the hot joint to table, and on every day there was pudding, till a
body grew indifferent to pudding; thus a joy-giving luxury of life
being lost and but another item added to the long list of
uninteresting needs. Now we could eat and drink without stint. No
need now to organise for the morrow's hash. No need now to cut one's
bread instead of breaking it, thinking of Saturday's bread pudding.
But there the saying fails, for never now were we merry. A silent
unseen guest sat with us at the board, so that no longer we laughed
and teased as over the half pound of sausages or the two sweet-scented
herrings; but talked constrainedly of empty things that lay outside
us.

Easy enough would it have been for us to move to Guilford Street.
Occasionally in the spiritless tones in which they now spoke on all
subjects save the one, my mother and father would discuss the project;
but always into the conversation would fall, sooner or later, some
loosened thought to stir it to anger, and so the aching months went
by, and the cloud grew.

Then one day the news came that old Teidelmann had died suddenly in
his counting house.

"You are going to her?" said my mother.

"I have been sent for," said my father; "I must--it may mean
business."

My mother laughed bitterly; why, at the time, I could not understand;
and my father flung out of the house. During the many hours that he
was away my mother remained locked in her room, and, stealing