveloped in
coarse yellow gauze ; the mantelpiece itself
bore a *' wealth " of embellishments in glass
and crockery. On each side of it hung a
framed silhouette, portraits of ancestors. Other
pictures there were many, the most impres-

JANE IS VISITED. 97

sive being an ancient oil-painting, of which
the canvas bulged forth from the frame ; the
subject appeared to be a ship, but was just
as likely a view of the Alps. Several German
prints conveyed instruction as well as delight ;
one represented the trial of Strafford in West-
minster Hall ; another, the trial of William
Lord Eussell at the Old Bailey. There was
also a group of engraved portraits, the Eoyal
Family of England early in the reign of
Queen Victoria ; and finally, " The Destruc-
tion of Nineveh," by John Martin. Along
the window-sill were disposed flower-plots
containing artificial plants ; one or other was
always being knocked down by the curtains
or blinds.

Each guest having taken a quaff of ale
or spirits or what was called wine, with per-
haps a mouthful of more solid sustenance,
was then led down into the back-kitchen
to view the coffin and the corpse. I mention
the coffin first, because in every one's view
this was the main point of interest. Could
Mrs. Peckover have buried the old woman

VOL. I. G

98 THE NETHER WORLD.

in an orange-crate, she would gladly have
done so for the saving of expense ; but with
relatives and neighboui's to consider, she
drew a great deal of virtue out of necessity,
and dealt so very handsomely with the under-
taker, that this burial would be the talk of
the Close for some weeks. The coffin was
inspected inside and out, was admired and
appraised, Mrs. Peckover being at hand to
check the estimates. At the same time eveiy
most revolting detail of the dead woman's
last illness was related and discussed and
mused over and exclaimed upon. "A lovely
corpse, considerin' her years," was the general
opinion. Then all went upstairs again, and
once more refreshed themselves. The house
smelt like a bar-room.

" Everythink most respectable, I'm sure ! "
remarked the female mourners to each other,
as they crowded together in the parlour.

"An' so it had ought to be!" exclaimed
one, in an indignant tone, such as is reserved
for the expression of offence among educated
people, but among the poor — the London

JANE IS VISITED. 99

poor, least original and least articulate beings
within the confines of civilisation— has also
to do duty for friendly emphasis. *'If Mrs.
Peckover can't afford to do things respect-
able, who can ? "

And the speaker looked defiantly about
her, as if daring contradiction. But only
approving murmurs replied. Mrs. Peckover
had, in fact, the reputation of being wealthy ;
she was always inheriting, always accumu-
lating what her friends called " interess,"
never expending as other people needs must.
The lodgings she let enabled her to live rent-
free and rate-free. Clem's earnings at an
artificial-flower factory more than paid for
that young lady's board and clothing; and
all other outlay was not worth mentioning
as a deduction from the income created by
her sundry investments. Her husband — ten
years deceased — had been a "moulder;" he
earned on an average between three and four
pounds a week, and was so prudently dis-
posed that, for the last decade of his life, he
made it a rule never to spend a farthing of

TOO THE KETHER WORLD.

his wages. Mrs. Peckover at that time kept
a small beer-shop in Rosoman Street, — small
and unpretending in appearance, but through
it there ran a beery Pactolus. By selling the
business shortly after her husband's death,
Mrs. Peckover realised a handsome capital.
She retired into private life, having a strong
sense of personal dignity, and feeling it neces-
sary to devote herself to the moral training of
her only child.

At half-past eleven INIi's. Peckover was
aiTayed in her mourning robes, — new, dark-
glistening. During her absence, Clem had
kept guard over ]Mrs. Gully, whom it was
veiy difficult indeed to restrain from the
bottles and decanters ; the elder lady coming
to relieve, Clem could rush away and don her
own solemn garments. The undertaker with
his men amved ; the hearse and coaches
drove up ; the Close was in a state of excite-
ment. ■ " Now that's what I call a respectable
turn out ! " was the phrase passed from mouth
to mouth in the crowd gathering near the
door. Children in great numbers had ab-

JANE IS VISITED. 1 01

sented themselves from school for the purpose
of beholding this procession. " I do like to
see spirited 'orses at a funeral ! " remarked
one of the mourners, who had squeezed his
way to the parlour window. " It puts the
finishin' touch, as you may say, don't it?"
When the coffin was borne forth, there was
such a press in the street that the men with
difficulty reached the hearse. As the female
mourners stepped across the pavement with
handkerchiefs held to their mouths, a sigh
of satisfaction was audible throughout the
crowd ; the males were less sympathetically
received, and some jocose comments from a
costermonger, whose business was temporarily
interrupted, excited indulgent smiles.

The procession moved slowly away, and
the crowd, unwilling to disperse immediately,
looked about for some new source of enter-
tainment. They were fortunate, for at this
moment came round the corner an individual
notorious throughout Clerkenwell as *'Mad
Jack." Mad he presumably was — at all
events, an idiot. A lankv, raw-boned, red-

I02 THE KETHER WORLD.

headed man, perhaps forty years old ; not
clad, hut hung over with the filthiest rags ;
hatless, shoeless. He supported himself by
singing in the streets, generally psalms, and
with eccentric modulations of the voice which
always occasioned mirth in hearers. Some-
times he stood at a corner and began the
dehvery of a passage of Scripture in French ;
how, where, or when he could have acquired
this knowledge was a mystery, and Jack
would throw no light on his own past. At
present, having watched the funeral coaches
pass away, he lifted up his voice in a temfic
blare, singing, *'A11 ye works of the Lord,
bless ye the Lord, praise Him and magnify
Him for ever." Instantly he was assailed
by the juvenile portion of the throng, was
pelted with anything that came to hand,
mocked mercilessly, buffeted from behind.
For a while he persisted in his psalmody, but
at length, without warning, he rushed upon
his tormentors, and with angry shi'ieks en-
deavoured to take revenge. The uproar
continued till a policeman came and cleared

JANE IS VISITED. I03

the way. Then Jack went off again, sing-
ing, "All ye works of the Lord." With
his voice blended that of the costermonger,
" Penny a bundill ! "

Up in the Hewetts' back-room lay Jane
Snowdon, now seemingly asleep, now deli-
rious. When she talked, a name was con-
stantly upon her lips ; she kept calling for
"Mr. Kirkwood." Amy was at school;
Annie and Tom frequently went into the
room and gazed curiously at the sick girl.
Mrs. Hewett felt so ill to-day that she could
only lie on the bed and try to silence her
baby's crying.

The house-door was left wide open between
the departure and return of the mourners ; a
superstition of the people demands this. The
Peckovers brought back with them some half
a dozen relatives and friends, invited to a late
dinner. The meal had been in preparation
at an eating-house close by, and was now
speedily made ready in the parlour. A liberal
supply of various ales was furnished by the
agency of a pot-boy (Jane's absence being

I04 THE NETHER WORLD.

much felt), and in the course of half an hour
or so the company were sufficiently restored
to address themselves anew to the bottles and
decanters. Mrs. Gully was now permitted to
obey her instincts ; the natural result could be
attributed to over-strung feelings.

Just when the mourners had grown noisily
hilarious, testifying thereby to the respect-
ability with which things were being con-
ducted to the very end, Mrs. Peckover became
aware of a knocking at the front-door. She
bade her daughter go and see who it was.
Clem, speedily returning, beckoned her mother
from among the guests.

"It's somebody wants to know if there
ain't somebody called Snowdon livin' 'ere,"
she whispered in a tone of alarm. " An old
man."

Mrs. Peckover never drank more than was
consistent with the perfect clearness of her
brain. At present she had very red cheeks,
and her cat-like eyes gleamed noticeably, but
any kind of business would have found her
as shrewdly competent as ever.

JANE IS VISITED. 105

'' What did you say ? " she whispered
savagely.

" Said I'd come an' ask."

"You stay 'ere. Don't say nothink."

Mrs. Peckover left the room, closed the
door behind her, and went along the passage.
On the doorstep stood a man with white
hair, wearing an unusual kind of cloak and
a strange hat. He looked at the landlady
without speaking.

"What was you wan tin, mister? "

" I have been told," replied the man in a
clear, grave voice, " that a child of the name
of Snowdon lives in your house, ma'am."

" Eh ? Who told you that ? "

" The people next door but one. I've been
asking at many houses in the neighbourhood.
There used to be relations of mine lived
somewhere here ; I don't know the house,
nor the street exactly. The name isn't so
very common. If you don't mind, I should
like to ask you who the child's parents was."

Mrs. Peckover's eyes were searching the
speaker with the utmost closeness.

I06 THE NETHEE WORLD.

" I don't mind tellin you," she said, " that
there is a child of that name in the 'oiise, a
young girl, at least. Though I don't rightly
know her age, I take her for fourteen or
fifteen."

The old man seemed to consult his recol-
lections.

"If it's any one I'm thinking of," he said
slowly, " she can't be quite as old as that."

The woman's face changed ; she looked
away for a moment.

" Well, as I was sayin', I don't rightly know
her age. Any way, I'm responsible for her.
I've been a mother to her, an' a good mother
— though I say it myself — these six years or
more. I look on her now as a child o' my
own. I don't know who you may be, mister.
P'r'aps you've come from abroad ? "

" Yes, I have. There's no reason why I
shouldn't tell you that I'm trying to find any
of my kin that are still alive. There was a
married son of mine that once lived some-
where about here. His name was Joseph
James Snowdon. When I last heard of him,

JANE IS VISITED. IO7

he was working at a 'lectroplater's in Clerken-
well. That was thirteen years ago. I deal
openly with you ; I shall thank you if you'll
do the like with me."

" See, will you just come in ? I've got a
few fi'iends in the front-room ; there s been
a death in the 'ouse, an' there's sickness, an'
we're out of order a bit. I'll ask you to come
downstairs."

It was late in the afternoon, and though
lights were not yet required in the upper
rooms, the kitchen would have been all but
dark save for the fire. Mrs. Peckover lit a
lamp and bade her visitor be seated. Then
she re-examined his face, his attire, his hands.
Everything about him told of a life spent in
mechanical labour. His speech was that of
an untaught man, yet differed greatly from
the tongue prevailing in Clerkenwell ; he
was probably not a Londoner by birth, and —
a point of more moment — he expressed him-
self in the tone of one who is habitually
thoughtful, who, if the aid of books has
been denied to him, still has won fi'om life

I08 THE NETHER WORLD.

the kind of knowledge which develops cha-
racter. Mrs. Peckover had small experience
of faces which bear the stamp of simple
sincerity. This man s countenance put her
out. As a matter of course, he wished to
over-reach her in some way, but he was
obviously very deep indeed. And then she
found it so difficult to guess his purposes.
How would he proceed if she gave him
details of Jane's history, admitting that she
was the child of Joseph James Snowdon?
What, again, had he been told by the people
of whom he had made inquiries ? She needed
time to review her position.

" As I was sayinV she resumed, poking the
fire, " I've been a mother to her these six
years or more, an' I feel I done the right
thing by her. She was left on my 'ands by
them as promised to pay for her keep ; an' a
few months, I may say a few weeks, was all as
ever I got. Another woman would a sent the
child to the 'Ouse ; but that's always the way
with me ; I'm always actin' against my own
interesses."

JANE IS VISITED. lOQ

*' You say that her parents went away and
left her?" asked the old man, knitting his
brows.

" Her father did. Her mother, she died
in this very 'ouse, an' she was buried from
it. He gave her a respectable burial, I'll
say that much for him. An' I shouldn't
have allowed anything but one as was re-
spectable to leave this 'ouse ; I'd sooner a
paid money out o' my own pocket. That's
always the way with me. Mr. Willis, he's
my undertaker; you'll find him at Number
1 7 Green Passage. He buried my 'usband ;
though that Avasn't from the Close ; but I
never knew a job turned out more respect-
able. He was 'ere to day ; w^e've only just
buried my 'usband's mother. That's why
I ain't quite myself, — see ? "

Mrs. Peckover was not won't to be gossippy.
She became so at present, partly in conse-
quence of the stimulants she had taken to
support her through a trying ceremony, partly
as a means of obtaining time to reflect.
Jane's unlucky illness made an especial diffi-

no THE NETHER WORLD.

culty in her calculations. She felt that the
longer she delayed mention of the fact, the
more likely was she to excite suspicion ; on
the other hand, she could not devise the
suitahle terms in which to reveal it. The
steady gaze of the old man was disconcerting.
Not that he searched her face with a cunning
scrutiny, such as her own eyes expressed ;
she would have found that less troublesome,
as being familiar. The anxiety, the troubled
anticipation, which her words had aroused
in him, were wholly free from shadow of
ignoble motive ; he was pained, and the
frequent turning away of his look betrayed
that part of the feeling was caused by ob-
servation of the woman herself, but every
movement visible on his features was subdued
by patience and mildness. Suffering was a
life's habit with him, and its fruit in this
instance that which (spite of moral common-
place) it least often bears, — self-conquest.

"You haven't told me yet," he said, with
quiet disregard of her iiTelevancies, " whether
or not her father's name was Joseph Snowdon."

JANE IS VISITED. Ill

"There's no call to hide it. That was
his name. I've got letters of his writin'.
' J. J. Snowdon ' stands at the end, plain
enough. And he was your son, was he? "

" He was. But have you any reason to
think he's dead?"

"Dead! I never heard as he was. But
then I never heard as he was livin' neither.
When his wife went, poor thing, — an' it was
a chill on the liver, they said ; it took her
very sudden, — he says to me, ' Mrs. Peckover,'
he says, 'I know you for a motherly woman,'
— ^just like that, — see? — *I know you for a
motherly woman,' he says, * an' the idea I
have in my 'ed is as I should like to leave
Janey in your care, 'cause,' he says, ' I've got
work in Birmingham, an' I don't see how
I'm to take her with me. Understand me ? '
he says. ' Oh ! ' I says, — not feelin' quite
sure what I'd ought to do, — see ? * Oh ! ' I
says. ' Yes,' he says ; ' an' between you an'
me,' he says, ' there won't be no misunder-
standing. If you'll keep Janey with you,' —
an' she was goin' to school at the time, 'cause

112 THE NETHER WORLD.

she went to the same as my own Clem, —
that's Clemintiner, — understand ? — ' if you'll
keep Janey with you/ he says, ' for a year, or
maybe two years, or maybe three years, —
'cause that depends on cirkinstances,' —
understand ? — ' I'm ready,' he says, ' to pay
you what it's right that pay I should, an'
I'm sure,' he says, 'as we shouldn't mis-
understand one another.' Well, of course
I had my own girl to bring up, an' my own
son to look after too. A nice sort o' son;
just when he was beginnin' to do well, an'
ought to a paid me back for all the expense
I was at in puttin' him to a business, what
must he do but take his 'ook to Australia."

Her scrutiny discerned something in the
listener's face which led her to ask :

" Perhaps you've been in Australia your-
self, mister? "

"I have."

The woman paused, speculation at work in
her eyes.

'' Do you know in what part of the country
your son is ? " inquired the old man absently.

JANE IS VISITED. II 3

*' He's wrote me two letters, an' the last, as
come more than a year ago, was from a place
called Maryborough."

The other still preserved an absent expres-
sion ; his eyes travelled about the room.

*' I always said," pursued Mrs. Peckover,
"as it was Snowdon as put Australia into
the boy's 'ed. He used to tell us he'd got a
brother there, doin' well. PVaps it wasn't
true."

**Yes, it was true," replied the old man
coldly. " But you haven't told me what came
to pass about the child."

An exact report of all that Mrs. Peckover
had to say on this subject would occupy more
space than it merits. The gist of it was that
for less than a year she had received certain
stipulated sums irregularly ; that at length no
money at all was forthcoming ; that in the
tenderness of her heart she had still enter-
tained the child, sent her to school, privately
instructed her in the domestic virtues, trust-
ing that such humanity would not lack even
its material reward, and that either Joseph

VOL. I. H

114 THE NETHER WORLD.

Snowdon or some one akin to him would
ultimately make good to her the expenses
she had not grudged.

*' She's a child as pays you hack for all the
trouble you take, so much I will say for her,"
observed the matron in conclusion. "Not
as it hasn't been a little 'ard to teach her
tidiness, but she's only a young thing still.
I shouldn't wonder but she's felt her position
a little now an' then ; it's only natural in a
growin' girl, do what you can to prevent it.
Still, she's willin' ; that nobody can deny,
an' I'm sure I should never wish to. Her
cirkinstances has been peculiar; that you'll
understand, I'm sure. But I done my
best to take the place of the mother as
is gone to a better world. An' now that
she's lay in' iU, I'm sure no mother could
feel it more "

*' 111 ? Why didn't you mention that be-
fore ? "

" Didn't I say as she was ill ? Why, I
thought it was the first word I spoke as
soon as you got into the 'ouse. You can't a

JANE IS VISITED. I I 5

noticed it, or else it was me as is so put about.
What with havin' a burial "

'* Where is she 1 " asked the old man anxi-
ously.

*' Where? Why, you don't think as I'd
a sent her to be looked after by strangers?
She's lay in' in Mrs. Hewett's room — that's
one o' the lodgers — all for the sake o* com-
fort. A better an kinder woman than Mrs.
Hewett you wouldn't find, not if you was
to "

With difficulty the stranger obtained a few
details of the origin and course of the illness,
— details wholly misleading, but devised to
reassure. When he desired to see Jane, Mrs.
Peckover assumed an air of perfect willing-
ness, but reminded him that she had nothing
save his word to prove that he had indeed a
legitimate interest in the girl.

*' I can do no more than tell you that
Joseph James Snowdon was my younger
son," replied the old man simply. " I've
come back to spend my last years in England,
and I hoped — I hope still — to find my son

I 1 6 THE NETHER WORLD.

I wish to take his child into my own care ; as
he left her to strangers — perhaps he didn't do
it willingly ; he may be dead — he could have
nothing to say against me giving her the care
of a parent. You've been at expense '*

Mrs. Peckover waited with eagerness, but
the sentence remained incomplete. Again
the old man's eyes strayed about the room.
The current of his thoughts seemed to change,
and he said :

"You could show me those letters you
spoke of — of my son's writing ? "

" Of course I could," was the reply, in
the tone of coarse resentment whereby the
scheming vulgar are wont to testify to their
dishonesty.

" Afterwards — afterwards. I should like to
see Jane, if you'll be so good."

The mild voice, though often diffident, now
and then fell upon a note of quiet authority
which suited well with the speaker's grave,
pure countenance. As he spoke thus, Mrs.
Peckover rose and said she would first go
upstairs just to see how things were. She was

JANE IS VISITED. I I 7

absent ten minutes, then a little girl — Amy
Hewett — came into the kitchen and asked
the stranger to follow her.

Jane had been rapidly transferred from the
mattress to the bedstead, and the room had
been put into such order as was possible. A
whisper from Mrs. Peckover to Mrs. Hewett,
promising remission of half a week's rent,
had sufficed to obtain for the former com-
plete freedom in her movements. The child,
excited by this disturbance, had begun to
moan and talk inarticulately. Mrs. Peckover
listened for a moment, but heard nothing
dangerous. She bade the old man enter
noiselessly, and herself went about on tip-
toe, speaking only in a hoarse whisper.

The visitor had just reached the bedside,
and was gazing with deep, compassionate
interest at the unconscious face, when Jane,
as if startled, half rose and cried painfully,
"Mr. Kirkwood! oh, Mr. Kirkwood ! " and
she stretched her hand out, appearing to
believe that the friend she called upon was
near her.

Il8 THE KETHER WOELD.

''Who is that?" inquired the old man,
turning to his companion.

" Only a friend of ours," answered Mrs.
Peck over, herself puzzled and uneasy.

Again the sick girl called "Mr Kirk-
wood ! " but without other words. Mrs. Peck-
over urged the danger of this excitement, and
speedily led the way downstairs.

( 119 )

CHAPTER VL

GLniPSES OJ THI PiST.

SiDXEY Kjbktvood had a lodging in Tysoe
Street, ClerkenwelL It is a short street,
which, like so many in London, begins re-
putably and degenerates in its latter hal£
The cleaner end leads into Wilmington Sqnare.
which consists of decently depressing houses
occupied in the main, as the lower windows
and front-doors indicate, by watchmakers,
working jewellers, and craftsmen of allied
pursuits. The open space, grateful in this
neighbourhood, is laid out as a garden, with
trees, beds, and walks. Near the iron gate,
which, for certain hours in the day, gives
admission, is a painted notice informing the
public that, by the grace of the Marquis of
Northampton, they may here take their ease
on condition of good behaviour; to children

I20 THE NETHER WORLD.

is addressed a distinct warning that " This is
not a playing ground." From his window
Sidney had a good view of the square. The
house in which he lived was of two storeys ;
a brass plate on the door showed the inscrip-
tion, *' Hodgson, Dial Painter." The window
on the ground-floor was arched, as in the
other dwellings at this end of the street, and
within stood an artistic arrangement of wax
fruit under a glass shade, supported by a heavy
volume of Biblical appearance. The upper
storey was graced with a small iron balcony,
on which straggled a few flower-pots. How-
ever, the exterior of this abode was, by com-
parison, promising ; the curtains and blinds
were clean, the step was washed and whitened,
the brass plate shone, the panes of glass had
at all events acquaintance with a duster, A
few yards in the direction away from the
square, and Tysoe Street falls under the
dominion of dry-rot.

