“Dead, Stephen,” Rachael softly hinted.

“I’m sooary I ha spok’n on ’t,” said Stephen, “I ought t’ hadn in my mind as I might touch a sore place. I⁠—I blame myseln.”

While he excused himself, the old lady’s cup rattled more and more. “I had a son,” she said, curiously distressed, and not by any of the usual appearances of sorrow; “and he did well, wonderfully well. But he is not to be spoken of if you please. He is⁠—” Putting down her cup, she moved her hands as if she would have added, by her action, “dead!” Then she said aloud, “I have lost him.”

Stephen had not yet got the better of his having given the old lady pain, when his landlady came stumbling up the narrow stairs, and calling him to the door, whispered in his ear. Mrs. Pegler was by no means deaf, for she caught a word as it was uttered.