Out of the stony lane, Loughton was lighted, and at the end of a dusty road was a small constellation of gas-lamps and railway signals. Now it was plain that both were a little tired—Bessy perhaps more than a little. But the train gave a welcome rest, and there were no passengers to see, even if she slept, for they were alone in their compartment. They had passed two stations, when Johnny, who had been standing to look out at the opposite window, turned and saw that his sister was dozing, with her head bent forward and her face hidden by the crutch-handle. It was so wholly her figure as she sat in the cab at the old man’s funeral, that Johnny started, and sat where he stood, though he had never once called the thing to mind since that day. And he took the crutch gently away, to look at her face. But it was calm and untroubled; and he put his hand at the farther side of it and pressed it to his shoulder; for plainly she was tired out, and there were no cushions in the carriage. * * * * * It was nearing ten o’clock when at last they turned into Harbour Lane. From a back street came the old watchman’s cry, “Pa-a-ast nine o’clock!” as he went his round in search of orders to wake early risers; and lights in bedroom windows told of early risers already seeking sleep. Nobody was in the shop, but as they came in, Johnny thought he saw his mother’s face vanish from beside the muslin curtain that obscured the glass in the back-parlour door. They passed through the shop, and into the back parlour. Their mother and Mr. Butson sat facing them, side by side. Mr. Butson had a new suit of clothes, and their mother wore her best, and smiles and tears were in her face. Something had happened. What was it? Bessy and Johnny, scarce within the door, stood and stared. “Johnny—Bessy—” Nan faltered, looking from one to the other. “Have you—enjoyed your holiday? . . . Won’t you—kiss me, Johnny?” She rose and made a step toward them. But something struck them still, and they looked, wondering, from Nan to Butson, and back to their mother again. . . . What was it? Johnny moved first, and kissed his mother, absently, gazing at Mr. Butson the while. Mr. Butson, who was smoking, said nothing, but lay back in his chair and considered the ash of his cigar. Nan’s anxiety was plain to see. She put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and an arm on Bessy’s neck. “I,—we—you won’t be vexed because I didn’t tell you, will you?” she said, pale, but trying to smile, “I—we—Mr. Butson . . . Johnny, Bessy—don’t look so!” Tears ran down her cheeks, and she bent her head on Johnny’s other shoulder. “We’ve been married to-day!” XX.