'Didn't I say as she was ill? Why, I thought it was the first word I
spoke as soon as you got into the 'ouse. You can't a noticed it, or
else it was me as is so put about. What With havin' a burial--'

'Where is she?' asked the old man anxiously.

'Where? Why, you don't think as I'd a sent her to be looked after by
strangers? She's layin' in Mrs. Hewett's room--that's one o' the
lodgers--all for the sake o' comfort. A better an' kinder woman
than Mrs. Hewett you wouldn't find, not if you was to--'

With difficulty the stranger obtained a few details of the origin
and course of the illness--details wholly misleading, but devised
to reassure. When he desired to see Jane, Mrs. Peckover assumed an
air of perfect willingness, but reminded him that she had nothing
save his word to prove that he had indeed a legitimate interest in
the girl.

'I can do no more than tell you that Joseph James Snowdon was my
younger son,' replied the old man simply. 'I've come back to spend
my last years in England, and I hoped--I hope still--to find my
son. I wish to take his child into my own care; as he left her to
strangers--perhaps he didn't do it willingly; he may be dead--he
could have nothing to say against me giving her the care of a
parent. You've been at expense--'

Mrs. Peckover waited with eagerness, but the sentence remained
incomplete. Again the old man's eyes strayed about the room. The
current of his thoughts seemed to change, and he said: