One thing only, was clear to the girl’s mind. Accustomed from her very babyhood promptly to do the thing that could be done⁠—whether to keep out weather, to ward off cold, to postpone hunger, or whatnot⁠—she started out of her meditation, and ran home.

The room was quiet, and the lamp burnt on the table. In the bunk in the corner, her brother lay asleep. She bent over him softly, kissed him, and came to the table.

“By the time of Miss Abbey’s closing, and by the run of the tide, it must be one. Tide’s running up. Father at Chiswick, wouldn’t think of coming down, till after the turn, and that’s at half after four. I’ll call Charley at six. I shall hear the church-clocks strike, as I sit here.”

Very quietly, she placed a chair before the scanty fire, and sat down in it, drawing her shawl about her.

“Charley’s hollow down by the flare is not there now. Poor Charley!”