It was not until he set forth to go to work
next morning that Sidney called to mind his
conversation with Jane. That the child should

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. 121

have missed by five minutes a meeting with
some one w^ho perchance had the will and the
power to befriend her, seemed to him, in his
present mood, merely an illustration of a vice
inherent in the nature of things. He deter-
mined to look in at the public-house of which
she had spoken, and hear for himself what
manner of man had made inquiries for people
named Snowdon. The name was not a com-
mon one ; it was worth while to spend a hope
or two on the chance of doing Jane a kind-
ness. Her look and voice when he bade her
be of good courage had touched him. In his
rejected state, he felt that it was pleasant to
earn gratitude even from so humble a being
as the Peckovers' drudge.

His workshop, it has been mentioned, was
in St. John's Square. Of all areas in London
thus defined, this square of St. John is pro-
bably the most irregular in outline. It is cut
in two by Clerkenwell Koad, and the build-
ings which compose it form such a number
of recesses, of abortive streets, of shadowed
alleys, that from no point of the Square can

123 THE NETHER WORLD.

anything like a general view of its totality be
obtained. The exit from it on the south side
is by St. John's Lane, at the entrance to which
stands a survival from a buried world — the
embattled and windowed archway which is all
that remains above ground of the great Priory
of St. John of Jerusalem. Here dwelt the
Knights Hospitallers, in days when Clerken-
well was a rural parish, distant by a long
stretch of green country from the walls of
London. But other and nearer memories are
revived by St. John's Arch. In the rooms
above the gateway dwelt, a hundred and fifty
years ago, one Edward Cave, publisher of the
Gentleman's Magazine, and there many a time
has sat a journeyman author of his, by name
Samuel Johnson, too often impransus. There
it was that the said Samuel once had his
dinner handed to him behind a screen, be-
cause of his unpresentable costume, when
Cave was entertaining an aristocratic guest.
In the course of the meal, the guest happened
to speak with interest of something he had
recently read by an obscure Mr. Johnson;

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. 1 23

whereat there was joy behind the screen, and
probably increased appreciation of the un-
wonted dinner. After a walk amid the
squalid and toil-infested ways of Clerkenwell,
it impresses one strangely to come upon this
monument of old time. The archway has
a sad, worn, grimy aspect. So closely is it
packed in among buildings which suggest
nothing but the sordid struggle for existence,
that it looks depressed, ashamed, tainted by
the ignobleness of its surroundings. The
wonder is that it has not been swept away,
in obedience to the great law of traffic and
the spirit of the time.

St. John's Arch had a place in Sidney
Kirkwood's earliest memories. From the
window of his present workshop he could
see its grey battlements, and they reminded
him of the days when, as a lad just beginning
to put questions about the surprising world
in which he found himself, he used to listen
to such stories as his father could tell him of
the history of Clerkenwell. Mr. Kirkwood
occupied part of a house in St. John's Lane

124 THE NETHER WORLD.

not thirty yards from the Arch ; he was a
printers' roller maker, and did but an indif-
ferent business. A year after the birth of
Sidney, his only child, he became a widower.
An intelligent, warm-hearted man, the one
purpose of his latter years was to realise such
moderate competency as should place his son
above the anxieties which degrade. The boy
had a noticeable turn for drawing and colour-
ing; at ten years old, when (as often hap-
pened) his father took him for a Sunday
in the country, he carried a sketch-book and
found his delight in using it. Sidney was
to be a draughtsman of some kind ; perhaps
an artist, if all went well. Unhappily things
went the reverse of well. In his anxiety to
improve his business, Mr. Kirkwood invented
a new kind of '' composition " for printers*
use ; he patented it, risked capital upon it,
made in a short time some serious losses.
To add to his troubles, young Sidney was
giving signs of an unstable character; at
fifteen he had grown tired of his drawing,
wanted to be this, that, and the other thing,

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. 1 25

was self-willed, and showed no consideration
for his father's difficulties. It was necessary
to take a decided step, and, though against
his will, Sidney was apprenticed to an uncle,
a Mr. Eoach, who also lived in Clerkenwell,
and was a working jeweller. Two years later,
the father died, all but bankrupt. The few
pounds realised from his effects passed into
the hands of Mr. Roach, and were soon ex-
pended in payment for Sidney's board and
lodging.

His bereavement possibly saved Sidney from
a young-manhood of foolishness and worse.
In the upper world a youth may " sow his
wild oats " and have done with it ; in the
nether, " to have your fling " is almost neces-
sarily to fall among criminals. The death
was sudden ; it affected the lad profoundly,
and filled him with a remorse which was to
influence the whole of his life. Mr. Eoach,
a thick-skinned and rather thick-headed per-
son, did not spare to remind his apprentice of
the most painful things wherewith the latter
had to reproach himself. Sidney bore it,

126 THE NETHER WORLD.

from this day beginning a course of self-dis-
cipline of which not many are capable at
any age, and very few indeed at seventeen.
Still, there had never been any sympathy
between him and his uncle, and before
very long the young man saw his way to
live under another roof and find work with
a new employer

It was just after leaving his uncle's house
that Sidney came to know John Hewett ; the
circumstances which fostered their friendship
were such as threw strong light on the charac-
ters of both. Sidney had taken a room in
Islington, and two rooms on the floor beneath
him were tenanted by a man who was a
widower and had two children. In those
days, our young friend found much satisfac-
tion in spending his Sunday evenings on
Clerkenwell Green, where fervent, if un-
grammatical, oratory was to be heard, and
participation in debate was open to all whom
the spirit moved. One whom the spirit did
very frequently move was Sidney's fellow-
lodger; he had no gift of expression what-

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. 127

ever, but his brief stammering protests against
this or that social wrong had such an honest,
indeed such a pathetic sound, that Sidney took
an opportunity of walking home with him
and converting neighbourship into friendly
acquaintance. John Hewett gave the young
man an account of his life. He had begun as
a lath-render; later he had got into cabinet-
making, started a business on his own account
and failed. A brother of his, who was a
builder s foreman, then found employment for
him in general carpentry on some new houses ;
but John quarrelled with his brother, and after
many difficulties fell to the making of pack-
ing-cases ; that was his work at present, and
with much discontent he pursued it. John
was curiously frank in owning all the faults in
himself which had helped to make his career
so unsatisfactory. He confessed that he had
an uncertain temper, that he soon became
impatient with work "which led to nothing,"
that he was tempted out of his prudence by
anything which seemed to offer "a better
start." With all these admissions, he main-

128 THE NETHER WORLD.

tained that he did well to be angry. It was
wrong that life should be so hard ; so much
should not be required of a man. In body he
was not strong ; the weariness of interminable
days over-tried him and excited his mind to
vain discontent. His wife was the only one
who could ever keep him cheerful under his
lot, and his wedded life had lasted but six
years ; now there was his lad Bob and his
little girl Clara to think of, and it only made
him more miserable to look forward and see
them going through hardships like his own.
Things were wrong somehow, and it seemed
to him that " if only we could have universal

suffrage "

Sidney was only eighteen, and strong in
juvenile Eadicalism, but he had a fund of
common sense, and such a conclusion as this
of poor John's half astonished, half amused
him. However, the man's personality at-
tracted him ; it was honest, warm-hearted,
interesting ; the logic of his pleadings might
be at fault, but Sidney sympathised with him,
for all that. He too felt that *' things were

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. 1 29

wrong somehow," and had a pleasure in join-
ing the side of revolt for revolt's sake.

Now in the same house with them dwelt a
young woman of about nineteen years old ;
she occupied a garret, was seldom seen about,
and had every appearance of being a simple,
laborious girl, of the kind familiar enough as
the silent victims of industrialism. One day
the house was thrown into consternation by
the news that Miss Barnes — so she was named
— had been arrested on a charge of stealing
her employer's goods. It was true, and per-
haps the best way of explaining it will be to
reproduce a newspaper report which Sidney
Kirkwood thereafter preserved.

" On Friday, Margaret Barnes, nineteen, a
single woman, was indicted for stealing six
jackets, value ^5, the property of Mary Oaks,
her mistress. The prisoner, who cried bitterly
during the proceedings, pleaded guilty. The
prosecutrix is a single woman, and gets her
living by mantle -making. She engaged the
prisoner to do what is termed * finishing off,'
that is, making the button holes and sewing

VOL. I. I

130 THE NETHER WORLD.

on the buttons. The prisoner was also em-
ployed to fetch the work from the warehouse,
and deliver it when finished. On September
7th, her mistress sent her with the six jackets,
and she never returned. Sergeant Smith, a
detective, who apprehended the prisoner, said
he had made inquuies in the case, and found
that up to this time the prisoner had borne a
good character as an honest, hard-working
girl. She had quitted her former lodgings,
which had no furniture but a small table and
a few rags in a corner, and he discovered her
in a room which was perfectly bare. Miss
Oaks was examined, and said the prisoner was
employed from nine in the morning to eight
at night. The Judge : How much did you
pay her per week ? Miss Oaks : Four shil-
lings. The Judge : Did you give her her
food ? Miss Oaks : No ; I only get one shil-
ling each for the jackets myself when com-
pleted. I have to use two sewing-machines,
find my OAvn cotton and needles, and I can,
by working hard, make two in a day. The
Judge said it was a sad state of things. The

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. I3I

prisoner, when called upon, said she had had
nothing to eat for three days, and so gave way
to temptation, hoping to get better employ-
ment. The Judge, while commiserating with
the prisoner, said it could not be allowed that
distress should justify dishonesty, and sen-
tenced the prisoner to six weeks' imprison-
ment."

The six weeks passed, and about a fort-
night after that, John Hewett came into
Sidney's room one evening with a strange
look on his face. His eyes were very bright,
the hand which he held out trembled.

" I've something to tell you," he said.
"I'm going to get married again."

'' Eeally ? Why, I'm glad to hear it ! "
" And who do you think? Miss Barnes."
Sidney was startled for a moment. John
had had no acquaintance with the girl
prior to her imprisonment. He had said
that he should meet her when she came
out and give her some money, and Sidney
had added a contribution. For a man in
Hewett's circumstances this latest step was

132 THE NETHER WORLD.

somewhat astonishing, but his character ex-
plained it.

" I'm goin' to marry her," he exclaimed
excitedly, " and I'm doin' the right thing !
I respect her more than all the women as
never went wrong because they never had
occasion to. I'm goin' to put her as a
mother over my children, and I'm goin' to
make a happier Hfe for her. She's a good
girl, I tell you. I've seen her nearly every
day this fortnight ; I know all about her.
She wouldn't have me when I first asked
her, — that was a week ago. She said no ;
she'd disgrace me. If you can't respect her
as you would any other woman, never come
into my lodging ! "

Sidney was warm with generous glow. He
wrung Hewett's hand and stammered inco-
herent words.

John took new lodgings in an obscure part
of Clerkenwell, and seemed to have become
a young man once more. His complaints
ceased ; the energy with which he went about
his work was remarkable. He said his wife

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. 1 33

was the salvation of him. And then befell
one of those happy chances which supply
mankind with instances for its pathetic faith
that a good deed will not fail of reward.
John's brother died, and bequeathed to him
some four hundred pounds. Hereupon, what
must the poor fellow do but open workshops
on his own account, engage men, go about
crying that his opportunity had come at last.
Here was the bit of rock by means of which
he could save himself from the sea of com-
petition that had so nearly whelmed him ^
Little Clara, now eleven years old, could go
on steadily at school ; no need to think of
how the poor child should earn a wretched
living. Bob, now thirteen, should shortly be
apprenticed to some better kind of trade.
New rooms were taken and well furnished.
Maggie, the wife, could have good food, such
as she needed in her constant ailing, alas !
The baby just born was no longer a cause of
anxious thought, but a joy in the home. And
Sidney Kirkwood came to supper as soon as
the new rooms were in order, and his bright,

134 THE NETHER WORLD.

manly face did every one good to look at.
He still took little Clara upon his knee.
Ha ! there would come a day before long
when he would not venture to do that, and
then perhaps — perhaps ! What a supper that
was, and how smoothly went the great wheels
of the world that evening !

One baby, two babies, three babies ; before
the birth of the third, John's brow was again
clouded, again he had begun to rail and fume
at the unfitness of things. His business was
a failure, partly because he dealt with a too
rigid honesty, partly because of his unstable
nature, which left him at the mercy of whims
and obstinacies and aiiy projects. He did
not risk the ordinary kind of bankruptcy, but
came down and down, until at length he was
the only workman in his own shop ; then the
shop itself had to be abandoned ; then he was
searching for some one who would employ
him.

Bob had been put to the die-sinker's craft ;
Clara was still going to school, and had no
thought of earning a livelihood, — ominous

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. 1 35

state of things. When it shortly became
clear even to John Hewett that he would
wrong the girl if he did not provide her with
some means of supporting herself, she was
sent to learn " stamping " with the same em-
ployer for whom her brother worked. The
work was light ; it would soon bring in a little
money. John declared with fierceness that
his daughter should never be set to the usual
needle-slavery, and indeed it seemed very
unlikely that Clara would ever be fit for that
employment, as she could not do the simplest
kind of sewing. In the meantime the family
kept changing their abode, till at length they
settled in Mrs. Peckover's house. All the
best of their furniture was by this time
sold ; but for the two eldest children, there
would probably have been no home at all.
Bob, aged nineteen, earned at this present
time a pound weekly ; his sister, an average
of thirteen shillings. Mrs. Hewett's constant
ill-health (the result, doubtless, of semi-starva-
tion through the years of her girlhood), would
have excused defects of housekeeping; but

136 THE NETHER WORLD.

indeed the poor woman was under any cir-
cumstances incapable of domestic manage-
ment, and therein represented her class. The
money she received was wasted in comparison
with what might have been done with it. I
suppose she must not be blamed for bringing
children into the world when those aheady
born to her were but half- clothed, half-fed ;
she increased the sum total of the world's
misery in obedience to the laws of the
Book of Genesis. And one virtue she had
which compensated for all that was lack-
ing, — a virtue merely negative among
the refined, but in that other world the
rarest and most precious of moral distinc-
tions,— she resisted the temptations of the
public-house.

This was the story present in Sidney Kirk-
wood's mind as often as he climbed the stair-
case in Clerkenwell Close. By contrast, his
own life seemed one of unbroken ease. Out-
wardly it was smooth enough. He had no
liking for his craft, and being always employed
upon the meaningless work which is demanded

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. 1 37

by the rich vulgar, he felt such work to be
paltry and ignoble ; but there seemed no hope
of obtaining better, and he made no audible
complaint. His wages were considerably more
than he needed, and systematically he put
money aside each week.

But this orderly existence concealed con-
flicts of heart and mind which Sidney himself
could not have explained, could not lucidly
have described. The moral shock which he
experienced at his father s death put an end
to the wanton play of his energies, but it
could not ripen him before due time ; his
nature was not of the sterile order common
in his world, and through passion, through
conflict, through endurance, it had to de-
velop such maturity as fate should permit.
Saved from self-indulgence, he naturally
turned into the way of political enthusiasm ;
thither did his temper point him. With some
help — mostly negative — from Clerkenwell
Green, he reached the stage of confident and
aspiring Radicalism, believing in the per-
fectibility of man, in human brotherhood, in

138 THE NETHER WORLD.

— anything you like that is the outcome of
a noble heart sheltered by ignorance. It had
its turn, and passed.

To give place to nothing very satisfactory.
It was not a mere coincidence that Sidney
was going through a period of mental and
moral confusion just in those years which
brought Clara Hewett from childhood to the
state of woman. Among the acquaintances
of Sidney's boyhood there was not one but
had a chosen female companion from the age
of fifteen or earlier ; he himself had been no
exception to the rule in his class, but at the
time of meeting with Hewett he was com-
panionless, and remained so. The Hewetts
became his closest fiiends ; in their brief
prosperity he rejoiced with them, in their
hardships he gave them all the assistance to
which John's pride would consent ; his name
was never spoken among them but with
warmth and gratitude. And of course the
day came to which Hewett had looked for-
ward— the day when Sidney could no longer
take Clara upon his knee and stroke her

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. J 39

brown hair and joke with her about her fits
of good and ill humour. Sidney knew well
enough what was in his friend's mind, and,
though with no sense of constraint, he felt
that this handsome, keen-eyed, capricious girl
was destined to be his wife. He liked Clara ;
she always attracted him and interested him ;
but her faults were too obvious to escape any
eye, and the older she grew, the more was
he impressed and troubled by them. The
thought of Clara became a preoccupation,
and with the love which at length he recog-
nised there blended a sense of fate fulfilling
itself. His enthusiasms, his purposes, never
defined as education would have defined
them, were dissipated into utter vagueness.
He lost his guiding interests, and found
himself returning to those of boyhood. The
country once more attracted him ; he took
out his old sketch-books, bought a new one,
revived the regret that he could not be a
painter of landscape. A visit to one or two
picture-galleries, and then again profound
discouragement, recognition of the fact that

140 THE NETHEE WORLD.

he was a mechanic and never could be any-
thing else.

It was the end of his illusions. For him
not even passionate love was to preserve the
power of idealising its object. He loved
Clara with all the desire of his being, but
could no longer deceive himself in judging her
character. The same sad clearness of vision
affected his judgment of the world about him,
of the activities in which he had once been
zealous, of the conditions which enveloped his
life and the lives of those dear to him. The
spuit of revolt often enough stirred within
him, but no longer found utterance in the
speech which brings relief; he did his best to
dispel the mood, mocking at it as folly. Con-
sciously he set himself the task of becoming
a practical man, of learning to make the best
of life as he found it, of shunning as the fatal
error that habit of mind which kept John
Hewett on the rack. Who was he that he
should look for pleasant things in his course
through the world? ''We are the lower
orders ; we are the working-classes," he said

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST. I4I

bitterly to his friend, and that seemed the
final answer to all his aspirations.

This was a dark day with him. The gold
he handled stung him to hatred and envy,
and every feeling which he had resolved to
combat as worse than profitless. He could
not speak to his fellow-workmen. From
morning to night it had rained. St. John's
Arch looked more broken-spirited than ever,
drenched in sooty moisture.

During the dinner-hour, he walked over to
the public-house of which Jane had spoken,
and obtained from the barman as full a de-
scription as possible of the person he hoped
to encounter. Both then and on his return
home in the evening he shunned the house
where his friends dwelt.

It came round to Monday. For the first
time for many months he had allowed Sun-
day to pass without visiting the Hewetts.
He felt that to go there at present would only
be to increase the parents' depression by his
own low spirits. Clara had left them now,

142 THE NETHER WORLD.

however, and if he still stayed away, his
behaviour might be misinterpreted. On re-
turning irora work, he washed, took a hur-
ried meal, and was on the point of going out,
when some one knocked at his door. He
opened, and saw an old man who was a
stranger to him.

( M3 )

CHAPTER VII.

MES. BYASS'S LODGINGS.

" You are Mr. Kirkwood ? " said his visitor
civilly. ''My name is Snowdon. I should
be glad to speak a few words, with you, if
you could spare the time."

Sidney's thoughts were instantly led into
the right channel ; he identified the old man
by his white hair and the cloak. The hat,
however, which had been described to him,
was now exchanged for a soft felt of a kind
common enough ; the guernsey, too, had been
laid aside. With ready good-will he invited
Mr. Snowdon to enter.

There was not much in the room to dis-
tinguish it from the dwelling of any orderly
mechanic. A small bed occupied one side ;
a small table stood before the window; the
toilet apparatus was of course unconcealed;

144 THE 3S"ETHER WORLD.

a half-open cupboard allowed a glimpse of
crockeiy, sundries, and a few books. The
walls, it is true, were otherwise ornamented
than is usual ; engravings, chromo-lithographs,
and some sketches of landscape in pencil,
were suspended wherever light fell, and the
choice manifested in this collection was
nowise akin to that which ruled in Mrs.
Peckover's parlour, and probably in all the
parlours of T};soe Street. To select for one's
chamber a woodcut after Constable or Gains-
borough is at all events to give proof of a
capacity for civilisation.

The visitor made a quick survey of these
appearances ; then he seated himself on the
chair Sidney offered. He was not entirely at
his ease, and looked up at the young man
twice or thrice before he began to speak again.

" Mr. Kirkwood, were you ever acquainted
with my son, by name Joseph Snowdon ? "

"No, I never knew him," was the reply.
" I have heard his name, and I know where
he once lived — not far from here."

" You re wondering what has brought me

MRS. BYASSS LODGINGS. 1 45

to you. I have heard of you from people a
grandchild of mine is living with. I daresay
it is the house you mean, — in Clerkenwell
Close."

" So you have found it ! " exclaimed Sidney
with pleasure. '' I've been looking about for
you as I walked along the streets these last
two or three days."

*' Looking for me?" said the other, aston-
ished.

Sidney supplied the explanation, but with-
out remarking on the circumstances which
made Jane so anxious to discover a possible
friend. Snowdon listened attentively, and at
length, with a slight smile ; he seemed to find
pleasure in the young man's way of express-
ing himself. When silence ensued, he looked
about absently for a moment ; then, meeting
Sidney's eyes, said in a grave voice :

" That poor child is very ill."

''IIU I'm sorry to hear it."

