It was indeed a genuine sorrow that bowed down the head of Tim Ruggles; and, save to sleep, for days past he had hardly rested in the home that now seemed so desolate. It was nothing to him that his wife spoke to him almost gently--his spirit revolted against the woman; and the first morning he tore the whalebone rib angrily from the wall, thrust and stamped it into the fire, watching it with a fierce delight, as it spat and crackled and writhed like a serpent in the glowing flame; and then hurried from her presence, to return though at night, worn and subdued. He hastened off again early the next morning, where Mrs Jared rightly guessed, but no one but the gatekeeper of Kensal Green Cemetery could have told for certain. On Saturday evening, Patty, agitated and anxious, had stolen down to Brownjohn Street, to find Janet feverish and restless, but thoughtful enough to insist upon D. Wragg seeing her friend to the better-lighted streets. She kissed Patty, though, as they parted, saying, "It shall all be made clear yet." Patty and Jared met upon the door-step, both too much troubled to notice each other's pained face; and soon after entering, Patty hurried to answer the faltering knock at the door which betokened the arrival of Tim Ruggles. "Just dropped in to see how they all were;" while his poor seamed face looked more haggard than ever. "Poor little man!" whispered Mrs Jared to her husband; "what did he do that he should have such a wife?" Not that Tim was untidy, for he was as carefully dressed as his garments would allow. Clean shaved too was Tim; but there was a desolate look in his face that sorely troubled Mrs Jared, who more than once hinted to her husband that she hoped the poor man would not do anything dreadful, and then felt almost hurt at the apparent indifference of Jared, who, hardened by his own troubles, could not bring his mind to bear upon those of others. Jared was right, though, when he said that there was no fear, for Tim's was genuine unselfish sorrow, that in all earnestness he had bent his back to carry--bearing himself humbly, now that the first wild paroxysms of his grief were past. The children were in bed, and Tim, as they left the room, had kissed most tenderly and blessed each one, as it came to say "Good-night." "Ah! Mr Pellet, sir," he half moaned, "you're a rich man, sir--a rich man, sir. God has been very good to you, sir. All strong and well--all strong and well!" Jared winced as he tried to read his paper, but could not turn his eyes from one spot--a police report of a servant who had stolen money from her employer's box, and he made no reply. And now Tim stood in his old attitude by the chimney-piece. "It's coming to-night," whispered Mrs Jared to Patty, and she, poor girl, had run out of the room to sob for a few minutes, and then returned, red-eyed and flushed, to sit down to her work.