Snowdon turned to Mrs. Peckover, and, after a few words with regard to the treatment that was being pursued, said that he would now relieve her; she lingered, but shortly left the room. Sidney, sitting by the bed, in a few minutes saw that Jane once more slept, or appeared to do so. He whispered to Snowdon that he was going to see his friends in the next room, and would look in again before leaving. His tap at the door was answered by Amy, who at once looked back and said: ‘Can Mr. Kirkwood come in, mother?’ ‘Yes; I want to see him,’ was the answer. Mrs. Hewett was lying in bed; she looked, if possible, more wretchedly ill than four days ago. On the floor were two mattresses, covered to make beds for the children. The baby, held in its mother’s arms, was crying feebly. ‘Why, I hoped you were getting much better by now,’ said Sidney. Mrs. Hewett told him that she had been to the hospital on Saturday, and seemed to have caught cold. A common enough occurrence; hours of waiting in an out-patients’ room frequently do more harm than the doctor’s advice can remedy. She explained that Mrs. Peckover had requested the use of the other room. ‘There’s too many of us to be livin’ an’ sleepin’ in this little place,’ she said; ‘but, after all, it’s a savin’ of rent. It’s a good thing Clara isn’t here. An’ you’ve heard as John’s got work?’ He had found a job at length with a cabinet-maker; to-night he would probably be working till ten or eleven o’clock. Good news so far. Then Mrs. Hewett began to speak with curiosity of the old man who claimed Jane as his grandchild. Sidney told her what had just happened. ‘An’ what did you say about the girl?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I said as little as I could; I thought it wisest. Do you know what made her ill?’