*'The reason I've come to you, Mr. Kirk-
wood, is because she's called out your name
so often. They don't seem able to tell me

VOL. L K

146 THE NETHER WORLD.

how she came into this state, but she's had
a fright of some kind, or she's been living
very unhappily. She calls on your name, as
if she wanted you to protect her from harm.
I didn't know what to think about it at first.
I'm a stranger to everybody — I may tell you
I've been abroad for several years — and they
don't seem very ready to put trust in me ;
but I decided at last that I'd come and speak
to you. It's my grandchild, and perhaps the
only one of my family left ; nobody can give
me news of her father since he went away
four or -^Ye years ago. She came to herself
this morning for a little, but I'm afraid she
couldn't understand what I tried to tell her ;
then I mentioned your name, and I could see
it did her good at once. What I wish to ask
of you is, would you come to her bedside for
a few minutes ? She might know you, and I
feel sure it would be a kindness to her."

Sidney appeared to hesitate. It was not,
of course, that he dreamt of refusing, but
he was busy revolving all he knew of Jane's
life with the Peckovers, and asking himself

MRS. BYASSS LODGINGS. 1 47

what it behoved him to tell, what to with-
hold. Daily experience guarded him against
the habit of gossip, which is one of the in-
numerable curses of the uneducated (whether
poor or wealthy), and, notwithstanding the
sympathy with which his visitor inspired him,
he quickly decided to maintain reserve until
he understood more of the situation.

'*Yes, yes, I'll go with you at once," he
made haste to reply, when he perceived that
his hesitancy was occasioning doubt and
trouble. *' In fact, I was just starting to go
and see the Hewetts when you knocked at
the door. They're friends of mine, — living in
Mrs. Peckover's house. That's how I came
to know Jane. I haven't been there for
several days, and when I last saw her, as I
was saying, she seemed as well as usual."

" I'm afraid that wasn't much to boast
of," said Snowdon. ** She's a poor, thin-
looking child."

Sidney was conscious that the old man did
not give expression to all he thought. This
mutual exercise of tact seemed, however, to

148 THE NETHER WORLD.

encoui'age a good understanding between them
rather than the reverse.

*' You remain in the house ? " Kirkwood
asked, as they went downstairs.

" I stay with her through the night. I
didn't feel much confidence in the doctor
that was seeing her, so I made inquiries and
found a better man."

When they reached the Close, the door
was opened to them by Clem Peckover. She
glared haughtily at Sidney, but uttered no
word. To Kirkwood's surprise, they went up
to the Hewetts' back-room. The mattress
that formerly lay upon the floor had been
removed ; the bed was occupied by the sick
girl, with whom at present Mrs. Peckover
was sitting. That benevolent person rose on
seeing Sidney, and inclined her head with
stateliness.

*' She's just fell asleep," was her whispered
remark. ''I shouldn't say myself as it was
good to wake her up, but of course you
know best."

This was in keeping with the attitude Mrs.

MRS. BYASSS LODGINGS. 1 49

Peckover had adopted as soon as she under-
stood Snowdon's resolve to neglect no pre-
caution on the child's behalf. Her sour
dignity was meant to express that she felt
hurt at the intervention of others where her
affections were so nearly concerned. Sidney
could not help a certain fear when he saw
this woman installed as sick-nurse. It was
of purpose that he caught her eye and re-
garded her with a gravity she could scarcely
fail to comprehend.

Jane awoke from her fitful slumber. She
looked with but half-conscious fearfulness at
the figures darkening her view. Sidney moved
so that his face was in the light, and, bending
near to her, asked if she recognised him.
A smile — slow-forming, but unmistakable at
last — amply justified what her grandfather had
said. She made an effort to move her hand
towards him. Sidney responded to her wish,
and again she smiled, self -forgetfully, con-
tentedly.

Snowdon turned to Mrs. Peckover, and,
after a few words with regard to the treat-

150 THE NETHEE T\-OELD.

ment that was being pursued, said that he
would now relieve her ; she lingered, hut
shortly left the room. Sidney, sittins: by the
bed, in a few minutes saw that Jane once
more slept, or appeared to do so. He whis-
pered to Snowdon that he was going to see
his friends in the next room, and would look
in again before leaving.

His tap at the door was answered by Amy.
who at once looked back and said :

"Can 'Sh. Ku'kwood come in, mother?"

" Yes ; I want to see him," was the answer.

IMrs. Hewett was Ivins: in bed : she looked,
if possible, more wretchedly ill than four
days ago. On the floor were two mattresses,
covered to make beds for the children. The
baby, held in its mother's aims, was cning
feebly.

••Why, I hoped you were getting much
better by now/' said Sidney.

[Mrs. Hewett told him that she had been
to the hospital on Satui'day, and seemed to
have caught cold. A common enough occur-
rence ; hours of waiting in an out-patients'

MRS. BY ASS S LODGINGS. I 5 I

room frequently do more harm than the
doctor's advice can remedy. She explained
that Mrs. Peckover had requested the use of
the other room.

"There's too many of us to be livin' an'
sleepin' in this little place," she said ; " but
after all, it's a savin' of rent. It's a good
thing Clara isn't here.— An' you've heard as
John's got work ? "

He had found a job at length with a
cabinetmaker; to-night he would probably
be working till ten or eleven o'clock. Good
news so far. Then Mrs. Hewett began to
speak with curiosity of the old man who
claimed Jane as his grandchild. Sidney told
her what had just happened.

*' An' what did you say about the girl ? "
she asked anxiously.

" I said as little as I could ; I thought it
wisest. Do you know what made her ill? "

"It was that Clem as did it," Mrs. Hewett
replied, subduing her voice. And she related
what had befallen after Sidney's last visit.
" Mrs. Peckover, she's that afraid the truth

152 THE NETHER WORLD.

should get out. Of course I don't want to
make no bother, but I do feel that glad the
poor thing's got somebody to look after her
at last. I never told you half the things as
used to go on. That Clem's no better than
a wild-beast tiger ; but then what can you
do? There's never any good comes out of
makin' a bother with other people's busi-
ness, is there ? Fancy him comin' to see you !
Mrs. Peckover's afraid of him, I can see
that, though she pretends she isn't goin' to
stand him interferin'. What do you think
about him, Sidney? He's sent for a doctor
out of Islington ; wouldn't have nothin' to
say to the other. He must have plenty of
money, don't you think ? Mrs. Peckover says
he's goin' to pay the money owin' to her for
Jane's keep. As if the poor thing hadn't
more than paid for her bits of meals an' her
bed in the kitchen ! Do you think that
woman 'ud ever have kept her if it wasn't
she could make her a servant with no wages ?
If Jane 'ud been a boy, she'd a gone to the
workhouse long ago. She's been that handy,

MRS. BYASSS LODGINGS. 1 53

poor little mite ! IVe always done what I
could for her ; you know that, Sidney. I do
hope she'll get over it. If anything happens,
mind my word, there'll be a nice to do !
Clara says she'll go to a magistrate an' let
it all out, if nobody else will. She hates the
Peckovers, Clara does."

"It won't come to that," said Sidney. "I
can see the old man'll take her away as soon
as possible. He may have a little money ;
he's just come back from Australia. I like
the look of him myself."

He began to talk of other subjects ; waxed
wrath at the miseiy of this housing to which
the family had shrunk ; urged a removal from
the vile den as soon as ever it could be man-
aged. Sidney always lost control of himself
when he talked with the Hewetts of their
difficulties ; the people were, from his point
of view, so lacking in resource, so stubbornly
rooted in profitless habit. Over and over
again he had implored them to take a rational
view of the case, to borrow a few pounds of
him, to make a new beginning on clean soil.

154 THE NETHER WORLD.

It was like contending with some hostile force
of nature ; he spent himself in vain.

As Hewett did not return, he at length took
his leave, and went into the back-room for a
moment.

" She's asleep," said Snowdon, rising from
the chair where he had been sitting deep in
thought. "It's a good sign."

Sidney just looked towards the bed, and
nodded with satisfaction. The old man gave
him a warm pressure of the hand, and he
departed. All the way home, he thought
with singular interest of the bare sick-room,
of the white-headed man watching through
the night ; the picture impressed him in a
Avay that could not be explained by its natural
pathos merely ; it kept suggesting all sorts of
fanciful ideas, due in a measure, possibly, to
Mrs. Hewett's speculations. For an hour he
was so lost in musing on the subject that he
even rested from the misery of his ceaseless
thousrht of Clara.

o

He allowed three days to pass, then went
to inquire about Jane's progress. It had been

MRS. BY ass's lodgings. I 55

satisfactory. Subsequent visits brought him
to terms of a certain intimacy with Snowdon.
The latter mentioned at length that he was
looking for two rooms, suitable for himself
and Jane. He wished them to be in a decent
house, somewhere in Clerkenwell, and the rent
was not to be more than a working-man
could afford.

''You don't know of anything in your
street ? " he asked diffidently.

Something in the tone struck Sidney. It
half expressed a wish to live in his neighbour-
hood if possible. He looked at his companion
(they were walking together), and was met
in return wdth a glance of calm friendliness ;
it gratified him, strengthened the feeling of
respect and attachment which had already
grown out of this intercourse. In Tysoe
Street, however, no accommodation could be
found. Sidney had another project in his
thoughts ; pursuing it, he paid a visit the next
evening to certain acquaintances of his named
Byass, who had a house in Hanover Street,
Islington, and let lodgings. Hanover Street

156 THE NETHER WORLD.

lies to the north of City Koad ; it is a quiet
byway, of curving form, and consists of
dwellings only. Squalor is here kept at arm's
length ; compared with regions close at hand,
this and the contiguous streets have some-
thing of a suburban aspect.

Three or four steps led up to the house-
door. Sidney's knock summoned a young,
healthy-faced, comely woman, who evinced
hearty pleasure on seeing who her visitor
was. She brought him at once into a parlour
on the ground-floor.

"Well, an' I was only this mornin' tellin'
Sam to go an' look after you, or write a note,
or somethin' ! Why can't you come round
oftener ? I've no patience with you I You
just sit at 'ome an get humped, an' what's
the good o' that, I should like to know? I
thought you d took offence with me, an so I
told Sam. Do you want to know how baby
is ? Why don't you ask, then, as you ought
to do the first thing? He's a good deal
better than he deserves to be, young rascal,
■ — all the trouble he gives me! He's fast

MRS. BY ASS S LODGINGS. I 57

asleep, I'm glad to say, so you can't see him.
Sam'll be back in a few minutes ; at least I
expect him, but there's no knowin' now-a-
days when he can leave the warehouse.
What's brought you to-night, I wonder?
You needn't tell me anything about the
Upper Street business ; / know all about
that!''

*' Oh, do you ? From Clara herself? "
" Yes. Don't talk to me about her I There !
I'm sick an' tired of her, — an so are you, I
should think, if you've any sense left. Her an'
me can't get along, an' that's the truth. Why,
when I met her on Sunday afternoon, she
was that patronisin' you'd have thought she'd
got a place in Windsor Castle. Would she
come an' have a cup of tea ? Oh, dear no !
Hadn't time ! The Princess of Wales, I
suppose, was waitin round the corner ! "

Having so relieved her mind, Mrs. Byass
laughed with a genuine gaiety which proved
how little malice there was in her satire.
Sidney could not refuse a smile, but it was a
gloomy one.

158 THE KETHER WORLD.

'' I'm not sure you've done all you might
have to keep her friends with you," he said
seriously, but with a good-natured look.

" There you go ! " exclaimed Mrs. Byass,
throwing hack her head. " Of course every-
body must be in fault sooner than her!
She's an angel is Miss Hewett ! Poor dear !
to think how shameful she's been used ! Now
I do wonder how you've the face to say such
things, Mr. Kirkwood ! Why, there's nobody
else livin' would have been as patient with
her as I always was. I'm not bad-tempered,
I will say that for myself, an' I've put up
with all sorts of things (me, a married woman),
when any one else would have boxed her
ears an' told her she w^as a conceited minx.
I used to be fond of Clara ; you know I did.
But she's got beyond all bearin' ; and if you
wasn't just as foolish as men always are,
you'd see her in her true colours. Do shake
yourself a bit, do ! Oh, you silly, silly
man 1 "

Again she burst into ringing laughter,
throwing herself backwards and forwards, and

MRS. BYASSS LODGINGS. 1 59

at last covering her face with her hands.
Sidney looked annoyed, but the contagion
of such spontaneous merriment in the end
brought another smile to his face. He moved
his head in sign of giving up the argument,
and, as soon as there was silence, turned to
the object of his visit.

"I see you've still got the card in the
window. I shouldn't wonder if I could find
you a lodger for those top-rooms."

"And who's that? No children, mind."
Sidney told her what he could of the old
man. Of Jane he only said that she had
hitherto lived with the Hewetts' landlady,
and was now going to be removed by her
grandfather, having just got through an ill-
ness. Dire visions of infection at once as-
sailed Mrs. Byass ; impossible to admit under
the same roof with her baby a person who
had just been ill. This scruple was, however,
overcome ; the two rooms at the top of the
house — unfurnished — had been long vacant,
owing to fastidiousness in Mr. and Mrs. Byass,
since their last lodger, after a fortnight of

l60 THE NETHER WORLD.

continuous drunkenness, broke the windows,
ripped the paper off the walls, and ended by-
trying to set fire to the house. Sidney was
intrusted with an outline treaty, to be com-
municated to Mr. Snowdon.

This discussion was just concluded when
Mr. Samuel Byass presented himself, — a slen-
der, large-headed young man, with very light
hair, cropped close upon the scalp, and a
foolish face screwed into an expression of
facetiousness. He was employed in some
clerkly capacity at a wholesale stationer's in
City Eoad. Having stepped into the room,
he removed a very brown silk hat and laid it
on a chair, winking the while at Sydney with
his right eye ; then he removed his overcoat,
winking with the left eye. Thus disembar-
rassed, he strode gravely to the fireplace, took
up the poker, held it in the manner of a
weapon upright against his shoulder, and
exclaimed in a severe voice, *'Eyes right!"
Then converting the poker into a sword, he
drew near to Sydney and affected to practise
upon him the military cuts, his features dis-

MRS. BYASSS LODGINGS. l6l

torted into grotesque ferocity. Finally, as-
suming the attitude of a juggler, he made an
attempt to balance the poker perpendicularly
upon his nose, until it fell with a crash, just
missing the ornaments on the mantelpiece.
All this time Mrs. By ass shrieked with laugh-
ter, with difficulty keeping her chair.

" Oh, Sam," she panted forth, her hand-
kerchief at her eyes, ''what a fool you are !
Do stop, or you'll kill me ! "

Vastly gratified, Samuel advanced with
ludicrous gestures towards the visitor, held
out his hand, and said with affected nasality,
** How do you do, sir ? It's some time since
I had the pleasure of seeing you, sir. I hope
you have been pretty tolerable."

" Isnt he a fool, Mr. Kirkwo.od ? " cried the
delighted wife. " Do just give him a smack
on the side of the head, to please me ! Sam,
go an wash, an' w^e'll have supper. What do
you mean by being so late to-night ? "

"Where's the infant?" asked Mr. Byass,
thrusting his hands into his waistcoat pockets
and peering about the room. "Bring forth

VOL. I. L

1 62 THE NETHER WORLD.

the infant ! Let a fond parent look upon his
child."

" Go an wash or I'll throw something at
you. Baby's in bed, and mind, you wake him
if you dare ! "

Sidney would have taken his leave, but
found it impossible. Mrs. Byass declared that
if he would not stay to supper he should never
enter the house again.

*' Let's make a night of it ! " cried Sam,
standing in the doorway. " Let's have three
pots of six ale and a bottle of old Tom ! Let
us be reckless ! "

His wife caught up the pillow from the sofa
and hurled it at him. Samuel escaped just in
time. The next moment his head was again
thrust forward.

"Let's send to the High Street for three
cold roast-fowls and a beef-steak pie ! Let's
get custards and cheese-cakes and French
pastry ! Let's have a pine-apple and pre-
served ginger ! Who says. Go it for
once? "

Mrs. Byass caught up the poker and sprang

MRS. BYASS'S LODGINGS. 1 6

o

after him. From the passage came sounds
of scuffling and screaming, and in the end of
something produced by the lips. Mrs. Byass
then showed a very red face at the door, and
said :

*' Isn't he a fool ? Just wait a minute while
I get the table laid."

Supper was soon ready in the comfortable
kitchen. A cold shoulder of mutton, a piece
of cheese, pickled beetroot, a seed-cake and
raspbeny jam ; such was the fare to which
Bessie Byass invited her husband and her
guest. On a side-table were some open card-
board boxes containing artificial flowers and
leaves, for Bessie had now and then a little
" mounting " to do for a shop in Upper Street,
and in that way aided the income of the family.
She was in even better spirits than usual at
the prospect of letting her top-rooms. On
hearing that piece of news, Samuel, who had
just come from the nearest public-house with
a foaming jug, executed a wild dance round
the room and inadvertently knocked two
plates from the dresser. This accident made

1 64 THE NETHER WOELD.

his wife wrathful, but only for a moment ;
presently she was laughing as unrestrainedly
as ever, and bestowing upon the repentant
young man her familiar flattery

At eleven o'clock Sidney left them, and
mused with smiles on his way home. This
was not exactly his ideal of domestic happi-
ness, yet it was better than the life led by the
Hewetts — better than that of other households
with which he was acquainted — better far, it
seemed to him, than the aspirations which
were threatening to lead poor Clara — who
knew whither? A temptation beset him to
walk round into Upper Street and pass Mrs.
Tubbs's bar. He resisted it, knowing that
the result would only be a night of sleepless
anger and misery.

The next day he again saw Snowdon, and
spoke to him of Mrs. Byass's rooms. The
old man seemed at first indisposed to go so
fax, but when he had seen the interior of the
house and talked with the landlady, his ob-
jections disappeared. Before another week
had passed, the two rooms were furnished

MRS. BYASS'S LODGINGS. 1 65

in the simplest possible way, and Snowdon
brought Jane from Clerkenwell Close.

Kirkwood came by invitation as soon as
the two were fairly established in their home.
He found Jane sitting by the fire in her
grandfather's room ; a very little exertion still
out- wearied her, and the strange things that
had come to pass had made her habitually
silent. She looked about her wonderingly,
seemed unable to realise her position, was
painfully conscious of her new clothes, ever
and again started as if in fear.

"Well, what did I say that night?" was
Sidney's greeting "Didn't I tell you it
would be all right soon ? "

Jane made no answer in words, but looked
at him timidly ; and then a smile came upon
her face, an expression of joy that could not
trust itself, that seemed to her too boldly at
variance with all she had yet known of life.

( 166 )

CHAPTEE VIII.

PENNYLOAF CANDY.

In the social classification of the nether world
— a subject which so eminently adapts itself
to the sportive and gracefully picturesque
mode of treatment — it will be convenient to
distinguish broadly, and with reference to
males alone, the two great sections of those
w^ho do, and those who do not, wear collars.
Each of these orders would, it is obvious,
offer much scope to an analyst delighting in
subtle gradation. Taking the coUarless, how
shrewdly might one discriminate between the
many kinds of neckcloth which our climate
renders necessary as a substitute for the
nobler article of attire ! The navvy, the
scafFolder, the costermonger, the cab-tout, —
innumerable would be the varieties of texture,
of fold, of knot, observed in the ranks of

PENNYLOAF CANDY. 1 6/

unskilled labour. And among those whose
higher station is indicated by the linen or
paper symbol, what a gap between the me-
chanic with collar attached to a flannel shirt
and just visible along the top of a black
tie, and the shopman whose pride it is to
adorn himself with the veiy ugliest neck-
encloser put in vogue by aristocratic sanction !
For such attractive disquisition I have, un-
fortunately, no space ; it must suffice that I
indicate the two genera. And I was led to
do so in thinking of Bob Hewett.

Bob wore a collar. In the die- sinking
establishment which employed him there
were, it is true, two men who belonged to
the collarless ; but their business was down
in the basement of the building, where they
kept up a furnace, worked huge stamping-
machines, and so on. Bob's workshop was
upstairs, and the companions with whom he
sat, without exception, had something white
and stiff round their necks ; in fact, they
were every bit as respectable as Sidney Kirk-
wood, and such as he, who bent over a

1 68 THE NETHER WORLD.

jeweller's table. To John Hewett it was no
slight gratification that he had been able to
apprentice his son to a craft which permitted
him always to wear a collar. I would not
imply that John thought of the matter in
these terms, but his reflections bore this
significance. Bob was raised for ever above
the rank of those who depend merely upon
their muscles, even as Clara was saved from
the dismal destiny of the women who can do
nothing but sew.

There was, on the whole, some reason why
John Hewett should feel pride in his eldest
son. Like Sidney Kirkwood, Bob had early
shown a faculty for draughtsmanship ; when
at school, he made decidedly clever carica-
tures of such persons as displeased him, and
he drew such wonderful horses (on the race-
course or pulling cabs), such laughable don-
keys in costers' carts, such perfect dogs, that
on several occasions some friend had pur-
chased with a veritable shilling a specimen
of his work. " Put him to the die-sinking,"
said an acquaintance of the family, himself so

PENNYLOAF CANDY. 1 69

employed ; " he'll find a use for this kind of
thing some day." Die-sinking is not the
craft it once was ; cheap methods, vulgar-
ising here as everywhere, have diminished
the opportunities of capable men ; but a
fair living was promised the lad if he stuck
to his work, and at the age of nineteen he
was already earning his pound a week. Then
he was clever in a good many other ways.
He had an ear for music, played (nothing else
was within his reach) the concertina, sang a
lively song with uncommon melodiousness —
a gift much appreciated at the meetings of
a certain Mutual Benefit Club, to which his
father had paid a weekly subscription, with-
out fail, through all adversities. In the
regular departments of learning, Bob had
never shown any particular aptitude ; he
wrote and read decently, but his speech, as
you have had occasion for observing, was not
marked by refinement, and for books he had
no liking. His father, unfortunately, had
spoilt him, just as he had spoilt Clara.
Being of the nobly independent sex, between

170 THE NETHER WORLD.

fifteen and sixteen he practically freed him-
self from parental control. The use he made
of his liberty was not altogether pleasing to
John, but the time for restraint and training
had hopelessly gone by. The lad was selfish,
that there was no denying ; he grudged the
money demanded of him for his support ; but
in other matters he always showed himself
so easy-tempered, so disposed to a genial
understanding, that the great fault had to be
blinked. Many failings might have been for-
given him in consideration of the fact that he
had never yet drunk too much, and indeed
cared little for liquor.

