One thing alone had she grasped as soon as it was uttered; one word of reassurance she could recall when she sat down in solitude to collect her thoughts. Her grandfather had mentioned that Sidney Kirkwood already knew this secret. To Sidney her whole being turned in this hour of distress; he was the friend who would help her with counsel and teach her to be strong. But hereupon there revived in her a trouble which for the moment she had forgotten, and it became so acute that she was driven to speak to Michael in a way which had till now seemed impossible. When she entered his room—it was the morning after their grave conversation—Michael welcomed her with a face of joy, which, however, she still felt to be somewhat stern and searching in its look. When they had talked for a few moments, Jane said: ‘I may speak about this to Mr. Kirkwood, grandfather?’ ‘I hope you will, Jane. Strangers needn’t know of it yet, but we can speak freely to him.’ After many endeavours to find words that would veil her thought, she constrained herself to ask: ‘Does he think I can be all you wish?’ Michael looked at her with a smile. ‘Sidney has no less faith in you than I have, be sure of that.’ ‘I’ve been thinking—that perhaps he distrusted me a little.’ ‘Why, my child?’ ‘I don’t quite know. But there’s been a little difference in him, I think, since we came back.’ Michael’s countenance fell. ‘Difference? How?’ But Jane could not go further. She wished she had not spoken. Her face began to grow hot, and she moved away. ‘It’s only your fancy,’ continued Michael. ‘But may be that—You think he isn’t quite so easy in his talking to you as he was?’ ‘I’ve fancied it. But it was only—’ ‘Well, you may be partly right,’ said her grandfather, softening his voice. ‘See, Jane, I’ll tell you something. I think there’s no harm; perhaps I ought to. You must know that I hadn’t meant to speak to Sidney of these things just when I did. It came about, because _he_ had something to tell _me_, and something I was well pleased to hear. It was about you, Jane, and in that way I got talking—something about you, my child. Afterwards, I asked him whether he wouldn’t speak to you yourself, but he said no—not till you’d heard all that was before you. I think I understood him, and I dare say you will, if you think it over.’ Matter enough for thinking over, in these words. Did she understand them aright? Before leaving the room she had not dared to look her grandfather in the face, but she knew well that he was regarding her still with the same smile. Did she understand him aright?