The Nether World

isting between the Hewetts and himself, but from the day of Clara’s engagement with Mrs. Tubbs John Hewett began to alter in his treatment of him. At first there was nothing more than found i

ed; then followed signs of ill-humour, such as Sidney could not in the end fail to interpret as unfavourable to

that Clara would return, he nursed the suspicion of treacherous behaviour on Sidney’s part. He would not take into account any such thing as pride which could forbid the young man to urge a rejected suit. Sidney had grown tired of Clara, that was the truth, and gladly caught at any means of excusing hims

husband once repeated the landlady’s words, ‘I’d be ashamed of myself, J

against ignoble charges. For the present, there was no choice but to accept John’s hints, and hold apart as much as was possible without absolute breach of friendly relations. Nor could he bring himself to approach Clara. It was often in his mind to write to her; had he obeyed the voice of his desire he would have penned such letters as only the self-abasement of a passionate lover can dictate. But herein, too, the strain of sternness that marked his character made its influence felt. He said to himself that the only hope of Clara’

ering but for this ceaseless necessity of earning the week’s wage. A fly buzzed loudly against the grimy window, and by one of those associations which time and change cannot affect, he mused himself back into boyhood. The glimpse before him of St. John’s Arch aided the revival of old impressions; his hand ceased fr

edly. ‘I know you can’t do anything, but I had to speak to so

abou

her box was sent for, an’ it was to be took to a house in Islington. An’ then Mrs. Tubbs came an’ told me. An’ there’s worse than that, Sidney. She’s b

ces in a low voice, painf

s before?’ Sidney asked, also in a subdued

to tell her father? I dursn’t do it, Sidney; for my life, I dursn’t! I’d go an’ see her where she’s lodging — see, I’ve got the address wro

h in what Mrs. Tubbs says. They’ve quarrelled, and of course the woman makes Clara as b

earnt at length what her desire had been in coming to him; s

what Mrs. Tubbs says. Do go an’ speak to her before it’s too late. Say we w

and nothing was known of her movements. Sidney turned away and began to walk up and down the shadowed side of the street; there was no breath of air stirring, and from the open windows radiated stuffy odours. A quarter of an hour sufficed to exasperate him with anxiety and physical malaise. He suffered from his inability to do anything at once, from conflict with himself as to whether or not it behoved him to speak with John Hewett; of Clara he thought with anger rather than fear, for her behaviour see

,’ he said. ‘Will you walk al

want to say

hat has happened, and she came to

t. I’ve left the place, that’s all, and I’

ot go

o. I don’t see that it co

e seemed to kindle an evil fire in him, and with difficulty he kept back words of angry unreason; he even — strangest of inconsistencies — experienced a kind of bru

Tubbs is doing her best to take away your good name. However little we are to each other, it’s my duty to tell you t

d with a cont

she been

’t repe

word-edge through all the black humours about his heart, piercing the

me at once? Thank heaven you have got out of that place! Come ho

‘Tell my father that, and tell him anything else you like. I want no one to

ir scenes alike of tenderness and of anger must for the most part be enacted on the peopled ways. It is one of their misfortunes, on

ions for employment — futile, as so many were likely to be, if she persevered in her search for a better place than the last. The wages due to her for the present week she had of course sacrificed;

r vision was nothing amid that cloud of misery which blackened about her spirit as she brooded. The access of self-pity was followed, as always, by a persistent sense of intolerable wrong, and that again by a fierce desire to plunge herself into ruin, as though by such act she could satiate her instincts of defiance. It is a phase of exasperated egotism common enough in original natures frustrated by circumstance — never so pronounced as in those who suffer from the social disease. Such mood perverts everything to cause of bitterness. The very force of sincerity, which Clara could not but recognise in Kirkwood’s appeal, inflamed the resen

few mouthfuls of bread, but could not exert herself to make tea. It would

ting calumnies; that they were nothing more than calumnies could never be proved; all who heard them would readily enough believe. Why should she struggle uselessly to justify herself in the eyes of people predisposed to condemn her? Fate was busy in all that had happened during the last two days. Why had she quitted her situation at a moment’s notice? Why on this occasion rather than fifty times previously?

tion of street that was visible. On the opposite pavement, at a little distance, a man was standing; it was Sidney Kirkwood. The sight of him roused her from apathy; her blood tingled, rushed into her cheeks and throbbed

e had no acquaintance. In an hour’s time she had found another lodging, which she took by the day only. Then back again to Islington. She told her landlady that a sudden necessity compelled he

d her wish. Now she had cut the last bond that fretted her, and th

rstood that she had not done so without a prospect worthy of herself. If she broke away from the obligations of a life that could never be other than poor and commonplace, those who knew her would estimate the compensation she had found. Sidney Kirkwood was aware of her ambitions; for his own sake he had

d. The activity of her brain became all but delirium; along her nerves, through all the courses of her blood, seemed to run fires which excited her with an indescribable mingling of delight and torment. She walked to and fro, often speaking aloud,

her at nine, giving her just time to dress with care