“Miss Snowdon,—might I speak with you for a few moments?”
Jane feared it might be a complaint. In a perfectly natural way she walked forward. Scawthorne came in her direction, and—closed the door.
The interview lasted ten minutes, then Jane came forth and with a light, quick step ran up to the floor above. She did not enter the room, however, but stood with her hand on the door, in the darkness. A minute or two, and with the same light, hurried step, she descended the stairs, sprang past the lodger’s room, sped down to the kitchen. Under other circumstances Bessie must surely have noticed a strangeness in her look, in her manner; but to-night Bessie had thought for nothing but her own calamities.
Another day, and no further news from Sam. The next morning, instead of going to work (the loss of wages was most serious, but it couldn’t be helped), Jane privately betook herself to Sam’s house of business. Mrs. Byass was ill; would they let her know Mr. Byass’s address, that he might immediately be communicated with? The information was
