January, February, dragged slowly by, and times only grew worse. Few chimneys smoked, no workers tramped through the streets; faces were pinched, fires burnt low and meagre in the bitter weather; money was not forthcoming, clothes were few, pleasures were at an end. Men paused and waited, as it were, while the thunder growled and the first heavy drops of the storm began to fall, slowly and deliberately, and then faster and ever faster, till none could escape the universal drenching. One bitter morning, in the beginning of March, Myles and Mary Heywood turned out to their daily work. A furious, stinging wind, and a driving, scourging rain, saluted them as they entered the long sloping street leading to the factory. Myles pulled his collar up about his ears, and Mary folded her shawl more tightly round her, pulling it also farther over her face. They walked in silence, and did not look at each other. In truth, both their hearts were sad as sad could be. They were entirely changed from the well-to-do, untroubled, noble-looking brother and sister who, six or seven months ago, had walked home together in the heat of the August afternoon. What a hot, plentiful blaze of sunlight then! what cold, what wet, what inclemency of elements now! The contrast was pointed and searching, and went home to both. For months now, Myles’s heart had been growing bitterer and harder, and more rebellious; ever since that evening on which Sebastian Mallory had come and interrupted his talk with Adrienne. He had not seen her often since then, or rather had not visited her often since then; but on the few occasions when he had done so, she was changed. He had seen the change distinctly, had seen how her eye wavered and her colour changed under his piercing glance, for he could look at her steadily enough now, without bashfulness, and with a gaze of desperate, hopeless inquiry, which, he thought, must burn her secret from her heart. With each visit, each conversation with her, he had grown more hopeless, more despairingly certain that what little part or lot he had ever had in her life, had now vanished--was done with for ever more. Once, strolling aimlessly along, he had seen her come out of a shop, and had been going to speak to her, when Sebastian Mallory had come up, smiling, and lifting his hat, and fixing his eyes upon her face. The sight had been quite enough for Myles, who had plunged his hands into his pockets, and turned away with bitterness in his heart. Once or twice--he did not know how often--he had purposely and pointedly spoken to her of Sebastian, and had even asked her a question or two about her former acquaintance with him, and had watched cruelly and unflinchingly to see how she took it. And she had taken it just as he had expected, with downcast eyes, a heightened colour, and a sudden confused silence. He had been satisfied with his experiment; now he had given over going to Mr. Blisset’s house, saying to himself,