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 wonderful gentleness, with consideration inconceivable
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 turned 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 inscription: '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, Mr. 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; 'Hello, Sidney! here's your
sweetheart waiting for you.'
Jane shrank aside; but in a moment she saw a familiar figure; she
advanced again, and eagerly delivered her message.
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