Men of talent, as you are aware, not
seldom exhibit low tastes in their choice of
companionship. Bob was a case in point ;
he did not sufficiently appreciate social dis-
tinctions. He, who wore a collar, seemed to
prefer associating with the collarless. There
was Jack — more properly " Jeck " — Bartley,
for instance, his bosom friend until they began
to cool in consequence of a common interest
in Miss Peckover. Jack never wore a collar

PENNYLOAF CANDY. 17I

in his life, not even on Sundays, and was
closely allied with all sorts of blackguards,
who somehow made a living on the out-
skirts of turf-land. And there was Eli Snape,
compared with whom Jack was a person of
refinement and culture. Eli dealt surrepti-
tiously in dogs and rats, and the mere odour
of him was intolerable to ordinary nostrils ;
yet he was a species of hero in Bob's re-
gard, such invaluable information could he
supply with regard to '' events " in which
young Hewett took a profound interest.
Perhaps a more serious aspect of Bob's dis-
regard for social standing was revealed in his
relations with the other sex. Susceptible from
his tender youth, he showed no ambition in
the bestowal of his amorous homage. At the
age of sixteen did he not declare his resolve
to wed the daughter of old Sally Budge, who
went about selling watercress ? and w^as there
not a desperate conflict at home before this
project could be driven from his head ? It
was but the first of many such instances. Had
he been left to his own devices, he would

172 THE NETHER WORLD.

ali'eady, like numbers of his coevals, have
been supporting (or declining to support) a
v^ife and two or three children. At present,
he was " engaged " to Clem Peckover ; that
was an understood thing. His father did not
approve it, but this connection was undeniably
better than those he had previously declared
or concealed. Bob, it seemed evident, w^as
fated to make a mesalliance ; — a pity, seeing
his parts and prospects. He might have
aspired to a wife who had scarcely any diffi-
culty wdth her A's ; w^hose bringing-up en-
abled her to look w^th compassion on girls
who could not play the piano ; who counted
among her relatives not one coUarless in-
dividual.

Clem, as we have seen, had already found,
or imagined, cause for dissatisfaction with her
betrothed. She was well enough acquainted
with Bob's repute, and her temper made it
improbable, to say the least, that the course of
wooing would in this case run very smoothly.
At present, various little signs were beginning
to convince her that she had a rival, and the

PENNYLOAF CANDY. 1 73

hints of her rejected admirer, Jack Bartley,
fixed her suspicions npon an acquaintance
whom she had hitherto regarded merely
with contempt. This was Pennyloaf Candy,
formerly, with her parents, a lodger in Mrs.
Peckover's house. The family had been
ousted some eighteen months ago on account
of failure to pay their rent and of the frequent
intoxication of Mrs. Candy. Pennyloaf s legal
name was Penelope, which, being pronounced
as a trisyllable, transformed itself by further
corruption into a sound at all events con-
veying some meaning ; applied in the first
instance jocosely, the title grew inseparable
from her, and was the one she herself always
used. Her employment was the making of
shirts for export ; she earned on an average
tenpence a day, and frequently worked fifteen
hours between leaving and returning to her
home. That Bob Hewett could interest him-
self, with whatever motive, in a person of this
description. Miss Peckover at first declined to
believe. A hint, however, was quite enough
to excite her jealous temperament; as proof

174 THE KETHER WORLD.

accumulated, cunning and ferocity wrought
in her for the devising of such a declaration
of war as should speedily scare Pennyloaf
from the field. Jane Snowdon's removal had
caused her no little irritation ; the hours of
evening were hea^^^ on her hands, and this
new emotion was not unwelcome as a tem-
porary resource.

As he came home from work one Monday
towards the end of April, Bob encountered
Pennyloaf ; she had a bundle in her hands
and was walking hurriedly.

*' Hallo ! that you ? " he exclaimed, catching
her by the arm. " Where are you going ? "

"I can't stop now. I've got some things
to put away, an' it's nearly eight."

" Come round to the Passage to-night. Be
there at ten."

" I can't give no promise. There's been
such rows at 'ome. You know mother sum-
monsed father this mornin' ? "

'' Yes, I've heard. All right ! come if you
can ; Til be there."

Pennyloaf hastened on. She was a meagre,

PENNYLOAF CANDY. I 75

hollow-eyed, bloodless girl of seventeen, yet
her features had a certain charm, that dolorous
kind of prettiness which is often enough seen
in the London needle-slave. Her habitual
look was one of meaningless surprise ; what-
ever she gazed upon seemed a source of
astonishment to her, and when she laughed,
which was not very often, her eyes grew wider
than ever. Her attire was miserable, but
there were signs that she tried to keep it in
order; the boots upon her feet were sewn
and patched into shapelessness ; her limp
straw hat had just received a new binding.

By saying that she had things " to put
away," she meant that her business was
with the pawnbroker, who could not receive
pledges after eight o'clock. It wanted some
ten minutes of the hour when she entered a
side-doorway, and, by an inner door, passed
into one of a series of compartments con-
structed before the pawnbroker's counter.
She deposited her bundle, and looked about
for some one to attend to her. Two young
men were in sight, both transacting business ;

176 THE NETHER WORLD.

one was conversing facetiously with a customer
on the subject of a pledge. Two or three gas-
jets lighted the interior of the shop, but the
boxes were in shadow. There was a strong
musty odour; the gloom, the narrow com-
partments, the low tones of conversation,
suggested stealth and shame.

Pennyloaf waited with many signs of im-
patience, until one of the assistants ap-
proached, a smartly attired youth, with black
hair greased into the discipline he deemed be-
coming, with an aquiline nose, a coarse mouth,
a large horse-shoe pin adorning his neck-
tie, and rings on his fingers. He caught hold
of the packet and threw it open ; it consisted
of a petticoat and the skirt of an old dress.

" Well, what is it ? " he asked, rubbing his
tongue along his upper lip before and after
speaking.

" Three an six, please, sir."

He rolled the things up again with a prac-
tised turn of the hand, and said indifferently,
glancing towards another box, "Eighteen-
pence."

PENNYLOAF CANDY. I 77

" Oh, sir, we had two shillin's on the skirt
not so long ago," pleaded Pennyloaf, with a
subservient voice. " Make it two shillin's, —
please do, sir ! "

The young man paid no attention ; he was
curling his moustache and exchanging a smile
of intelligence with his counter-companion
with respect to a piece of business the latter
had in hand. Of a sudden he turned and
said sharply :

** Well, are you goin' to take it or not ? "

Pennyloaf sighed and nodded.

" Got a 'apenny ? " he asked.

*' No."

He fetched a cloth, rolled the articles in it
very tightly, and pinned them up ; then he
made out ticket and duplicate, handling his
pen with facile flourish, and having blotted
the little piece of card on a box of sand
(a custom which survives in this conserva-
tive profession), he threw it to the customer.
Lastly, he counted out one shilling and five-
pence halfpenny. The coins were sandy,
greasy, and of scratched surface.

VOL. I. M

178 THE NETHER WORLD.

Pennyloaf sped ' homewards. She lived in
Shooter's Gardens, a picturesque locality
which demolition and rebuilding have of late
transformed. It was a winding alley, with
paving raised a foot above the level of the
street whence was its main approach. To
enter from the obscurer end, you descended a
flight of steps, under a low archway, in a
court itself not easily discovered. From
without, only a glimpse of the Gardens was
obtainable ; the houses curved out of sight
after the first few yards, and left surmise to
busy itself with the characteristics of the
hidden portion. A stranger bold enough to
explore would have discovered that the Gar-
dens had a blind oflfshoot, known simply as
*'The Court." Needless to burden descrip-
tion Avith further detail ; the slum was like
any other slum ; filth, rottenness, evil odours,
possessed these dens of superfluous mankind
and made them gruesome to the peering
imagination. The inhabitants of course felt
nothing of the sort; a room in Shooter's
Gardens was the only kind of home that

PENNYLOAF CANDY. I 79

most of them knew or desired. The majority
preferred it, on all grounds, to that offered
them in a block of model-lodgings not very
far away ; here was independence, that is to
say, the liberty to be as vile as they pleased.
How they came to love vileness, well, that
is quite another matter, and shall not for the
present concern us.

Pennyloaf ran into the jaws of this black
horror with the indifference of habit ; it had
never occurred to her that the Gardens were
fearful in the night's gloom, nor even that
better lighting would have been a conveni-
ence. Did it happen that she awoke from
her first sleep with the ring of ghastly shriek-
ing in her ears, that was an incident of too
common occurrence to cause her more than
a brief curiosity ; she could wait till the
morning to hear who had half killed whom.
Four days ago it was her own mother's turn
to be pounded into insensibility ; her father
(a journeyman baker, often working nineteen
hours out of the twenty-four, which probably
did not improve his temper), maddened by

l8o THE NETHER WOULD.

his wife's persistent drunkenness, was stopped
just on the safe side of murder. To the
amazement and indignation of the Gardens,
Mrs. Candy prosecuted her sovereign lord ;
the case had been heard to-day, and Candy
had been cast in a fine. The money was
paid, and the baker went his way, remarking
that his family were to " expect him back
when they saw him." Mrs. Candy, on her
return, was hooted through all the length of
the Gardens, a demonstration of public feel-
ing probably rather of base than of worthy
significance.

As Pennyloaf drew near to the house, a
wild, discordant voice suddenly broke forth
somewhere in the darkness, singing in a high
key, " All ye works of the Lord, bless ye the
Lord, praise Him and magnify Him for ever ! "
It was Mad Jack, who had his dwelling in
the Court, and at all hours was wont to
practise the psalmody which made him noto-
rious throughout Clerkenwell. A burst of
laughter followed from a group of men and
boys gathered near the archway. Unheeding,

PENNYLOAF CANDY. l8l

the girl passed in at an open door and felt
her way up a staircase ; the air was noisome,
notwithstanding a fierce draught which swept
down the stairs. She entered a room lighted
by a small metal lamp hanging on the wall —
a precaution of Pennyloaf's own contrivance.
There was no bed, but one mattress lay with
a few rags of bed-clothing spread upon it, and
two others were rolled up in a corner. This
chamber accommodated, under ordinary cir-
cumstances, four persons : Mr. and Mrs. Candy,
Pennyloaf, and a son named Stephen, whose
years were eighteen. (Stephen pursued the
occupation of a potman ; his hours were
from eight in the morning to midnight on
week-days, and on Sunday the time during
which a public-house is permitted to be open ;
once a month he was allowed freedom after
six o'clock.) Against the window was hung
an old shawl pierced with many rents. By
the fire sat Mrs. Candy ; she leaned forward,
her head, which was bound in linen swathes,
resting upon her hands.

"What have you got?" she asked, in

1 82 THE ^' ETHER WORLD.

the thick voice of a drunkard, without
moving.

" Eighteenpence ; it's all they'd give me."

The woman cursed in her throat, but ex-
hibited no anger with Pennyloaf.

" Go an' get some tea an' milk," she said,
after a pause. " There is sugar. An' bring
seven o' coals ; there's only a dust."

She pointed to a deal box which stood by
the hearth. Pennyloaf went out again.

Over the fireplace, the stained wall bore
certain singular ornaments. These were ^ve
coloured cards, such as are signed by one
who takes a pledge of total abstinence ; each
presented the signature, *' Maria Candy," and
it was noticeable that at each progressive date
the handwriting had become more unsteady.
Yes, Rye times had Maria Candy " promised,
with the help of God, to abstain," &c. &c. ;
each time she was in earnest. But it ap-
peared that the help of God availed little
against the views of one Mrs. Green, who
kept the beer-shop in Eosoman Street, once
Mrs. Peckover's, and who could on no account

PENNYLOAF CANDY. I 83

afford to lose so good a customer. For many
years that house, Kcensed for the sale of
non-sphituous liquors^ had been working Mrs.
Candy's ruin ; not a particle of her frame but
was vitiated by the drugs retailed there under
the approving smile of civilisation. Spirits
would have been harmless in comparison.
The advantage of Mrs, Green's ale was that
the very first half-pint gave conscience its
bemuddling sop ; for a penny you forgot all
the cares of existence ; for threepence you
became a yelling maniac.

Poor, poor creature ! She was sober to-
night, sitting over the fire with her face
battered into shapelessness ; and now that her
fury had had its way, she bitterly repented
invoking the help of the law against her
husband. What use ? what use ? Perhaps he
had now abandoned her for good, and it was
certain that the fear of him was the only thing
that ever checked her on the ruinous road she
would so willingly have quitted. But for the
harm to himself, the only pity was he had not
taken her life outright. She knew all the

184 THE NETHER WORLD.

hatefulness of her existence ; she knew also
that only the grave would rescue her from it.
The struggle was too unequal between Mrs.
Candy with her appeal to Providence, and
Mrs. Green with the forces of civilisation at
her back.

Pennyloaf speedily returned with a hap-
'orth of milk, a pennyworth of tea, and seven
pounds (also price one penny) of coals in an
apron. It was very seldom indeed that the
Candys had more of anything in their room
than would last them for the current day.
There being no kettle, water was put on to
boil in a tin saucepan ; the tea was made in a
jug. Pennyloaf had always been a good girl
to her mother ; she tended her as well as
she could to-night ; but there was no word
of affection from either. Kindly speech was
stifled by the atmosphere of Shooter's Gar-
dens.

Having drunk her tea, Mrs. Candy lay
down, as she was, on the already extended
mattress and drew the ragged coverings about
her. In half an hour she slept.

PENNYLOAF CANDY. 1 85

Pennyloaf then put on her hat and jacket
again and left the house. She walked away
from the denser regions of Clerkenwell, came
to Sadler's Wells Theatre (gloomy in its pro-
fitless recollection of the last worthy manager
that London knew), and there turned into
Myddelton Passage. It is a narrow paved
walk between brick walls seven feet high ;
on the one hand lies the New Eiver Head,
on the other are small gardens behind Myd-
delton Square. The branches of a few trees
hang over ; there are doors, seemingly never
opened, belonging one to each garden ; a
couple of gas-lamps shed feeble light.
Pennyloaf paced the length of the Passage
several times, meeting no one. Then a
policeman came along with echoing tread,
and eyed her suspiciously. She had to wait
more than a quarter of an hour before Bob
Hewett made his appearance. Greeting her
with a nod and a laugh, he took up a leaning
position against the wall, and began to put
questions concerning the state of things at
her home.

1 86 THE ^'ETHER WORLD.

**And what'll your mother do if the old
man don't give her nothing to live on ? " he
inquired, when he had listened good-naturedly
to the recital of domestic difficulties.

"Don't know," replied the girl, shaking
her head, the habitual surprise of her coun-
tenance becoming a blank interrogation of
destiny.

Bob kept kicking the wall, first with one
heel, then with the other. He whistled a
few bars of the last song he had learnt at the
music-hall.

" Say, Penny," he remarked at length, with
something of shamefacedness, "there's a name-
sake of mine here as I shan't miss, if you can
do any good with it."

He held a shilling towards her under his
hand. Pennyloaf turned away, casting down
her eyes and looking troubled.

" We can get on for a bit," she said in-
distinctly.

Bob returned the coin to his pocket. He
whistled again for a moment, then asked
abruptly :

PENNYLOAF CANDY. 1 87

" Say ! have you seen Clem again ? "

"No," replied the girl, examining him with
sudden acuteness. " What about her? "

" Nothing much. She's got her back up a
bit, that's all."

'' About me ? " Pennyloaf asked anxiously.

Bob nodded. As he was making some
further remarks on the subject, a man's figure
appeared at a little distance, and almost im-
mediately withdrew again round a winding of
the Passage. A moment after there sounded
from that direction a shrill whistle. Bob and
the girl regarded each other.

" Who was that ? " said the former sus-
piciously. " I half believe it was Jeck Bart-
ley. If Jeck is up to any of his larks, I'll
make him remember it. You wait here a
minute ! "

He walked at a sharp pace towards the
suspected quarter. Scarcely had he gone half
a dozen yards, when there came running from
the other end of the Passage a girl whom
Pennyloaf at once recognised. It was Clem
Peckover ; with some friend's assistance she

I 88 THE NETHER WORLD.

had evidently tracked the couple and was
now springing out of ambush. She rushed
upon Pennyloaf, who for very alarm could not
flee, and attacked her with clenched fists. A
scream of terror and pain caused Bob to turn
and run back. Pennyloaf could not even
ward off the blows that descended upon her
head; she was pinned against the wall, her
hat was torn away, her hair began to fly in
disorder. But Bob effected a speedy rescue.
He gripped Clem's muscular arms, and forced
them behind her back as if he meant to dis-
member her. Even then it was with no slight
effort that he restrained the girl's fury.

" You run off 'ome ! " he shouted to Penny-
loaf " If she tries this on again, I'll murder
her ! "

Pennyloaf s hysterical cries and the frantic
invectives of her assailant made the Passage
ring. Again Bob roared to the former to be
off, and was at length obeyed. When Penny-
loaf was out of sight he released Clem. Her
twisted arms caused her such pain that she
threw herself against the wall, mingling

PENNYLOAF CANDY. 1 89

maledictions with groans. Bob burst into

scornful laughter

&^

Clem went home vowing vengeance. In
the nether world this trifling dissension
might have been expected to bear its crop of
violent language and straightway pass into
obhvion ; but Miss Peckover's malevolence
was of no common stamp, and the scene of
to-night originated a feud which in the end
concerned many more people than those im-
mediately interested.

( 190 )

CHAPTEE IX.

PATHOLOGICAL.

Through the day and through the evening,
Clara Hewett had her place behind Mrs.
Tubbs's bar. For daylight wear, the dress
which had formerly been her best was deemed
sufficient ; it was simple, but not badly made
and became her figure. Her evening attire
was provided by Mrs. Tubbs who recouped
herself by withholding the promised wages
for a certain number of weeks. When Clara
had surveyed this garment in the bar mirror,
she turned away contemptuously ; the mate-
rial was cheap, the mode vulgar. It must be
borne with for the present, like other in-
dignities which she found to be inseparable
from her position. As soon as her employer's
claim was satisfied, and the weekly ^ve
shillings began to be paid, Clara remembered

PATHOLOGICAL. I 9 1

the promise she had volunteered to her father.
But John was once more at work ; for the
present there really seemed no need to give
him any of her money, and she herself, on the
other hand, lacked so many things. This
dress plainly would not be suitable for the
better kind of engagement she had in view ;
it behoved her first of all to have one made
in accordance with her own taste. A mantle

too, a silk umbrella, gloves It would

be unjust to herself to share her scanty earn-
ings N^ith those at home.

Yes ; but you must try to understand this
girl of the people, with her unfortunate en-
dowment of brains and defect of tenderness.
That smile of hers, which touched and fasci-
nated and made thoughtful, had of course a
significance discoverable by study of her life
and character. It was no mere affectation ;
she was not conscious, in smiling, of the ex-
pression upon her face. Moreover, there was
justice in the sense of wrong discernible
upon her features when the very self looked
forth from them. All through his life, John

192 THE NETHER WORLD.

Hewett had suffered from the same impulse
of revolt ; less sensitively constructed than
his daughter, uncalculating, inarticulate, he
fumed and fretted away his energies in a
conflict with forces ludicrously personified.
In the matter of his second marriage he was
seen at his best, generously defiant of social
cruelties ; but self-knowledge was denied him,
and circumstances condemned his life to
futility. Clara inherited his temperament ;
transferred to her more complex nature, it
gained in subtlety and in power of self-
direction, but lost in its nobler elements.
Her mother was a capable and ambitious
woman, one in whom active characteristics
were more prominent than the emotional.
With such parents, every probability told
against her patient acceptance of a lot which
allowed her faculties no scope. And the
circumstances of her childhood were such as
added a peculiar bitterness to the trials wait-
ing upon her maturity.

Clara, you remember, had reached her
eleventh year when her father's brother died

PATHOLOGICAL. 1 93

and left the legacy of which came so little
profit. That was in 1873. State education
had recently made a show of establishing
itself, and in the Hew^etts' world much argu-
ment was going on with reference to the new
Board-schools, and their advantages or dis-
advantages when compared with those in
which working-folk's children had hitherto
been taught. Clara went to a Church-school,
and the expense was greater than the new
system rendered necessary. Her father's
principles naturally favoured education on
an independent basis, but a prejudice then
(and still) common among workpeople of de-
cent habits made him hesitate about sending
his girl to sit side by side with the children
of the street. And he was confirmed by
Clara's own view of the matter. She spoke
with much contempt of Board-schools, and
gave it to be understood that her religious
convictions would not suffer her to be taught
by those w^ho made light of orthodoxy. This
attitude was intelligible enough in a child
of sharp wit and abundant self-esteem. Not-

VOL. L N

194 THE NETHER WORLD.

withstanding her father's indifferentism, little
Clara perceived that a regard for religion
gave her a certain distinction at home, and
elsewhere placed her apart from " common
guis." She was subject, also, to special in-
fluences : on the one hand, from her favourite
teacher, Miss Hari'op ; on the other, fi'om a
school-friend, Grace Rudd.

