Then he was again mute. Jane had something she wished to say to him—wished very much indeed, yet she felt it would have been difficult even if he had encouraged her. As he kept silence and walked so quickly, speech on her part was utterly forbidden. Kirkwood, however, suddenly remembered that his strides were disproportionate to the child’s steps. She was an odd figure thus disguised in his over-jacket; he caught a glimpse of her face by a street lamp, and smiled, but with a mixture of pain. ‘Feel a bit warmer so?’ he asked. ‘Oh yes, sir.’ ‘Haven’t you got a jacket, Jane?’ ‘It’s all to pieces, sir. They’re goin’ to have it mended, I think.’ ‘They’ was the word by which alone Jane ventured to indicate her aunt. ‘Going to, eh? I think they’d better be quick about it.’ Ha! that was the old tone of kindness! How it entered into her blood and warmed it! She allowed herself one quick glance at him. ‘Do I walk too quick for you?’ ‘Oh no, sir. Mr. Kirkwood, please, there’s something I—’ The sentence had, as it were, begun itself, but timidity cut it short. Sidney stopped and looked at her. ‘What? Something you wanted to tell me, Jane?’ He encouraged her, and at length she made her disclosure. It was of what had happened in the public-house. The young man listened with much attention, walking very slowly. He got her to repeat her second-hand description of the old man who had been inquiring for people named Snowdon. ‘To think that you should have been just too late!’ he exclaimed with annoyance. ‘Have you any idea who he was?’ ‘I can’t think, sir,’ Jane replied sadly. Sidney took a hopeful tone—thought it very likely that the inquirer would pursue his search with success, being so near the house where Jane’s parents had lived. ‘I’ll keep my eyes open,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I might see him. He’d be easy to recognise, I should think.’ ‘And would you tell him, sir,’ Jane asked eagerly. ‘Why, of course I would. You’d like me to, wouldn’t you?’ Jane’s reply left small doubt on that score. Her companion looked down at her again, and said with compassionate gentleness: ‘Keep a good heart, Jane. Things’ll be better some day, no doubt.’ ‘Do you think so, sir?’ The significance of the simple words was beyond all that eloquence could have conveyed. Sidney muttered to himself, as he had done before, like one who is angry. He laid his hand on the child’s shoulder for a moment. A few minutes more, and they were passing along by the prison wall, under the ghastly head, now happily concealed by darkness. Jane stopped a little short of the house and removed the coat that had so effectually sheltered her. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, returning it to Sidney.