 bell of St. Paul's had not reached its ninth
stroke when she heard his knock at the door.
    He came in without speaking, and stood as if afraid to look at her. The
lamp, placed on a side-table, barely disclosed all the objects within the four
walls; it illumined Sidney's face, but Clara moved so that she was in shadow.
She began to speak.
    »You understood my note? The people who live here are away, and I have
ventured to borrow their room. They are friends of my father's.«
    At the first word, he was surprised by the change in her voice and
accentuation. Her speech was that of an educated woman; the melody which always
had such a charm for him had gained wonderfully in richness. Yet it was with
difficulty that she commanded utterance, and her agitation touched him in a way
quite other than he was prepared for. In truth, he knew not what experience he
had anticipated, but the reality, now that it came, this unimaginable blending
of memory with the unfamiliar, this refinement of something that he had loved,
this note of pity struck within him by such subtle means, affected his inmost
self. Immediately he laid stern control upon his feelings, but all the words
which he had designed to speak were driven from memory. He could say nothing,
could only glance at her veiled face and await what she had to ask of him.
    »Will you sit down? I shall fell grateful if you can spare me a few minutes.
I have asked you to see me because - indeed, because I am sadly in want of the
kind of help a friend might give me. I don't venture to call you that, but I
thought of you; I hoped you wouldn't refuse to let me speak to you. I am in such
difficulties - such a hard position -«
    »You may be very sure I will do anything I can to be of use to you,« Sidney
replied, his thick voice contrasting so strongly with that which had just failed
into silence that he coughed and lowered his tone after the first few syllables.
He meant to express himself without a hint of emotion, but it was beyond his
power. The words in which she spoke of her calamity seemed so pathetically
simple that they went to his heart. Clara had recovered all her faculties. The
fever and the anguish and the dread were no whit diminished, but they helped
instead of checking her. An actress improvising her part, she regulated every
tone with perfect