Miss Harrop was a good, warm-hearted
woman of about thirty, one of those unhappy
persons who are made for domestic life, but
condemned by fate to school-celibacy. Lonely
and impulsive, she drew to herself the most
interesting girl in her classes, and, with com-
plete indiscretion, made a familiar, a pet, a
prodigy of one whose especial need was dis-
cipline. By her confidences and her flat-
teries she set Clara aflame with spiritual
pride. Ceaselessly she excited her to am-
bition, remarked on her gifts, made dazzling
forecast of her future. Clara was to be a
teacher first of all, but only that she might
be introduced to the notice of people who
would aid her to better things. And the

PATHOLOGICAL. 1 95

child came to regard this as the course in-
evitably before her. Had she not already
received school-prizes, among them a much-
gilded little volume " for religious knov7-
ledge " ? Did she not win universal applause
when she recited a piece of verse on prize-
day, — Miss Harrop (disastrous kindness !)
even saying that the delivery reminded her
of Mrs. , the celebrated actress !

Grace Eudd was busy in the same fatal
work. Four years older than Clara, weakly
pretty, sentimental, conceited, she had a fancy
for patronising the clever child, to the end
that she might receive homage in return.
Poor Grace ! She left school, spent a year or
two at home with parents as foolish as herself,
and — disappeared. Prior to that. Miss Harrop
had also passed out of Clara's ken, driven by
restlessness to try another school, away from
London.

These losses appeared to affect Clara un-
favourably. She began to neglect her books,
to be insubordinate, to exhibit arrogance,
which brought down upon her plenty of

196 THE NETHER WORLD.

wholesome reproof. Her father was not with-
out a share in the responsibility for it all.
Entering upon his four hundred pounds, one
of the first things John did was to hire a
piano, that his child might be taught to play.
Pity that Sidney Kirkwood could not then
ciy with effective emphasis, "We are the
working classes ! we are the lower orders ! "
It was exactly what Hewett would not bring
himself to understand. What ! His Clara
must be robbed of chances just because her
birth was not that of a young lady ? Nay, by
all the unintelligible Powers, she should enjoy
every help that he could possibly afi'ord her.
Bless her bright face and her clever tongue !
Yes, it was now a settled thing that she
should be trained for a school-teacher. An
atmosphere of refinement must be made for
her; she must be better dressed, more deli-
cately fed.

The bitter injustice of it! In the out-
come you are already instructed. Long before
Clara was anything like ready to enter upon
a teacher's career, her father's ill-luck once

PATHOLOGICAL. 1 9 7

more darkened over the home. Clara had
made no progress since Miss Harrop's day.
The authorities directing her school might
have come forward vrith aid of some kind,
had it appeared to them that the girl would
repay such trouble ; but they had their fore-
bodings about her. Whenever she chose,
she could learn in five minutes what another
girl could scarcely commit to memory in
twenty ; but it was obviously for the sake of
display. The teachers disliked her ; among
the pupils she had no friends. So at length
there came the farewell to school and the
beginning of practical life, which took the
shape of learning to stamp crests and addresses
on note-paper. There was hope that before
long Clara might earn thirteen shillings a
week.

The bitter injustice of it ! Clara was seven-
teen now, and understood the folly of which
she had been guilty a few years ago, but at
the same time she felt in her inmost heart the
tyranny of a world which takes revenge for
errors that are inevitable, which misleads a

198 THE AETHER WORLD.

helpless child and then condemns it for being
found astray. She could judge herself, yes,
better than Sidney Kirkwood could judge her.
She knew her defects, knew her vices, and a
feud with fate caused her to accept them de-
fiantly. Many a time had she sobbed out
to herself, " I wish I could neither read nor
wTite ! I wish I had never been told that
there is anything better than to work with
one's hands and earn daily bread !" But she
could not renounce the claims that Nature had
planted in her, that her guardians had fostered.
The better she understood how difficult was
every way of advancement, the more fiercely
resolute was she to conquer satisfactions which
seemed beyond the sphere of her destiny.

Of late she had thought much of her childish
successes in reciting poetiy. It was not often
that she visited a theatre (her father had
always refused to let her go with any one save
himself or Sidney), but on the rare occasions
when her wish was gratified, she had watched
each actress with devouring interest, with burn-
ing envy, and had said to herself, " Couldn't

PATHOLOGICAL. 1 99

I soon learn to do as well as that? Can't I
see where it might be made more lifelike ?
Why should it be impossible for me to go on
the stage ?" In passing a shop-window where
photographs were exposed, she looked for those
of actresses, and gazed at them with terrible
intensity. " I am as good-looking as she is.
Why shouldn't my portrait be seen some day
in the windows?" And then her heart throb-
bed, smitten with passionate desire. As she
walked on, there was a turbid gloom about
her, and in her ears the echoing of a dread
temptation. Of all this she spoke to nobody.
For she had no friends. A couple of years
ago something like an intimacy had sprung
up between her and Bessie Jones (since mar-
ried and become Bessie Byass), seemingly on
the principle of contrast in association. Bessie,
like most London workgirls, was fond of the
theatre, and her talk helped to nourish the
ambition which was secretly developing in
Clara. But the two could not long harmo-
nise, Bessie, just after her mamage, ventured
to speak with friendly reproof of Clara's beha-

2QO THE NETHER WORLD.

viour to Sidney Kirkwood. Clara was not
disposed to admit freedoms of that kind ; she
half gave it to be understood that, though
others might be easily satisfied, she had views
of her own on such subjects. Thereafter,
Mrs. Byass grew decidedly cool. The other
girls with whom Clara had formal intercourse
showed no desire to win her confidence ; they
were kept aloof by her reticent civility.

As for Sidney himself, it was not without
reason that he had seen encouragement in the
girl's first reply to his advances. At sixteen,
Clara found it agreeable to have her good
graces sought by the one man in whom she
recognised superiority of mind and purpose.
Of all the unbetrothed girls she knew, not one
but would have felt flattered had Kirkwood
thus distinguished her. Nothing common
adhered to his demeanour, to his character;
he had the look of one who will hold his own
in life ; his word had the ring of truth. Of
his generosity she had innumerable proofs,
and it contrasted nobly with the selfishness
of young men as she knew them ; she appreci-

PATHOLOGICAL. 20I

ated it all the more because her own frequent
desire to be unselfish was so fruitless. Of
awakening tenderness towards him she knew
nothing, but she gave him smiles and words
which might mean little or much, just for
the pleasure of completing a conquest. Nor
did she, in truth, then regard it as impossible
that, sooner or later, she might become his
wife. If she must marry a workman, assuredly
it should be Sidney. He thought so highly
of her, he understood things in her to which
the ordinary artisan would have been dead ;
he had little delicacies of homage which gave
her keen pleasure. And yet, — well, time
enough !

Time went very quickly, and changed both
herself and Sidney in ways she could not fore-
see. It was true, all he said to her in anger
that night by the prison wall — true and de-
served every word of it. Even in acknow-
ledging that, she hardened herself against him
implacably. Since he chose to take this tone
with her, to throw aside all his graceful blind-
ness to her faults, he had only himself to

202 THE NETHER WORLD.

blame if she considered everything at an end
between them. She tried to believe herself
glad this had happened ; it relieved her from
an embarrassment, and made her absolutely
free to pursue the ambitions which now gave
her no rest. For all that, she could not dis-
miss Sidney from her mind ; indeed, through-
out the week that followed their parting, she
thought of him more persistently than for
many months. That he would before long
seek pardon for his rudeness she felt certain,
she felt also that such submission would
gratify her in a high degree. But the weeks
were passing and no letter came ; in vain she
glanced from the window of the bar at the
faces which moved by. Even on Sunday,
when she went home for an hour or two, she
neither saw nor heard of Kirkwood. She
could not bring herself to ask a question.

Under any circumstances Clara would ill
have borne a suspense that irritated her pride,
and at present she lived amid conditions so
repugnant, that her nerves were ceaselessly
strung almost beyond endurance. Before en-

PATHOLOGICAL. 203

tering upon this engagement she had formed
but an imperfect notion of what would be
demanded of her. To begin with, Mrs. Tubbs
belonged to the order of women who are by-
nature slave-drivers ; though it was her in-
terest to secure Clara for a permanency, she
began by exacting from the girl as much labour
as could possibly be included in their agree-
ment. The hours were insufferably long ; by
nine o'clock each evening Clara was so out-
w^orn that with difficulty she remained stand-
ing, yet not until midnight was she released.
The unchanging odours of the place sickened
her, made her head ache, and robbed her of
all appetite. Many of the duties were menial,
and to perform them fevered her with indig-
nation. Then the mere waiting upon such
men as formed the majority of the customers,
vulgarly familiar, when not insolent, in their
speech to her, was hateful beyond anything
she had conceived. Had there been no one
to face but her father, she would have re-
turned home and resumed her old occupation
at the end of the first fortnight, so extreme

204 THE NETHER WORLD.

was her suffering in mind and body; but
rather than give Sidney Kirkwood such a
triumph, she would work on, and breathe no
word of what she underwent. Even in her
anger against him, the knowledge of his for-
giving disposition, of the sincerity of his love,
was an unavowed support. She knew he
could not utterly desert her ; when some day
he sought a reconciliation, the renewal of con-
flict between his pride and her own would,
she felt, supply her with new courage.

Early one Saturday afternoon she was stand-
ing by the windows, partly from heavy idle-
ness of thought, partly on the chance that
Ku'kwood might go by, when a young well-
dressed man, who happened to be passing at
a slow walk, turned his head and looked at
her. He went on, but in a few moments
Clara, who had moved back into the shop, saw
him enter and come forwards. He took a
seat at the counter and ordered a luncheon.
Clara waited upon him with her customary
cold reserve, and he made no remark until she
returned him change out of the coin he offered.

PATHOLOGICAL. ^0$

Then he said with an apologetic smile :

*'We are old acquaintances, Miss Hewett,
but I'm afraid you've forgotten me."

Clara regarded him in astonishment. His
age seemed to be something short of thirty ;
he had a long, grave, intelligent face, smiled
enigmatically, spoke in a rather slow voice.
His silk hat, sober necktie drawn through a
gold ring, and dark morning-coat, made it
probable that he was " in the City."

"We used to know each other very well
about five years ago," he pursued, pocketing
his change carelessly. " Don't you remember
a Mr. Scawthorne, who used to be a lodger
with some friends of yours called Eudd?"

On the instant memory revived in Clara.
In her school-days she often spent a Sunday
afternoon with Grace Eudd, and this Mr.
Scawthorne was generally at the tea-table.
Mr. and Mrs. Eudd made much of him, said
that he held a most important post in a
lawyer's office, doubtless had private designs
concerning him and their daughter. Thus
aided, she even recognised his features.

2o6 THE KETHER WORLD.

'' And you knew me again after all this
time?"

" Your's isn't an easy face to forget," re-
plied Mr. Scawthorne, with the subdued polite
smile which naturally accompanied his tone
of unemotional intimacy. '' To tell you the
whole truth, however, I happened to hear
news of you a few days ago. I met Grace
Rudd ; she told me you were here. Some old
friend had told her,''

Grace's name awoke keen interest in Clara.
She was startled to hear it, and did not venture
to make the inquiry her mind at once sug-
gested. Mr. Scawthorne observed her for an
instant, then proceeded to satisfy her curiosity.
Grace Rudd was on the stage ; she had been
acting in provincial theatres under the name
of Miss Danvers, and was now waiting for
a promised engagement at a minor London
theatre.

" Do you often go to the theatre ?" he added
carelessly. " I have a great many acquaint-
ances connected with the stage in one way
or another. If you would like, I should be

PATHOLOGICAL. 20/

very glad to send you tickets now and then,
I ahvays have more given me than I can well
use.

Clara thanked him rather coldly, and said
that she was very seldom fee in the even-
ing. Thereupon Mr. Scawthorne again smiled,
raised his hat, and departed.

Possibly he had some consciousness of the
effect of his words, but it needed a subtler
insight, a finer imagination than his, to inter-
pret the pale, beautiful, harassed face which
studiously avoided looking towards him as he
paused before stepping out on to the pave-
ment. The rest of the evening, the hours of
night that followed, passed for Clara in hot
tumult of heart and brain. The news of Grace
Eudd had flashed upon her as revelation of
a clear possibility where hitherto she had
seen only mocking phantoms of futile desire.
Grace was an actress ; no matter by what
course, to this she had attained. This man,
Scawthorne, spoke of the theatrical life as one
to whom all its details were familiar ; acquaint-
ance with him of a sudden bridged over the

208 THE NETHER WOELD.

chasm which had seemed impassable. Would
he come again to see her ? Had her involun-
taiy resen^e put an end to any interest he
might have felt in her ? Of him personally
she thought not at all; she could not have
recalled his features ; he was a mere abstrac-
tion, the representative of a wild hope which
his conversation had inspired.

From that day the character of her suffering
was altered ; it became less womanly, it defied
weakness and grew to a fever of fierce, un-
scrupulous rebellion. Whenever she thought
of Sidney Kirkwood, the injury he was inflict-
ing upon her pride rankled into bitter resent-
ment, unsoftened by the despairing thought
of self- subdual w^hich had at times visited her
sick weariness. She bore her degradations
wdth the sullen indifi*erence of one who is
supported by the hope of a future revenge.
The disease inherent in her being, that deadly
outcome of social tp'anny which perverts the
generous elements of youth into mere seeds
of destruction, developed day by day, blight-
ing her heart, corrupting her moral sense, even

PATHOLOGICAL. 209

setting marks of evil upon the beauty of her
countenance. A passionate desire of self-
assertion familiarised her with projects, with
ideas, which formerly she had glanced at only
to dismiss as ignoble. In proportion as her
bodily health failed, the worst possibilities of
her character came into prominence. Like
a creature that is beset by unrelenting forces,
she summoned and surveyed all the crafty
faculties lurking in the dark places of her
nature ; theoretically she had now accepted
every debasing compact by which a woman
can spite herself on the world's injustice.
Self-assertion ; to be no longer an unregarded
atom in the mass of those who are born only
to labour for others ; to find play for the
strength and the passion which, by no choice
of her own, distinguished her from the tame
slave. Sometimes in the silence of night she
suffered from a dreadful need of crying aloud,
of uttering her anguish in a scream like that
of insanity. She stifled it only by crushing
her face into the pillow until the hysterical
fit had passed, and she lay like one dead.
VOL. L o

216 THE NETHER WOPwLD.

A fortnight after his first visit Mr. Scaw-
thorne again presented himself, polite, smil-
ing, perhaps rather more familiar. He stayed
talking for nearly an hour, chiefly of the
theatre. Casually he mentioned that Grace
E.udd had got her engagement — only a little
part in a farce. Suppose Clara came to see
her play some evening ] Might he take her ?
He could at any time have places in the dress-
circle.

Clara accepted the invitation. She did so
without consulting Mrs. Tubbs, and when it
became necessaiy to ask for the evening's
freedom, difficulties were made. " Veiy well,"
said Clara, in a tone she had never yet used
to her employer, " then I shall leave you."
She spoke without a moment's reflection ;
something independent of her will seemed to
direct her in speech and act. Mrs. Tubbs
yielded.

Clara had not yet been able to obtain the
dress she wished for. Her savings, however,
were sufficient for the purchase of a few acces-
sories, which made her, she considered, not

PATHOLOGICAL. 2 I I

unpresentable. Scawthorne was to have a
cab waiting for her at a little distance from
the luncheon-bar. It was now June, and at
the hour of their meeting still broad daylight,
but Clara cared nothing for the chance that
acquaintances might see her ; nay, she had a
reckless desire that Sidney Kirkwood might
pass just at this moment. She noticed no one
whom she knew, however ; but just as the cab
was turning into Pentonville Eoad, Scawthorne
drew her attention to a person on the pave-
ment.

" You see that old fellow," he said. " Would
you believe that he is very wealthy?"

Clara had just time to perceive an old man
with white hair, dressed as a mechanic.

*'But I know^ him," she replied. "His
name's Snowdon."

" So it is. How do you come to know
him ?" Scawthorne inquired with interest.

She explained.

*' Better not say anything about it," re-
marked her companion. " He's an eccentric
chap. I happen to know his affairs in the

212 THE NETHER WORLD.

way of business. I oughtn't to have told
secrets, but I can trust you."

A gentle emphasis on the last word, and
a smile of more than usual intimacy. But
his manner was, and remained through the
evening, respectful almost to exaggeration.
Clara seemed scarcely conscious of his pre-
sence, save in the act of listening to what
he said. She never met his look, never
smiled. From entering the theatre to leav-
ing it, she had a high flush on her face.
Impossible to recognise her friend in the
actress whom Scawthorne indicated ; features
and voice were wholly strange to her. In
the intervals, Scawthorne spoke of the diffi-
culties that beset an actress's career at its
beginning.

" I suppose you never thought of trying
it?" he asked. "Yet I fancy you might do
well, if only you could have a few months'
training, just to start you. Of course it
all depends on knowing how to go about
it. A little money would be necessary, —
not much."

PATHOLOGICAL. 2 I 3

Clara made no reply. On the way home
she was mute. Scawthorne took leave of her
in Upper Street, and promised to look in
again before long. ...

Under the heat of these summer days, in
the reeking atmosphere of the bar, Clara
panted fever- stricken. The weeks went on ;
what strength supported her from the Monday
morning to the Saturday midnight she could
not tell. Acting and refraining, speaking
and holding silence, these things were no
longer the consequences of her own volition.
She wished to break free from her slavery,
but had not the force to do so ; something
held her voice as often as she was about to
tell Mrs. Tubbs that this week would be the
last. Her body wasted so that all the gar-
ments she wore were loose upon her. The
only mental process of which she was capable
was reviewing the misery of days just past
and anticipating that of the days to come.
Her only feelings were infinite self-pity and
a dull smouldering hatred of all others in the
world. A doctor would have bidden her take

2 14 THE NETHER WORLD.

to bed, as one in danger of grave illness.
She bore through it without change in her
habits, and in time the strange lethargy
passed.

Scawthome came to the bar frequently.
He remarked often on her look of suffering,
and urged a holiday. At length, near the
end of July, he invited her to go up the
river with him on the coming Bank-holiday.
Clara consented, though aware that her pre-
sence would be more than ever necessary at
the bar on the day of much drinking. Later
in the evening she addressed her demand to
Mrs. Tubbs. It was refused.

Without a word of anger, Clara went up-
stairs, prepared herself for walking, and set
forth among the by-ways of Islington. In
half an hour she had found a cheap bedroom,
for which she paid a week's rent in advance.
She purchased a few articles of food and
carried them to her lodging, then lay down
in the darkness.

( 215 )

CHAPTEE X.

THE LAST COMBAT.

During these summer months Sidney Kirk-
wood's visits to the house in Clerkenwell
Close were comparatively rare. It was not
his own wish to relax in any degree the close
friendship so long subsisting between the
Hewitts and himself, but from the day of
Clara's engagement with Mrs. Tubbs John
Hewett began to alter in his treatment of him.
At first there was nothing more than found
its natural explanation in regret of what had
happened, a tendency to muteness, to troubled
brooding ; but before long John made it un-
mistakable that the young man's presence
was irksome to him. If, on coming home, he
found Sidney with Mrs. Hewett and the chil-
dren, a cold nod was the only greeting he
offered ; then followed signs of ill-humour,

2l6 THE NETHER WOELD.

such as Sidney could not in the end fail to
interpret as unfavourable to himself. He
never heard Clara s name on her father's lips,
and himself never uttered it when John was
in hearing.

" She told him what passed between us that
night/' Sidney argued inwardly. But it was
not so. Hewett had merely abandoned him-
self to an unreasonable resentment. Notwith-
standing his concessions, he blamed Sidney for
the girl's leaving home, and, as his mood grew
more ini table, the more hopeless it seemed
that Clara would return, he nursed the sus-
picion of treacherous behaviour on Sidney's
part. He would not take into account any
such thing as pride which could forbid the
young man to urge a rejected suit. Sidney
had grown tired of Clara, that was the truth,
and gladly caught at any means of excusiDg
himself. He had made new fi'iends. Mrs.
Peckover reported that he was a constant
visitor at the old man Snowdon*s lodgings ;
she expressed her belief that Snowdon had
come back from Australia with a little store

THE LAST COMBAT. 2 1/

of money, and if Kirkwood had knowledge of
that, would it not explain his interest in Jane
Snowdon ?

*' For shame to listen to such things !" cried
Mrs. Hewett, angrily, when her husband once
repeated the landlady's words. " I'd be
ashamed of myself, John ! If you don't know
him no better than that, you ought to by this
time."

