And all power of self-defence, of anything but submission and acquiescence, seemed taken from John. ‘I did not think of it,’ he said, giving himself up, as he was dimly conscious, to total misconstruction, but what did it matter? Nothing seemed to be of any consequence in the subtle misery which had invaded the house. John did not feel even that he was aware of the cause of it. He scarcely thought of his grandmother, dead. He knew only that where all had been so happy and full of tenderness there was nothing but a chill misery and desolation, with a fault of his somehow involved, he could not tell how. ‘Of course I should have come at once,’ she repeated, turning round again to the fire, with her hands held over it. ‘We did not always understand each other. We were not like each other. How can one help it if that is so?’ ‘Children are not always like their parents,’ Mr. Sandford said. ‘Some are not.’ She half turned towards John again with a movement of her hand as if directing her father’s attention to him. ‘There are likenesses--that take away one’s breath.’ ‘Ah--yes--it may be so,’ the old man said. Then, as if waking up, ‘Will you take anything? The house is upset--there is nobody to give any orders. Still,’ he said, looking round at the table where a cloth was laid, ‘there are meals all the same.’ She looked up at him with a momentary softening in her face, and put her hand on his arm. ‘Poor father,’ she said. ‘Yes--I’ll be poor, poor enough by myself. To begin--that sort of thing at my time of life--after nearly fifty years----’ ‘Be thankful that you have had fifty years--without any trouble,’ she said. And then, ‘I should like to see her. No doubt she is changed, much changed, since I saw her last. Don’t stir, father--sit down and rest--you are ready to drop with fatigue. The boy will show me the way.’ ‘I hope you won’t think it strange. I--I couldn’t go with you, Emily.’ ‘No. I understand it all. Sit down there in your own chair.’ The old man seated himself with a sudden burst of sobbing. ‘It’s not mine, it’s her chair. I like it so. I like it so! For fifty years! and she will never sit here more.’ ‘Poor father!’ she said again. Her face softened more and more as she looked at him; she stooped down and kissed his forehead. ‘Now, come,’ she said to John. To him there was no softening. She gave him a fixed look as she signed to him to lead the way--a look of recognition, of stern investigation, which stirred the boy’s being. It seemed to call his faculties together, and awake him from the torpor of consternation and grief. He forgot almost where he was going, and what he was to see.