He burst open the rickety door, and saw a dark mass huddled up in the shadow on the bed. A nearer glance showed him it was only clothes. He opened the door that led on to Jacob's ladder, and called her name. Then by the light streaming in from the other apartment he hastily examined the room. It was obvious that she had put on her best clothes, and gone out. Half relieved, he returned to the sitting-room, leaving the door ajar, and recited his evening prayer. Then he began to prepare a little meal for himself, telling himself that she had gone for a walk, after her manner; perhaps was shaking off her depression at the Cambridge Music Hall. Supper over and grace said, he started doing the overwork, and then, when sheer weariness forced him to stop, he drew his comfortless wooden chair to the kitchen fire, and studied Rabbinical lore from a minutely printed folio. The Whitechapel Church clock, suddenly booming midnight, awoke him from these sacred subtleties with a start of alarm. Rachel had not returned. The fire burnt low. He shivered, and threw on some coal. Half an hour more he waited, listening for her footstep. Surely the music-hall must be closed by now. He crept down the stairs, and wandered vaguely into the cold, starless night, jostled by leering females, and returned forlorn and coughing. Then the thought flashed upon him that his girl had gone to her mother, had gone to fetch her from the wedding ball, and to make it up with her. Yes; that would be it. Hence the best clothes. It could be nothing else. He must not let any other thought get a hold on his mind. He would have run round to the festive scene, only he did not know precisely where it was, and it was too late to ask the neighbours. One o'clock! A mournful monotone, stern in its absoluteness, like the clang of a gate shutting out a lost soul. One more hour of aching suspense, scarcely dulled by the task of making hot coffee, and cutting bread and butter for his returning womankind; then Flutter-Duck came back. Alone! Came back in her cab, her fading features flushed with the joy of life, with the artificial flowers in her false chignon, and the pink wrap over her head. "Where is Rachel?" gasped poor Lewis, meeting her at the street-door. "Rachel! isn't she here? I left her with you," answered Flutter-Duck, half sobered. "Merciful God!" ejaculated her husband, and put his hand to his breast, pierced by a shooting pain. "I left her with you," repeated Flutter-Duck with white lips. "Why did you let her go out? Why didn't you look after her?" "Silence, you sinful mother!" cried Lewis. "You shamed her before strangers, and she has gone out--to drown herself--what do I know?" Flutter-Duck burst into hysterical sobbing. "Yes, take her part against me! You always make me out wrong." "Restrain yourself!" he whispered imperiously. "Do you wish to have the neighbours hear you again?"