And John did, in fact, take to himself no
little shame, but his unsatisfied affection turned
all the old feelings to bitterness. In spite of
himself, he blundered along the path of per-
versity. Sidney, too, had his promptings of
obstinate humour. When he distinctly recog-
nised Hewett's feeling it galled him ; he was
being treated with gross injustice, and temper
suggested reprisals which could answer no
purpose but to torment him with self-condem-
nation. However, he must needs consult his
own dignity; he could not keep defending
himself against ignoble charges. For the
present, there was no choice but to accept
John's hints, and hold apart as much as was

2l8 THE NETHER WORLD.

possible without absolute breach of friendly
relations. Nor could he bring himself to ap-
proach Clara. It was often in his mind to
write to her ; had he obeyed the voice of Jiis
desire, he would have penned such letters as
only the self-abasement of a passionate lover
can dictate. But herein, too, the strain of
sternness that marked his character made its
influence felt. He said to himself that the
only hope of Clara's respecting him lay in his
preservation of the attitude he had adopted,
and as the months went on he found a bitter
satisfaction in adhering so firmly to his pur-
pose. The self-flattery with which no man
can dispense whispered assurance that Clara
only thought the more of him the longer he
held aloof. When the end of July came, he
definitely prescribed to his patience a trial of
yet one more month. Then he would vrrite
Clara a long letter, telling her what it had
cost him to keep silence, and declaring the
constancy he devoted to her.

This resolve he registered whilst at work
one morning. The triumphant sunshine,

THE LAST COMBAT. 219

refusing to be excluded even from London
workshops, gleamed upon his tools and on
the scraps of jewellery before him ; he looked
up to the blue sky, and thought with heavy
heart of many a lane in Surrey and in Essex
where he might be wandering but for this
ceaseless necessity of earning the week's
wage. A fly buzzed loudly against the grimy
window, and by one of those associations
which time and change cannot affect, he
mused himself back into boyhood. The
glimpse before him of St. John's Arch aided
the revival of old impressions ; his hand
ceased from its mechanical activity, and he
was absorbed in a waking dream, when a
voice called to him and said that he was
wanted. He w^ent down to the entrance, and
there found Mrs. Hewett. Her coming at all
was enough to signal some disaster, and the
trouble on her face caused Sidney to regard
her with silent interrogation.

" I couldn't help comin' to you," she began,
gazing at him fixedly. " I know you can't
do anything, but I had to speak to somebody.

226 THE NETHER WORLD.

an' I know nobody better than you. It's
about Clara."

" What about her ? "

" She's left Mrs. Tubbs. They had words
about Bank-holiday last night, an' Clara went
off at once. Mrs. Tubbs thought she'd come
'ome, but this mornin' her box was sent for,
an' it was to be took to a house in Islington.
An' then Mrs. Tubbs came an' told me. An'
there's worse than that, Sidney. She's been
goin' about to the theatre an' such places
with a man as she got to know at the bar, an'
Mrs. Tubbs says she believes it's him has
tempted her away."

She spoke the last sentences in a low voice,
painfully watching their effect.

" And why hasn't Mrs. Tubbs spoken about
this before ? " Sidney asked, also in a subdued
voice, but without other show of agitation.

"That's just what I said to her myself.
The girl was in her charge, an' it was her
duty to let us know if things went wrong.
But how am I to tell her father? I dursn't
do it, Sidney ; for my life, I dursn't ! I'd go

THE LAST COMBAT. 22 1

an' see her where she's lodging, — see, I've
got the address wrote down here, — but I
should do more harm than good ; she'd never
pay any heed to me at the best of times, an'
it isn't likely she would now."

" Look here ! If she's made no attempt to
hide away, you may be quite sure there's
no truth in what Mrs. Tubbs says. They've
quarrelled, and of course the woman makes
Clara as black as she can. Tell her father
everything as soon as he comes home ; you've
no choice."

Mrs. Hewett averted her face in profound
dejection. Sidney learnt at length what her
desire had been in coming to him ; she hoped
he would see Clara and persuade her to re-
turn home.

" I dursn't tell her father," she kept repeat-
ing. "But perhaps it isn't true what Mrs.
Tubbs says. Do go an' speak to her before
it's too late. Say we won't ask her to come
'ome, if only she'll let us know what she's
goin' to do."

In the end he promised to perform this

22 2 THE NETHER WORLD.

service, and to communicate the result tliat
evening. It was Saturday ; at half-past one
he left the workroom, hastened home to pre-
pare himself for the visit, and without think-
ing of dinner, set out to find the address
Mrs. Hewett had given him. His steps were
directed to a dull street on the north of Pen-
tonville Hoad ; the house at which he made
inquiry was occupied by a drum- manufacturer.
Miss Hewett, he learnt, was not at home ;
she had gone forth two hours ago, and
nothing was known of her movements. Sid-
ney turned away and began to walk up and
down the shadowed side of the street ; there
was no breath of air stirring, and from the
open windows radiated stujffy odours. A
quarter of an hour sufficed to exasperate him
with anxiety and physical malaise. He suf-
fered from his inability to do anything at
once, from conflict with himself as to whether
or not it behoved him to speak with John
Hewett ; of Clara he thought with anger
rather than fear, for her behaviour seemed to
prove that nothing had happened save the

THE LAST COMBAT. 225

inevitable breach with Mrs. Tubbs. Just as
he had said to himself that it was no use
waiting about all the afternoon, he saw Clara
approaching. At sight of him she mani-
fested neither surprise nor annoyance, but
came forward with eyes carelessly averted.
Not having seen her for so long, Sidney was
startled by the change in her features ; her
cheeks had sunk, her eyes were unnaturally
dark, there was something worse than the
familiar self-will about her lips.

" I've been waiting to see you," he said.
"Will you walk along here for a minute or
two?"

" What do you want to say ? I'm tired."

"Mrs. Tubbs has told your mother what
has happened, and she came to me. Your
father doesn't know yet."

"It's nothing to me whether he knows or
not. I've left the place, that's all, and I'm
going to live here till I've got another."

" Why not go home 1 "

"Because I don't choose to. I don't see
that it concerns you, Mr. Kirkwood."

2 24 THE NETHEK WORLD.

Their eyes met, and Sidney felt how little
fitted he was to reason with the girl, even
would she consent to hear him. His mood
was the wrong one ; the torrid sunshine
seemed to kindle an evil fire in him, and
with difficulty he kept back words of angry
unreason ; he even— strangest of inconsist-
encies— experienced a kind of brutal pleasure
in her obvious misery. Already she was
reaping the fruit of obstinate folly, Clara
read what his eyes expressed ; she trembled
with responsive hostility,

"No, it doesn't concern me," Sidney re-
plied, half turning away. " But it's perhaps
as well you should know that Mrs. Tubbs is
doing her best to take away your good name.
However little we are to each other, it's my
duty to tell you that, and put you on your
guard. I hope your father mayn't hear these
stories before you have spoken to him your-
self"

Clara listened with a contemptuous smile.

" What has she been saying 1 "

" I shan't repeat it."

THE LAST ; COMBAT. 225

As. he gazed at her, the haggardness of her
countenance smote like a sword-edge through
all the black humours about his heart, pierc-
ing the very core of love and pity. He spoke
in a voice of passionate appeal.

" Clara, come home before it is too late !
Come with me — now— come at once ! Thank
heaven you have got out of that place ! Come
home, and stay there quietly till we can find
you something better."

*' I'll die rather than go home ! " was her
answer, flung at him as if in hatred, " Tell
my father that, and tell him anything else
you like. I want no one to take any thought
for me ; and I wouldn't do as you wish, not
to save my soul ! "

How often, in passing along the streets,
one catches a few phrases of discord such
as this ! The poor can seldom command
privacy ; their scenes alike of tenderness and
of anger must for the most part be enacted
on the peopled ways. It is one of their mis-
fortunes, one of the many necessities which
blunt feeling, which balk reconciliation,

VOL. L p

2 26 THE NETHEPw WORLD.

which enhance the risks of dialogue at best
semi-articulate.

Clara, having uttered the rancour which had
so long poisoned her mind, straightway crossed
the street and entered the house where she
was lodging. She had just returned from
making several applications for employment,
— futile, as so many were likely to be, if she
persevered in her search for a better place
than the last. Tlie wages due to her for
the present week she had of course sacri-
ficed ; her purchases of clothing — essential
and superfluous — had left only a small sum
out of her earnings. Food, fortunately, would
cost her little ; the difficulty, indeed, was to
eat anything at all.

She was exhausted after her long walk, and
the scene with Sidney had made her tremu-
lous. In thrusting open the windows, as soon
as she entered, she broke a pane which was
ah'eady cracked ; the glass cut into her palm,
and blood streamed forth. For a moment
she watched the red drops falling to the floor,
then began to sob miserably, almost as a child

THE LAST COMBAT. 2 27

might have done. The exertion necessary
for binding the wound seemed beyond her
strength ; sobbing and moaning, she stood in
the same attitude until the blood began to
congeal. The tears, too, she let dry unheeded
upon her eyelashes and her cheeks ; the mist
with which for a time they obscured her vision
was nothing amid that cloud of misery which
blackened about her spirit as she brooded.
The access of self-pity was followed, as always,
by a persistent sense of intolerable wrong, and
that again by a fierce desire to plunge herself
into ruin, as though by such act she could
satiate her instincts of defiance. It is a phase
of exasperated egotism common enough in
original natures frustrated by circumstance,
— never so pronounced as in those who
suffer from the social disease. Such mood
perverts everything to cause of bitterness.
The very force of sincerity, which Clara could
not but recognise in Kirkwood's appeal, in-
flamed the resentment she nourished against
him ; she felt that to yield would be salvation
and happiness, yet yield she might not, and

2 28 THE NETHER WORLD.

upon him she visited the anger due to the evil
impulses in her own heart. He spoke of her
father, and in so doing struck the only nerve
in her which conveyed an emotion of tender-
ness ; instantly the feeling begot self-reproach,
and of self-reproach was bom as quickly the
harsh self -justification with which her pride
ever answered blame. She had made her
father's life even more unhappy than it need
have been, and to be reminded of that only
drove her more resolutely upon the reckless-
ness which would complete her ingratitude.

The afternoon wore away, the evening, a
great part of the night. She ate a few
mouthfuls of bread, but could not exert her-
self to make tea. It would be necessary to
light a fire, and aheady the air of the room
was stifling.

After a night of sleeplessness, she could
only lie on her bed through the Sunday
morning, wretched in a sense of abandon-
ment. And then began to assail her that
last and subtlest of temptations, the thought
that already she had taken an irrevocable

THE LAST COMBAT. 229

step, that an endeavour to return would only
be trouble spent in vain, that the easy course
was in truth the only one now open to her.
Mrs. Tubbs was busy circulating calumnies ;
that they were nothing more than calumnies
could never be proved ; all who heard them
would readily enough believe. Why should
she struggle uselessly to justify herself in the
eyes of people predisposed to condemn her?
Fate was busy in all that had happened
during the last two days. Why had she
quitted her situation at a moment's notice?
Why on this occasion rather than fifty times
previously ? It was not her own doing ;
something impelled her, and the same force
— call it chance or destiny — would direct the
issue once more. All she could foresee was
the keeping of her appointment with Scaw-
thorne to-morrow morning ; what use to try
and look further, when assuredly a succession
of circumstances impossible to calculate would
in the end constrain her? The best would
be if she could sleep out the interval.

At mid -day she rose, ate and drank

2 30 THE NETHER WORLD.

mechanically, then contemplated the hours
that must somehow be killed. There was
sunlight in the sky, but to what purpose
should she go out ? She went to the window,
and surveyed the portion of street that w^as
visible. On the opposite pavement, at a little
distance, a man was standing ; it was Sidney
Kirkwood. The sight of him roused her
from apathy ; her blood tingled, rushed into
her cheeks and throbbed at her temples. So,
for all she had said, he was daring to act the
spy! He suspected her; he was lurking to
surprise visitors, to watch her outgoing and
coming in. Very well ; at least he had pro-
vided her with occupation.

Five minutes later she saw that he had gone
away. Thereupon — having in the meantime
clad herself — she left the house and walked
at a quick step towards a region of north
London with which she had no acquaintance.
In an hours time she had found another
lodging, which she took by the day only.
Then back again to Islington. She told her
landlady that a sudden necessity compelled

THE LAST COMBAT. 23 I

her to leave ; she would have a cab and re-
move her box at once. There was the hazard
that Sidney might return just as she was
leaving; she braved it, and in another ten
minutes was out of reach. . . .

Let his be the blame. She had warned
him, and he chose to disregard her wish.
Now she had cut the last bond that fretted
her, and the hours rushed on like a storm-
wind, driving her whither they would.

Her mind was relieved from the stress of
conflict ; despair had given place to something
that made her laugh at all the old scruples.
So far from dreading the judgments that
would follow her disappearance, she felt a
pride in evil repute. Let them talk of her !
If she dared everything, it would be well
understood that she had not done so without
a prospect worthy of herself If she broke
away from the obligations of a life that could
never be other than poor and commonplace,
those who knew her would estimate the
compensation she had found. Sidney Kirk-
wood was aware of her ambitions ; for his

23 2 THE NETHER WORLD,

own sake he had hoped to keep her on the
low level to which she was born ; now let
him recognise his folly ! Some day she would
present herself before him : — " Very sorry that
I could not oblige you, my dear sir, but you
see that my lot was to be rather different
from that you kindly planned for me." Let
them gossip and envy !

It was a strange night that followed. Be-
tween one and two o'clock the heavens began
to be overflashed with summer lightning;
there was no thunder, no rain. The blue
gleams kept illuminating the room for more
than an hour. Clara could not lie in bed.
The activity of her brain became all but deli-
rium ; along her nerves, through all the
courses of her blood, seemed to run fires which
excited her with an indescribable mingling of
delight and torment. She walked to and fro,
often speaking aloud, throwing up her arms.
She leaned from the open window and let
the lightning play freely upon her face ; she
fancied it had the effect of restoring her
wasted health. Whatever the cause, she felt

THE LAST COMBAT. 233

stronger and more free from pain than for
many months.

At dawn she slept. The striking of a
church-clock woke her at nine, giving her
just time to dress with care and set forth to
keep her appointment.

( 234 )

CHAPTER XL

A DISAPPOINTMENT.

On ordinary Sundays the Byasses breakfasted
at ten o'clock ; this morning the meal Avas
ready at eight, and Bessie's boisterous spirits
declared the exception to be of joyous signifi-
cance. Finding that Samuel's repeated pro-
mises to rise were the merest evasion, she
rushed into the room where he lay fly-fi'etted,
dragged the pillows from under his tousled
head, and so belaboured him in schoolboy
fashion that he had no choice but to leap
towards his garments. In five minutes he
roared down the kitchen-stairs for shaving-
water, and in five minutes more was seated
in his shirt-sleeves, consuming fried bacon
with prodigious appetite. Bessie had the
twofold occupation of waiting upon him and
finishing the toilet of the baby ; she talked

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 235

incessantly and laughed with an echoing
shrillness which would have given a head-
ache for the rest of the day to any one of
average nervons sensibility.

They were going to visit Samuers parents,
who lived at Greenwich. Bessie had not yet
enjoyed an opportunity of exhibiting her first-
born to the worthy couple ; she had, however,
written many and long letters on the engross-
ing subject, and was just a little fluttered
with natural anxiety lest the infant's appear-
ance or demeanour should disappoint the ex-
pectations she had excited. Samuel found
his delight in foretelling the direst cala-
mities.

" Don't say I didn't advise you to draw it
mild," he remarked whilst breakfasting, when
Bessie had for the tenth time obliged him to
look round and give his opinion on points of
costume. '' Eemember it was only last week
you told them that the imp had never cried
since the day of his birth, and I'll bet you
three half-crowns to a bad halfpenny he roars
all through to-night."

2 7,6 THE NETHER WORLD,

"Hold your tongue, Sam, or I'll throw"
something at you ! "

Samuel had just appeased his morning
hunger, and was declaring that the day pro-
mised to be the hottest of the year, such a
day as would bring out every vice inherent in
babies, when a very light tap at the door
caused Bessie to abandon her intention of
pulling his ears.

" That's Jane," she said. " Come in ! "

The Jane who presented herself was so
strangely unlike her namesake who lay ill at
Mrs. Peckover's four months ago, that one
who had not seen her in the interval would
with difficulty have recognised her. To begin
with, she had grown a little ; only a little, but
enough to give her the appearance of her
full thirteen years. Then her hair no longer
straggled in neglect, but was brushed veiy
smoothly back fi'om her forehead, and behind
was plaited in a coil of perfect neatness ; one
could see now that it was soft, fine, mouse-
coloured hair, such as would tempt the fingers
to the lightest caress. No longer were her

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 237

limbs huddled over with a few shapeless rags ;
she wore a full-length dress of quiet grey,
which suited well with her hair and the pale
tones of her complexion. As for her face —
oh yes, it was still the good, simple, unremark-
able countenance, with the delicate arched
eyebrows, with the diffident lips, with the
cheeks of exquisite smoothness, but so sadly
thin. Here too, however, a noteworthy change
was beginning to declare itself. You were
no longer distressed by the shrinking fear
which used to be her constant expression ;
her eyes no longer reminded you of a poor
animal that has been beaten from every place
where it sought rest and no longer expects
anything but a kick and a curse. Timid they
were, drooping after each brief glance, the
eyes of one who has suffered and cannot but
often brood over wretched memories, who
does not venture to look far forward lest some
danger may loom inevitable, — meet them for
an instant, however, and you saw that lustre
was reviving in their still depths, that a
woman's soul had begun to manifest itself

238 THE NETHER WORLD.

under the shadow of those gently falling lids.
A kind word, and with what purity of silent
gratitude the grey pupils responded ! A merry
word, and mark if the light does not glisten
on them, if the diffident lips do not form a
smile which you would not have more decided
lest something of its sweetness should be
sacrificed.

" Now come and tell me what you think
about baby," cried Bessie. "Will he do?
Don't pay any attention to my husband ; he's
a vulgar man ! "

Jane stepped forward.

" I'm sure he looks very nice, Mrs. Byass."

" Of course he does, bless him ! Sam, get
your coat on, and brush your hat, and let
Miss Snowdon teach you how to behave
yourself. Well, we're going to leave the
house in your care, Jane. We shall be back
some time to-morrow night, but goodness
knows when. Don't you sit up for us."

" You know where to wire to, if there's a
fire breaks out in the back kitchen," observed
Samuel facetiously. " If you hear footsteps

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 239

in the passage at half-past two to-morrow
morning, don't trouble to come down ; wait
till daylight to see whether they've carried
off the dresser."

Bessie screamed with laughter.

"What a fool you are, Sam ! If you don't
mind, you'll be making Jane laugh. You're
sure you'll be home before dark to-morrow,
Jane?"

" Oh, quite sure. Mr. Kirkwood says
there's a train gets to Liverpool Street about
seven, and grandfather thought that would
suit us."

"You'll be here before eight then. Do
see that your fire's out before you leave.
And you'll be sure to pull the door to ? And
see that the area-gate's fastened."

" Can't you find a few^ more orders ? " ob-
served Samuel.

" Hold your tongue ! Jane doesn't mind ;
do you, Jane? Now, Sam, are you ready?
Bless the man, if he hasn't got a great piece
of bread sticking in his whiskers ! How did
it get there ? Off you go ! "

240 TEE NETHER WORLD.

Jane followed them, and stood at the front
door for a moment, watching them as they
departed.

Then she went upstairs. On the first floor
the doors of the two rooms stood open, and
-the rooms were bare. The lodgers who had
occupied this part of the house had recently
left ; a card was again hanging in the window
of Bessie's parlour. Jane passed up the suc-
ceeding flight and entered the chamber which
looked out upon Hanover Street. The truckle-
bed on which her grandfather slept had been
arranged for the day some two hours ago ;
Snowdon rose at six, and ever^^thing was
orderly in the room when Jane came to prepare
breakfast an hour later. At present the old
man was sitting by the open window, smoking
a pipe. He spoke a few words with reference
to the Byasses, then seemed to resume a train
of thought, and for a long time there was
unbroken silence. Jane seated herself at a
table, on which were a few books and writing
materials. She began to copy something, using
the pen with difficulty, and taking extreme

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 241

pains. Occasionally her eyes wandered, and
once they rested upon her grandfather s face
for several minutes. But for the cry of a milk-
man or a paper-boy in the street, no sound
broke the quietness of the summer morning.
The blessed sunshine, so rarely shed from
a London sky, — sunshine, the source of all
solace to mind and body,— reigned gloriously
in heaven and on earth.

When more than an hour had passed,
Snowdon came and sat down beside the girl.
Without speaking she showed him what she
had written. He nodded approvingly.

" Shall I say it to you, grandfather ? "

" Yes."

Jane collected her thoughts, then began to
repeat the parable of the Samaritan. From the
first words it was evident that she frequently
thus delivered passages committed to memory ;
evident, too, that instruction and a natural
good sense guarded her against the gabbling
method of recitation. When she had finished
Snowdon spoke with her for a while on the
subject of the story. In all he said there was

VOL. I. Q

242 THE NETHER WORLD.

the earnestness of deep personal feeling. His
theme was the virtue of Compassion ; he ap-
peared to rate it above all other forms of moral
goodness, to regard it as the saving principle
of human life.

" If only we had pity on one another, all
the worst things we suffer from in this world
would be at an end. It's because men's hearts
are hard that life is so full of miser}\ If we
could only learn to be kind and gentle and
forgiving — never mind anything else. We
act as if we were aU each other s enemies ; we
can't be merciful, because we expect no mercy ;
we struggle to get as much as we can for our-
selves and care nothing for others. Think
about it ; never let it go out of your mind.
Perhaps some day it'U help you in your own
life."

Then there was silence again. Snowdon
went back to his seat by the window and
relit his pipe ; to muse in the sunshine seemed
sufficient occupation for him. Jane opened
another book and read to herself.

