 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 willingness, 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 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 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. Peekover
to Mrs. Hewett, promising remission of half a week's rent, had sufficed to
obtain for the former complete 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
