John was gravely embarrassed. Clara moved her head a little, so as to regard him, but at once turned away, shrinkingly, when she met his eyes. ‘Why don’t you like to tell me, father? Was it Mr. Kirkwood?’ ‘Yes, my dear, it was.’ Neither spoke for a long time. Clara’s head sank lower; she drew her hand away from her father’s, and used it to shield her face. When she spoke, it was as if to herself. ‘I suppose he’s altered in some ways?’ ‘Not much; I don’t see much change, myself, but then of course— No, he’s pretty much the same.’ ‘He’s married, isn’t he? ‘Married? Why, what made you think that. Clara? No, not he. He had to move not long ago; his lodgin’s is in Red Lion Street now.’ ‘And does he ever come here?’ ‘He has been—just now an’ then.’ ‘Have you told him?’ ‘Why—yes, dear—I felt I had to.’ ‘There’s no harm. You couldn’t keep it a secret. But he mustn’t come whilst I’m here; you understand that, father?’ ‘No, no, he shan’t. He shall never come, if you don’t wish it.’ ‘Only whilst I’m here.’ ‘But—Clara—you’ll _always_ be here.’ ‘Oh no! Do you think I’m going to burden you all the rest of my life? I shall find some way of earning a living, and then I shall go and get a room for myself.’ ‘Now don’t—now don’t talk like that!’ exclaimed her father, putting his hand on her. ‘You shall do what else you like, my girl, but don’t talk about goin’ away from me. That’s the one thing as I couldn’t bear. I ain’t so young as I was, and I’ve had things as was hard to go through—I mean when the mother died and—and other things at that time. Let you an’ me stay by each other whilst we may, my girl. You know it was always you as I thought most of, and I want to keep you by me—I do, Clara. You won’t speak about goin’ away?’ She remained mute. Shadows from the firelight rose and fell upon the walls of the half-darkened room. It was a cloudy morning; every now and then a gust flung rain against the window. ‘If you went,’ he continued, huskily, ‘I should be afraid myself. I haven’t told you. I didn’t behave as I’d ought have done to the poor mother, Clara; I got into drinkin’ too much; yes, I did. I’ve broke myself off that; but if you was to leave me—I’ve had hard things to go through. Do you know the Burial Club broke up just before she died? I couldn’t get not a ha’penny! A lot o’ the money was stolen. You may think how I felt, Clara, with her lyin’ there, and I hadn’t got as much as would pay for a coffin. It was Sidney Kirkwood found the money—he did! There was never man had as good a friend as he’s been to me; I shall never have a chance of payin’ what I owe him. Things is better with me now, but I’d rather beg my bread in the streets than you should go away. Don’t be afraid, my dearest. I promise you nobody shan’t come near. You won’t mind Mrs. Eagles; she’s very good to the children. But I must keep you near to me, my poor girl!’