In the afternoon they went out together.

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 243

The old man had grown more talkative. He
passed cheerfully from subject to subject, now
telling a ston* of his experiences abroad, now
reviying recollections of London as he had
known it sixty years ago. Jane listened with
quiet interest. She did not say much herself,
and when she did speak it was with a notice-
able effort to overcome her habit of diffidence.
She was happy, but her nature had yet to
develop itself under these strangely novel
conditions.

A little before sunset there came a knock-
ing at the house-door. Jane went down to
open, and found that the visitor was Sidney
Kirkwood. The joyful look with which she
recognised him changed almost in the same
moment ; his face wore an expression that
alaiTued her ; it was stem, hai*d-set in trouble,
and his smile could not disguise the tnith.
Without speaking, he walked upstairs and
entered Snowdon's room. To Sidney there
was always something peculiarly impressive
in the first view of this quiet chamber ; simple
as were its appointments, it produced a sense

244 THE K ETHER WORLD.

of remoteness from tlie common conditions
of life. Invariably he subdued his voice when
conversing here. A few flowers such as can
be bought in the street generally diffused a
slight scent through the air, making another
peculiarity which had its effect on Sidney's
imagination. When Jane moved about, it
was with a soundless step ; if she placed a
chair or arranged things on the table, it was
as if with careful avoidance of the least noise.
"When his thoughts turned hitherwards, Sid-
ney always pictured the old man sitting in
his familiar mood of reverie, and Jane, in like
silence, bending over a book at the table.
Peace, the thing most difficult to find in the
world that Sidney knew, had here made itself
a dwelling.

He shook hands with Snowdon and seated
himself. A few friendly words were spoken,
and the old man referred to an excursion they
had agreed to make together on the morrow,
the general holiday.

" I'm very sorry," replied Kirkwood, " but
it'll be impossible for me to go."

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 245

Jane was standing near him ; her counte-
nance fell, expressing uttermost disappoint-
ment.

"Something has happened," pursued Sid-
ney, " that won't let me go away, even for a
few hours. I don't mean to say that it would
really prevent me, but I should be so uneasy
in my mind all the time that I couldn't enjoy
myself, and I should only spoil your pleasure.
Of course you'll go just the same ? "

Snowdon reassured him on this point.
Jane had just been about to lay supper ; she
continued her task, and Sidney made a show
of sharing the meal. Soon after, as if con-
scious that Sidney would speak with more
freedom of his trouble but for her presence,
Jane bade them good-night and went to her
own room. There ensued a break in the
conversation ; then Kirkwood said, with the
abruptness of one who is broaching a difficult
subject :

" I should like to tell you what it is that's
going wrong with me. I don't think any
one's advice would be the least good, but it's

246 THE NETHER WORLD.

a miserable affair, and I shall feel better for
speaking about it."

Snowdon regarded him with eyes of calm
sympathy. There is a look of helpful atten-
tion peculiar to the faces of some who have
known much suffering ; in this instance, the
grave force of character which at all times
made the countenance impressive heightened
the effect of its gentleness. In external
matters, the two men knew little more of
each other now than after their first meeting,
but the spiritual alliance between them had
strengthened with every conversation. Each
understood the other's outlook upon problems
of life which are not commonly discussed in
the top rooms of lodging-houses ; they felt
and thought differently at times, but in essen-
tials they were at one, and it was the first
time that either had found such fruitful com-
panionship.

" Did you hear anything from the Peckovers
of Clara Hewett ] " Sidney began by asking.

" Not from them. Jane has often spoken
of her."

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 247

Sidney again hesitated, then, from a frag-
mentary beginning, passed into a detailed
account of his relations with Clara. The
girl herself, had she overheard him, could not
have found fault with the way in which the
story was nan*ated. He represented his love
as from the first without response which could
give him serious hope ; her faults he dealt
with not as characteristics to be condemned,
but as evidences of suffering, the outcome
of cruel conditions. Her engagement at the
luncheon-bar he spoke of as a detestable
slavery, which had wasted her health and
driven her in the end to an act of despera-
tion. What now could be done to aid her ?
John Hewett was still in ignorance of the
step she had taken, and Sidney described him-
self as distracted by conflict between what
he felt to be his duty and fear of what might
happen if he invoked Hewett' s authority. At
intervals through the day he had been going
backwards and forwards in the street where
Clara had her lodging. He did not think
she would seek to escape from her friends,

^4^ THE NETHER WORLD.

altogether, but her character and circum-
stances made it perilous for her to live thus
alone.

*' What does she really wish for ? " inquired
Snowdon, when there had been a short silence.

" She doesn't know, poor girl ! Eveiything
in the life she has been living is hateful to
her, — everything since she left school. She
can't rest in the position to which she was
born ; she aims at an impossible change of
circumstances. It comes from her father ;
she can't help rebelling against what seem
to her unjust restraints. But what's to come
of it ? She may perhaps get a place in a large
restaurant, — and what does that mean ? "

He broke off, but in a moment resumed
even more passionately.

" What a vile, cursed world this is, where
you may see men and women perish before
your eyes, and no more chance of saving
them than if they were going down in mid-
ocean ! She's only a child, — only just seven-
teen,— and ah'eady she's gone through a life-
time of miseries. And I, like a fool, I've

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 249

often been angry with her ; I was angry
yesterday. How can she help her nature?
How can we any of us help what we're
driven to in a world like this? Clara isn't
made to be one of those who slave to keep
themselves alive. Just a chance of birth !
Suppose she'd been the daughter of a rich
man ; then everything we now call a fault in
her would either have been of no account or
actually a virtue. Just because we haven't
money we may go to perdition, and comfort-
able people tell us we've only ourselves to
blame. Put them in our place ! "

Snowdon's face had gone through various
changes as Sidney flung out his vehement
words. When he spoke, it was in a tone of
some severity.

" Has she no natural affection for her father?
Does she care nothing for what trouble she
brings him ? "

Sidney did not reply at once ; as he was
about to speak, Snowdon bent forward sud-
denly and touched his arm.

" Let me see her. Let me send Jane to

2 50 THE NETHER WORLD.

her to-morrow morning, and ask her to come
here. I might — I can't say— but I might do
some good."

To this Sidney gave willing assent, but
without sanguine expectation. In further
talk it was agreed between them that, if this
step had no result, John Hewett ought to be
immediately informed of the state of things.

This was at ten o'clock on Sunday evening.
So do we play our tragi-comedies in the eye
of fate.

The mention of Jane led to a brief con-
versation regarding her before Sidney took
his leave. Since her recovery she had been
going regularly to school, to make up for the
time of which she had been defrauded by
Mrs. Peckover. Her grandfather's proposal
was, that she should continue thus for another
six months, after which, he said, it would be
time for her to learn a business. Mrs. Byass
had suggested the choice of artificial-ilower
making, to which she herself had been
brought up ; possibly that would do as well
as anything else.

A DISAPPOINTMENT. 251

"I suppose SO," was Sidney's reluctant
acquiescence. " Or as ill as anything else,
would be a better way to put it."

Snowdon regarded him with unusual fixed-
ness, and seemed on the point of making
some significant remark ; but immediately his
face expressed change of purpose, and he said,
without emphasis :

" Jane must be able to earn her own living."

Sidney, before going home, walked round
to the street in which he had already lingered
several times to-day, and where yesterday he
had spoken with Clara. The windows of the
house he gazed at were dark.

( 252 )

CHAPTER XII.

"10 satuenalia!"

So at length came Monday, the first Monday
in August, a day gravely set apart for the re-
pose and recreation of multitudes who neither
know how to rest nor how to refresh them-
selves with pastime. To-day will the slaves
of industrialism don the pileus. It is high
summertide. With joy does the awaking
publican look forth upon the blue-misty
heavens, and address his adorations to the
Sun-god, inspirer of thirst. Throw wide the
doors of the temple of Alcohol ! -Behold, we
come in our thousands, jingling the coins that
shall purchase us this one day of tragical mirth.
Before us is the dark and dreary autumn ; it
is a far ciy to the foggy joys of Christmas,
lo Saturnalia !

For certain friends of ours this morning

"10 SATURNALIA. 253

brought an event of importance. At a church
in Clerkenwell were joined together in holy
matrimony Robert Hewett and Penelope
(otherwise Pennyloaf) Candy, the former aged
nineteen, the latter less than that by nearly
three years. John Hewett would have nothing
to do with an alliance so disreputable ; Mrs.
Hewett had in vain besought her stepson not
to marry so unworthily. Even as a young
man of good birth has been known to enjoy
a subtle self-flattery in the thought that he
graciously bestows his name upon a maiden
who, to all intents and purposes, may be said
never to have been bom at all, so did Bob
Hewett feel when he put a ring upon the
scrubby finger of Pennyloaf. Proudly con-
scious was Bob that he had " married beneath
him," — conscious also that Clem Peckover
was gnawing her lips in rage.

Mrs. Candy was still sober at the hour of
the ceremony. Her husband, not a bad fellow
in his way, had long since returned to her,
and as yet had not done more than threaten
a repetition of his assault. Both were pre-

2 54 THE KETHER WORLD.

sent at church. A week ago Bob had estab-
lished himself in a room in Shooter's Gardens,
henceforth to be shared with him by his bride.
Probably he might have discovered a more
inviting abode for the early days of married
life, but Bob had something of the artist's
temperament and could not trouble about
practical details ; for the present this room
would do as well as another. It was cheap,
and he had need of all the money he could
save from ever^^day expenses. Pennyloaf
would go on with her shirtmaking, of course,
and all they wanted was a roof over their
heads at night.

' And in truth he was fond of Pennyloaf.
The poor little slave worshipped him so
sincerely ; she repaid his affectionate words
with such fervent gratitude ; and there was
no denying that she had rather a pretty face,
which had attracted him from the first. But
above all, this preference accorded to so
humble a rival had set Clem Peckover beside
herself. It was all very well for Clem to
make pretence of having transferred her

''lO SATURNALIA. 255

affections to Jack Bartley. Why, Suke Jollop
(ostensibly Clem's bosom friend, but trea-
cherous at times because she had herself given
an eye to Jack) — Suke Jollop reported that
Clem would have killed Pennyloaf had she
dared. Pennyloaf had been going about in
fear for her life since that attack upon her in
Myddelton Passage. "I dursn't marry you,
Bob ! I dursn't !" she kept saying, when the
proposal was first made. But Bob laughed
with contemptuous defiance. He carried his
point, and now he was going to spend his
wedding-day at the Crystal Palace, — choosing
that resort because he knew Clem would be
there, and Jack Bartley, and Suke Jollop, and
many another acquaintance, before whom he
was resolved to make display of magnanimity.
Pennyloaf shone in most unwonted apparel.
Everything was new except her boots, — it had
been decided that these only needed soleing.
Her broad-brimmed hat of yellow straw was
graced with the reddest feather purchasable
in the City Road ; she had a dolman of
most fashionable cut, blue, lustrous ; blue

256 THE NETHER WORLD.

likewise was her dress, hung about with bows
and streamers. And the gleaming ring on
the scrubby small finger! On that hand
most assuredly Pennyloaf would wear no
glove. How proud she was of her ring !
How she turned it round and round when
nobody was looking ! Gold, Pennyloaf, real
gold ! The pawnbroker would lend her seven-
and-sixpence on it, any time.

At Holborn Viaduct there was a perpetual
rush of people for the trains to the " Paliss."
As soon as a train was full, off it went, and
another long string of empty carriages drew
up in its place. No distinction between
*' classes " to-day ; get in where you like,
where you can. Positively, Pennyloaf found
herself seated in a first-class carriage ; she
would have been awe- struck, but that Bob
flung himself back on the cushions with such
an easy air and nodded laughingly at her.
Among their companions was a youth with
a concertina; as soon as the train moved he
burst into melody. It was the natural invi-
tation to song, and all joined in the latest

" 10 SATURNALIA ! " 2 5/

ditties learnt at the music-hall. Away they
sped, over the roofs of south London, about
them the universal glare of sunlight, the
carriage dense with tobacco smoke. Ho for
the bottle of muddy ale, passed round in
genial fellowship from mouth to mouth !
Pennyloaf would not drink of it ; she had a
dread of all such bottles. In her heart she
rejoiced that Bob knew no craving for strong
liquor. Towards the end of the journey the
young man with the concertina passed round
his hat.

Clem Peckover had come by the same
train ; she was one of a large party which
had followed close behind Bob and Pennyloaf
to the railway station. Now they followed
along the long corridors into the " Paliss,"
with many a loud expression of mockeiy,
with hee-hawing laughter, with coarse jokes.
Depend upon it, Clem was gorgeously
aiTayed ; amid her satellites she swept on
" like a stately ship of Tarsus, bound for the
isles of Javan or Gadire ; " her face was
aflame, her eyes flashed in enjoyment of the

VOL. 1. R

25 8 THE NETHER WORLD.

uproar. Jack Bartley wore a high hat, — Bob
never had owned one in his life, — and about
his neck was a tie of crimson ; yellow was
his waistcoat, even such a waistcoat as you
may see in Pall Mall, and his walking-stick
had a nigger's head for handle. He was
the oracle of the maidens around him ; every
moment the appeal was to "Jeck! Jeck!"
Suke JoUop, who would in reality have pre-
ferred to accompany Bob and his allies,
whispered it about that Jack had two-pound-
ten in his pocket, and was going to spend
every penny of it before he left the " Paliss,"
— yes, *' every bloomin' penny ! "

Thus early in the day, the grounds were of
course preferred to the interior of the glass
house. Bob and Pennyloaf bent their steps
to the fair. Here abeady was gathered much
goodly company ; above their heads hung a
thick white wavering cloud of dust. Swing-
boats and meiTy-go-rounds are from of old
the chief features of these rural festivities ;
they soared and dipped and circled to the
joyous music of organs which played the

259

same tune automatically for any number of
hours, whilst raucous voices invited all and
sundry to take their turn. Should this de-
light pall, behold on every hand such sports
as are dearest to the Briton, those which call
for strength of sinew and exactitude of aim.
The philosophic mind would have noted with
interest how ingeniously these games were
made to appeal to the patriotism of the
throng. Did you choose to "shy" sticks in
the contest for cocoa-nuts, behold your object
was a wooden model of the treacherous
Afghan or the base African. If you took
up the mallet to smite upon a spring and
make proof of how far you could send a ball
flying upwards, your blow descended upon
the head of some other recent foeman. Tiy
your fist at the indicator of muscularity, and
with zeal you smote full in the stomach of a
guy made to represent a Eussian. If you
essayed the pop-gun, the mark set you was
on the flank of a wooden donkey, so con-
trived that it would kick when hit in the
true spot. What a joy to observe the tend-

26o THE NETHER WORLD.

«

ency of all these diversions ! How character-
istic of a high-spirited people that nowhere
could be found any amusement appealing to
the mere mind, or calculated to effeminate by
encouraging a love of beauty.

Bob had a sovereign to get rid of. He
shied for cocoa-nuts, he swung in the boat
with Pennyloaf, he rode with her on the
whirligigs. When they were choked, and
whitened from head to foot, with dust, it was
natural to seek the nearest refreshment-booth.
Bob had some half-dozen male and female
acquaintances clustered about him by now;
of course he must celebrate the occasion by
entertaining all of them. Consumed with
thirst, he began to drink without counting
the glasses. Pennyloaf plucked at his elbow,
but Bob was beginning to feel that he must
display spirit. Because he was married, that
was no reason for his relinquishing the claims
to leadership in gallantry which had always
been recognised. Hollo ! Here was Suke
JoUop ! She had just quarrelled with Clem,
and had been searching for the hostile camp.

" 10 SATUr.NALIA ! " 26 I

"Have a drink, Suke !" cried Bob, when he
heard her acrimonious charges against Clem
and Jack. A pretty girl, Suke, and with a
hat which made itself proudly manifest a
quarter of a mile away. Drink ! of course
she would drink ; that thirsty she could
almost drop ! Bob enjoyed this secession
from the enemy. He knew Suke's old fond-
ness for him, and began to play upon it.
Elated with beer and vanity, he no longer
paid the least attention to Pennyloafs remon-
strances ; nay, he at length bade her " hold
her bloomin' row ! " Pennyloaf had a tear in
her eye ; she looked fiercely at Miss Jollop.

The day wore on. For utter weariness
Pennyloaf was constrained to beg that they
might go into the "Paliss" and find a sha-
dowed seat. Her tone revived tenderness in
Bob ; again he became gracious, devoted ; he
promised that not another glass of beer should
pass his lips, and Suke Jollop, with all her
like, might go to perdition. But heavens !
how sweltering it was under this glass canopy !
How the dust rose from the trampled boards !

2 62 THE NETHER WORLD.

Come, let's have tea. The programme says
there'll be a militaiy band playing presently,
and we shall return refreshed to hear it.

So they made their way to the " Shilling
Tea-room." Having paid at the entrance,
they were admitted to feed freely on all that
lay before them. With difficulty could a seat
be found in the huge room; the uproar of
voices was deafening. On the tables lay
bread, butter, cake in huncheons, tea-pots,
milk-jugs, sugar-basins, — all things to whomso
could secure them in the conflict. Along the
gangways coursed perspiring waiters, heaping
up giant structures of used plates and cups,
distributing clean utensils, and miraculously
sharp in securing the gratuity expected from
each guest as he rose satiate. Muscular men
in aprons wheeled hither the supplies of steam-
ing fluid in immense cans on heavy trucks.
Here practical joking found the most graceful
of opportunities, whether it were the deft direc-
tion of a piece of cake at the nose of a person
sitting opposite, or the emptying of a saucer
down your neighbour's back, or the ingenious

*'io saturnalia!" 263

jogging of an arm which was in the act of
raising a full tea-cup. Now and then an
ill-conditioned fellow, whose beer disagreed
with him, would resent some piece of elegant
trifling, and the waiters would find it needful
to request gentlemen not to fight until they
had left the room. These cases, however,
were exceptional. On the whole there reigned
a spirit of imbecile joviality. Shrieks of
female laughter testified to the success of the
entertainment.

As Bob and his companion quitted this
sphere of delight, ill-luck brought it to pass
that Mr. Jack Bartley and his train were on
the point of entering. Jack uttered a phrase
of stinging sarcasm with reference to Penny-
loaf's red feather ; whereupon Bob smote him
exactly between the eyes. Yells arose ; there
was a scuffle, a rush, a tumult. The two
were separated before further harm came of
the little misunderstanding, but Jack went to
the tea-tables vowing vengeance.

Poor Pennyloaf shed tears as Bob led her
to the place where the band had begun play-

264 THE NETHEK WORLD.

ing. Only her husband's anger prevented
her from yielding to utter misery. But now
they had come to the centre of the building,
and by dint of much struggle in the crowd
they obtained a standing whence they could
see the vast amphitheatre, filled with thou-
sands of faces. Here at length was quietness,
intermission of folly and brutality. Bob be-
came another man as he stood and listened.
He looked with kindness into Pennyloafs
pale, weary face, and his arm stole about her
waist to support her. Ha ! Pennyloaf was
happy ! The last trace of tears vanished.
She too was sensible of the influences of
music ; her heart throbbed as she let herself
lean against her husband.

Well, as every one must needs have his
panacea for the ills of society, let me inform
you of mine. To humanise the multitude
two things are necessary, — two things of the
simplest kind conceivable. In the first place,
you must eJBfect an entire change of economic
conditions : a preliminary step of which every
tiro will recognise the easiness ; then you

'' 10 SATURNALIA ! " 265

must bring to bear on the new order of things
the constant influence of music. Does not
the prescription recommend itself? It is
jesting in earnest. For, work as you will,
there is no chance of a new and better world
until the old be utterly destroyed. Destroy,
sweep away, prepare the ground ; then shall
music the holy, music the civiliser, breathe
over the renewed earth and with Orphean
magic raise in perfected beauty the towers of
the City of Man.

Hours yet before the fireworks begin.
Never mind ; here by good luck we find seats
where we can watch the throng passing and
repassing. It is a great review of the People.
On the whole how respectable they are, how
sober, how deadly dull ! See how worn-out
the poor girls are becoming, how they gape,
what listless eyes most of them have ! The
stoop in the shoulders so universal among
them merely means over-toil in the workroom.
Not one in a thousand shows the elements of
taste in dress ; vulgarity and worse glares in
all but every costume. Observe the middle-

266 THE ^'ETHER WORLD.

aged women ; it would be small suiprise that
their good-looks had vanished, but whence
comes it they are animal, repulsive, absolutely-
vicious in ugliness ? Mark the men in their
turn ; four in every six have visages so de-
formed by ill-health that they excite disgust ;
their hair is cut down to within half an inch
of the scalp ; their legs are twisted out of
shape by evil conditions of life from birth up-
wards. Whenever a youth and a girl come
along arm-in-arm, how flagrantly shows the
man's coarseness ! They are pretty, so many
of these girls, delicate of feature, graceful did
but their slavery allow them natural develop-
ment ; and the heart sinks as one sees them
side by side with the men who are to be their
husbands.

One of the livelier groups is surging hither-
wards ; here we have frolic, here we have
humour. The young man who leads them
has been going about all day with the lining
of his hat turned down over his forehead ; for
the thousandth time those girls are screaming
with laughter at the sight of him. Ha ha!

*'io saturnalia!" 267

He has slipped and fallen upon the floor, and
makes an obstruction ; his companions treat
him like a horse that is "down" in the street.
" Look out for his 'eels ! " cries one ; and
another, " Sit on his 'ed ! " If this doesn't
come to an end we shall die of laughter. Lo !
one of the funniest of the party is wearing a
gigantic cardboard nose and flame-coloured
whiskers. There, the stumbler is on his feet
again. " 'Ere he comes up smilin' ! " cries his
friend of the cardboard nose, and we shake
our diaphragms with mirth. One of the party
is an unusually tall man. " When are you
comin' down to have a look at us ? " cries a
pert lass as she skips by him.

A great review of the People. Since man
came into being, did the world ever exhibit
a sadder spectacle ?

Evening advances ; the great ugly building
will presently be lighted with innumerable
lamps. Away to the west yonder the heavens
are afire with sunset, but at that we do not
care to look ; never in our lives did we regard
it. We know not Avhat is meant by beauty

268 THE NETHER WORLD.

or grandeur. Here under the glass roof
stand white forms of undraped men and
women, — casts of antique statues, — but
we care as little for the glory of art as
for that of nature ; we have a vague feeling
that, for some reason or other, antiquity ex-
cuses the indecent, but further than that we
do not get.

As the dusk descends there is a genera]
setting of the throng towards the open air ;
all the pathways swarm with groups which
have a tendency to disintegrate into couples ;
universal is the protecting arm. Relief from
the sweltering atmosphere of the hours of
sunshine causes a revival of hilarity ; those
who have hitherto only bemused themselves
with liquor now pass into the stage of jovial
recklessness, and others, determined to pro-
long a flagging merriment, begin to depend
upon their companions for guidance. On the
terraces dancing has commenced ; the players
of violins, concertinas, and penn^/- whistles do
a brisk trade among the groups eager for a
rough-and-tumble valse ; so do the pick-

*'I0 SATURNALIA ! " 269

pockets. Vigorous and varied is the jollity
that occupies the external galleries, filling
now in expectation of the fireworks ; inde-
scribable the mingled tumult that roars heaven-
wards. Girls linked by the half-dozen arm-in-
arm leap along with shrieks like grotesque
mcenads ; a rougher horseplay finds favour
among the youths, occasionally leading to
fisticuffs. Thick voices bellow in fragmen-
tary chorus ; from every side comes the yell,
the cat-call, the ear-rending whistle ; and as
the bass, the never-ceasing accompaniment,
sounds myriad-footed tramp, tramp along the
wooden flooring. A fight, a scene of bestial
drunkenness, a tender whispering between
two lovers, proceed concurrently in a space
of ^ye square yards. — Above them glimmers
the dawn of starlight.

For perhaps the first time in his life Bob
Hewett has drunk more than he can well
carry. To Pennyloaf s remonstrances he an-
swers more and more impatiently : " Why does
she talk like a bloomin' fool? — one doesn't
get married every day." He is on the look-

270 THE NETHEE WOKLD.

out for Jack Bartley now ; only let him meet
Jack, and it shall be seen who is the better
man. Pennyloaf rejoices that the hostile
party are nowhere discoverable. She is per-
suaded to join in a dance, though every
moment it seems to her that she must sink
to the ground in uttermost exhaustion. Natu-
rally she does not dance with sufficient liveli-
ness to please Bob ; he seizes another girl, a
stranger, and whirls round the six-foot circle
with a laugh of triumph. Pennyloaf s misery
is relieved by the beginning of the fireworks.
Up shoot the rockets, and all the reeking
multitude utters a huge " Oh ! " of idiot
admiration.

Now at length must we think of tearing
ourselves away from these delights. Akeady
the more prudent people are hurrying to the
railway, knowing by dire experience what it
means to linger until the last cargoes. Penny-
loaf has hard work to get her husband as far
as the station ; Bob is not quite steady upon
his feet, and the hustling of the crowd per-
petually excites him to bellicose challenges.

"lO SATURNALIA !" 2/ I

Tliey reach the platform, somehow ; they stand
wedged amid a throng which roars persistently
as a substitute for the activity of limb now
become impossible. A train is drawing up,
slowly; the danger is lest people in the
front row should be pushed over the edge
of the platform, but porters exert themselves
with success. A rush, a tumble, curses, blows,
laughter, screams of pain, — and we are in a
carriage. Pennyloaf has to be dragged up
from under the seat, and all her indignation
cannot free her from the jovial embrace of
a man w^ho insists that there is plenty of
room on his knee. Off we go ! It is
a long third-class coach, and already ^ye
or six musical instruments have struck up.
We smoke and sing at the same time ; we
quarrel and make love, — the latter in some-
what primitive fashion ; we roll about with
the rolling of the train ; we nod into hoggish
sleep.

The platform at Holborn Viaduct; and
there, to Pennyloaf s teiTor, it is seen that
Clem Peckover and her satellites have come

272 THE NETHER WORLD.

by the same train. She does her best to get
Bob quickly away, but Clem keeps close in
their neighbourhood. Just as they issue from
the station, Pennyloaf feels herself bespattered
from head to foot with some kind of fluid ;
turning, she is aware that all her enemies
have squirts in their hands, and are prepar-
ing for a second discharge of filthy water.
Anguish for the ruin of her dress overcomes
all other fear ; she calls upon Bob to defend
her.

But an immediate conflict was not Jack
Bartley's intention. He and those with him
made off at a run, Bob pursuing as closely as
his unsteadiness would permit. In this way
they all traversed the short distance to Clerken-
wxll Green, either party echoing the other's
objurgations along the thinly-peopled streets.
At length arrived the suitable moment. Near
St. James's Church Jack Bartley made a stand,
and defied his enemy to come on. Bob re-
sponded with furious eagerness ; amid a press
of delighted spectators, swelled by people just
turned out of the public-houses, the two lads

"lo saturnalia!" 273

fought like wild animals. Nor were they the
only combatants. Exasperated by the certainty
that her hat and dolman were ruined, Penny-
loaf flew with erected nails at Clem Peckover.
It was just what the latter desired ; in an
instant she had rent half Pennyloaf's gar-
ments off her back, and was tearing her face
till the blood streamed. Inconsolable was the
grief of the crowd when a couple of stalwart
policemen came hustling forward, thrusting
to left and right, irresistibly clearing the
corner. There was no question of making
arrests ; it w^as the night of Bank-holiday, and
the capacity of police-cells is limited. Enough
that the fight perforce came to an end. Amid
frenzied blasphemy Bob and Jack went their
several ways ; so did Clem and Pennyloaf.

Poor Pennyloaf! Arrived at Shooter's Gar-
dens, and having groped her way blindly up
to the black hole which was her wedding-
chamber, she just managed to light a candle,
then sank down upon the bare floor and wept.
You could not have recognised her ; her pretty
face was all blood and dirt. She held in her

VOL. I. s

274 THE NETHER WORLD.

hand the fragment of a hat, and her dolman
had disappeared. Her husband was not in
much better plight ; his waistcoat and shirt
were rent open, his coat was filth-smeared,
and it seemed likely that he had lost the
sight of one eye. Sitting there in drunken
lassitude, he breathed nothing but threats of
future vengeance.

An hour later noises of a familiar kind
sounded beneath the window. A woman's
voice Avas raised in the fuiy of mad drunken-
ness, and a man answered her with threats
and blows.

"That's mother," sobbed Pennyloaf. "I
knew she wouldn't get over to-day. She never
did get over a Bank-holiday."

Mrs. Candy had taken the pledge when her
husband consented to return and live with
her. Unfortunately she did not at the same
time transfer herself to a country where there
are no beer-shops and no Bank-holidays.
Short of such decisive change, what hope for
her?

Bob was akeady asleep, breathing stertor-

'•'10 satuexalja!" 275

oiisly. As for Pennyloaf, she was so over-
wearied that hours passed before oblivion fell
upon her aching eyelids. She was thinking
all the time that on the morrow it would be
necessary to pawn her wedding-ring.

( ^7^ )

CHAPTER XIII.

THE BRINGER OF ILL NEWS.

Knowing the likelihood that Clara Hewett
would go from home for Bank-holiday, Sidney
made it his request before he left Hanover
Street on Sunday night that Jane might be
despatched on her errand at an early hour
next morning. At eight o'clock, accordingly,
Snowdon went forth with his grand-daughter,
and, having discovered the street to which
Sidney had directed him, he waited at a dis-
tance whilst Jane went to make her inquiries.
In a few minutes the girl rejoined him.

" Miss Hewett has gone away," she reported.

" To spend the day, do you mean ? " was
Snowdon' s troubled question.

"No, she has left the house. She went
yesterday, in the afternoon. It was ver}^

THE BRINGEU OF ILL NEWS. 2//

sudden, the landlady says, and she doesn't
know where she's gone to."

Jane had no understanding of what her
information implied ; seeing that it was re-
ceived as grave news, she stood regarding her
grandfather anxiously. Though Clara had
passed out of her world since those first days
of illness, Jane held her in a memory which
knew no motive of retention so strong as
gratitude. The thought of harm or sorrow
coming upon her protector had a twofold
painfulness. Instantly she divined that Clara
was in some way the cause of Sidney Kirk-
wood's inability to go into the country to-day.
For a long time the two had been closely
linked in her reflections ; Mrs. Peckover and
Clem used constantly to exchange remarks
which made this inevitable. But not until
now had Jane really felt the significance of
the bond. Of a sudden she had a throbbing
at her heart, and a confusion of mind which
would not allow her to pursue the direct train
of thought naturally provoked by the visit she
had just paid. A turbid flood of ideas, of

2/8 THE XETHER WORLD.

vague surmises, of apprehensions, of forecasts,
swept across her consciousness. The hlood
forsook her cheeks. But that the old man
hegan to move away, she could have remained
thus for many minutes, struggling with that
new, half-understood thing which was taking
possession of her life.

The disappointment of the day was no
longer simple, and such as a child experiences.
Nor ever from this hour onwards would Jane
regard things as she had heen wont to do,
with the simple feelings of childhood.

Snowdon walked on in silence until the
street they had visited was far behind them.
Jane was accustomed to his long fits of mus-
ing, but now she with difficulty refrained from
questioning him. He said at length :

" Jane, I'm afraid we shall have to give up
our day in the countr}^"

She assented readily, gladly ; all the joy had
gone out of the proposed excursion, and she
wished now to be by herself in quietness.

" I think I'll let you go home alone,"
Snowdon continued. "I want to see Mr.

THE BRINGER OF ILL NEWS. 2/9

Kirkwoocl, and I daresay I shall find him in,
if I walk on at once."

They went in different directions, and
Snowdon made what speed he could to Tysoe
Street. Sidney had akeady been out, walk-
ing restlessly and aimlessly for two or three
hours. The news he now heard was the
half-incredible fulfilment of a dread that had
been torturing him through the night. No
calamity is so difficult to realise when it
befalls as one which has haunted us in
imagination.

" That means nothing ! " he exclaimed, as
if resentfully. '' She was dissatisfied with the
lodging, that's all. Perhaps she's already got
a place. I daresay there's a note from her at
home this morning."

" Shall you go and see if there is?" asked
Snowdon, allowing, as usual, a moment's
silence to intervene.

Sidney hesitated, avoiding the other's look.

"I shall go to that house first of all, I
think. Of course I shall hear no more than
they told Jane ; but "

2 So THE NETHER WORLD.

He took a deep breath.

"Yes, go there," said Snowdon ; *'but
afterwards go to the Hewetts'. If she hasn't
written to them, or let them have news of
any kind, her father oughtn't to be kept in
ignorance for another hour."

" He ought to have been told before this,"
replied Sidney in a thick under-voice. " He
ought to have been told on Saturday. And
the blame'll be mine."

It is an experience familiar to impulsive
and self-confident men that a moment's crisis
may render scarcely intelligible a mode of
thought or course of action which till then
one had deemed perfectly rational. Sidney,
hopeless in spite of the pretences he made,
stood aghast at the responsibility he had
taken upon himself. It was so obvious to
him now that he ought to have communicated
to John Hewett without loss of time the
news which Mrs. Hewett brought on Saturday
mornino;. But could he be sure that John
was still in ignorance of Clara's movements?
Was it not all but certain that ^Irs. Hewett

THE BEINGER OF ILL NEWS. 28 1

must have broken the news before this ? If
not, there lay before him a terrible duty.

The two went forth together, and another
visit was paid to the lodging-house. After
that Sidney called upon Mrs. Tubbs, and
made a simple inquiry for Clara, with the
anticipated result.

" You w^on't find her in this part of London,
it's my belief," said the woman significantly.
" She's left the lodgings as she took — so much
I know. Never meant to stay there, not she !
You're a friend of her father's, mister? "

Sidney could not trust himself to make a
reply. He rejoined Snowdon at a little dis-
tance, and expressed his intention of going at
once to Clerkenwell Close.

" Let me see you again to-day," said the
old man sadly.

Sidney promised, and they took leave of
each other. It was now nearing ten o'clock.
In the Close an organ was giving delight to a
great crowd of children, some of them wearing
holiday garb, but most clad in the native rags
which served them for all seasons and all days.

282 THE XETHEK WOr.LD.

The volume of clanging melody fell with
torture upon Kirkwood's ear, and when he
saw that the instrument was immediately be-
fore Mrs. Peckover's house, he stood aside
in gloomy impatience, waiting till it should
move away. This happened in a few minutes.
The house door being open, he walked straight
upstairs.

On the landing he confronted Mrs. Hewett ;
she started on seeing him, and whispered a
question. The exchange of a few words
apprised Sidney that Hewett did not even
know of Clara's having quitted Mrs. Tubbs'.

" Then I must tell him ever}^thing," he said.
To put the task upon the poor woman w^ould
have been simple cowardice. Merely in hear-
in 2: his news she was blanched with dread.
She could only point to the door of the front
room,— the only one rented by the family since
Jane Snowdon's occupation of the other had
taught them to be as economical in this respect
as their neighbours were.

Sidney knocked and entered. Two months
had passed since his latest visit, and he ob-

THE BEINGER OF ILL NEWS. 283

served that in the meantime everything had
become more sqnalid. The floor, the window,
the furniture, were not kept so clean as for-
merly,— inevitable result of the overcrowding
of a room ; the air was bad, the children
looked untidy. The large bed had not been
set in order since last night; in it lay the
baby, crying as always, ailing as it had done
from the day of its birth. John Hewett was
engaged in mending one of the chairs, of
which the legs had become loose. He looked
with surprise at the visitor, and at once
averted his face sullenly.

" Mr. Hewett," Kirkwood began, without
form of greeting, " on Saturday morning I
heard something that I believe I ought to
have let you know at once. I felt, though,
that it was hardly my business ; and somehow
we haven't been quite so open with each other
just lately as we used to be."

His voice sank. Hewett had risen from his
crouching attitude, and was looking him full
in the face with eyes which grew momently
darker and more hostile.

28 4 THE NETHER WORLD.

"Well? Why are you stopping? What
have you got to say ? "

The words come from a dry throat ; the
effort to pronounce them clearly made the
last all but violent.

" On Friday night," Sidney resumed, his
own utterance uncertain, " Clara left her place.
She took a room not far from Upper Street,
and I saw her, spoke to her. She'd quarrelled
with Mrs. Tubbs. I urged her to come home,
but she wouldn't listen to me. This morning
I've been to try and see her again, but they
tell me she went away yesterday afternoon.
I can't find where she's living now."

Hewett took a step forAvard. His face was
so distorted, so fierce, that Sidney involun-
tarily raised an arm, as if to defend himself.

" An' it's you as comes tellin' me this ! "
John exclaimed, a note of anguish blending
with his fury. " You have the face to stand
there an' speak like that to me, when you
know it's all your own doing ! Who was the
cause as the girl went away from 'ome ? Who
was it, I say ? Haven't been as friendly as we

THE BRING EE OF ILL NEWS. 285

used to be, haven't we ? An why ? Haven't
I seen it plainer an' plainer what you was
thinkin' when you told me to let her have her
own w^ay ? I spoke the truth then, — 'cause I
felt it ; an' I was fool enough, for all that, to
try an' believe I was in the wTong. Now you
come an stand before me — why, I couldn't a'
thought there was a man had so little shame
in him ! "

Mrs. Hewett entered the room ; the loud
angry voice had reached her ears, and in spite
of terror she came to interpose betw^een the
two men.

"Do you know what he's come to tell me ?"
cried her husband. " Oh, you do ! He's been
tryin' to talk you over, has he? You just
answer to me, an' tell the truth. AMio was
it persuaded me to let Clara go from 'ome ?
Who was it come here an' talked an' talked
till he got his way ? He knew what 'ud be
the end of it, — he knew, I tell you, — an' it's
just what he wanted. Hasn't he been drawin'
away from us ever since the girl left ? I saw
it all that night when he came here x^ersuadin'

2 86 THE NETHER WORLD.

me, an' I told it him plain. He wanted to
a' done with her, and to a' done with us* Am
I speakin' the truth or not?"

"Why should he think that way, John?"
pleaded the woman, faintly. " You know very
well as Clara 'ud never listen to him. What
need had he to do such things?"

"Oh, yes, I'm wrong! Of course I'm
wrong ! You always did go against me when
there was anything to do with Clara. She'd
never listen to him ? No, of course she
wouldn't, an' he couldn't rest till he saw her
come to harm. What do you care, either?
She's no child of youi's. But I teU you I'd
see you an' all your children beg an' die in
the streets rather than a hair o' my own girl's
head should be touched !"

Indulgence of his passion was making a
madman of him. Never till now had he
uttered an unfeeling word to his wife, but the
look with which he accompanied this brutal
speech was one of fiery hatred.

"Don't turn on Aer/" cried Sidney, with
bitterness. " Say what you like to me, and

THE BEINGEPw OF ILL NEWS. 287

believe the worst you can of me ; I shouldn't
have come here if I hadn't been ready to bear
everything. It's no good speaking reason to
you now, but maybe you'll understand some
day."

''Who know's as she's come to harm?"
urged Mrs. Hewett. *' Nobody can say it of
her for certain, yet."

" I'd have told him that, if he'd only listened
to me and given me credit for honesty," said
Kirkwood. " It is as likely as not she's gone
away just because I angered her on Satiu'day.
Perhaps she said to herself she'd have done
with me once for all. It would be just her
way."

" Speak another word against my girl,"
Hewett shouted, misinterpreting the last
phrase, " an' I'll do more than say what I
think of you, — old man though they call me I
Take yourself out of this room ; it w^as the
worst day of my life that ever you came into
it. Never let me an you come across each
other again. I hate the sight of you, an' I
liate the sound of your voice !"

288 THE NETHER WORLD.

The animal in Sidney Kirkwood made it a
terrible minute for him as he turned away
in silence before this savage injustice. The
veins upon his forehead were swollen ; his
clenched teeth gave an appearance of ferocity
to his spirited features. With head bent, and
shoulders quivering as if in supreme muscular
exertion, he left the room without another
word.

In a few minutes Hewett also quitted the
house. He went to the luncheon-bar in
Upper Street, and heard for the first time
Mrs. Tubbs's rancorous surmises. He went to
Clara's recent lodgings ; a girl of ten was the
only person in the house, and she could say
nothing more than that Miss Hewett no
longer lived there. Till midway in the after-
noon John walked about the streets of Isling-
ton, Highbury, Hoxton, Clerkenwell, impelled
by the unreasoning hope that he might see
Clara, but also because he could not rest in
any place. He was half-conscious now of the
madness of his behaviour to Kirkwood, but
this only confirmed him in hostility to the

THE BPJNGER OF ILL NEWS. 289

young man ; the thought of losing Clara was
anguish intolerable, yet with it mingled a
bitter resentment of the girl's cruelty to him.
And all these sources of misery swelled the
current of rebellious feeling which had so
often threatened to sweep his life into wreck-
age. He was Clara's father, and the same
impulse of fuiious revolt which had driven
the girl to recklessness, now inflamed him
with the rage of despair.

On a Bank-holiday only a few insignificant
shops remain open even in the poor districts
of London ; sweets you can purchase, and to-
bacco, but not much else that is sold across
an ordinary counter. The more noticeable
becomes the brisk trade of public-houses. At
the gin-shop centres the life of each street ;
here is a wide door and a noisy welcome, the
more attractive by contrast with the stretch
of closed shutters on either hand. At such
a door, midway in the sultry afternoon, John
Hewett paused. To look at his stooping
shoulders, his uncertain swaying this way and
that, his flushed, perspiring face, you might

VOL. I. T

2 90 THE NETHER WORLD.

have taken him for one who had abeady been
drinking. No ; it was only a struggle be-
tween his despairing \\Tetchedness and a
lifelong habit of mind. Not difficult to
foresee which w^ould prevail; the public-
house always has its doors open in expec-
tation of such instances. With a gesture
which made him yet more like a drunken
man, he turned from the pavement and
entered. . . .

About nine o'clock in the evening, just
when Mrs. Hewlett had put the unwilling
children to bed, and had given her baby a
sleeping-dose, — it had cried incessantly for
eighteen hours, — the door of the room was
pushed open. Her husband came in. She
stood looking at him, — unable to credit the
evidence of her eyes.

*' John ! "

She laid her hand upon him and stared
into his face. The man shook her off, with-
out speaking, and moved staggeringly for-
ward. Then he turned round, waved his arm,
and shouted :

THE BRINGEE, OF ILL NEWS. 29 1

" Let her go to the devil ! She cares
nothing for her father."

He threw himself upon the bed, and soon
sank into drunken sleep.

END OF VOL I.

PKINTKD BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.
EDINBURGH ANI> LONDON

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