The Nether World | Page 9

every season, through all the years of the life that is granted
them, who strain their eyesight, who overtax their muscles, who nurse
disease in their frames, who put resolutely from them the thought of
what existence might be--that these do it all without prospect or hope of
reward save the permission to eat and sleep and bring into the world
other creatures to strive with them for bread, surely that thought is yet
more marvellous.
Workers in metal, workers in glass and in enamel, workers in weed,
workers in every substance on earth, or from the waters under the earth,
that can be made commercially valuable. In Clerkenwell the demand is
not so much for rude strength as for the cunning fingers and the
contriving brain. The inscriptions on the house-fronts would make you
believe that you were in a region of gold and silver and precious stones.
In the recesses of dim byways, where sunshine and free air are
forgotten things, where families herd together in dear-rented garrets
and cellars, craftsmen are for ever handling jewellery, shaping bright
ornaments for the necks and arms of such as are born to the joy of life.

Wealth inestimable is ever flowing through these workshops, and the
hands that have been stained with gold-dust may, as likely as not, some
day extend themselves in petition for a crust. In this house, as the
announcement tells you, business is carried on by a trader in diamonds,
and next door is a den full of children who wait for their day's one meal
until their mother has come home with her chance earnings. A strange
enough region wherein to wander and muse. Inextinguishable laughter
were perchance the fittest result of such musing; yet somehow the heart
grows heavy, somehow the blood is troubled in its course, and the
pulses begin to throb hotly.
Amid the crowds of workpeople, Jane Snowdon made what speed she
might. It was her custom, whenever dispatched on an errand, to run till
she could run no longer, then to hasten along panting until breath and
strength were recovered. When it was either of the Peckovers who sent
her, she knew that reprimand was inevitable on her return, be she ever
so speedy; but her nature was incapable alike of rebellion and of that
sullen callousness which would have come to the aid of most girls in
her position. She did not serve her tyrants with willingness, for their
brutality filled her with a sense of injustice; yet the fact that she was
utterly dependent upon them for her livelihood, that but for their
grace--as they were perpetually reminding her--she would have been a
workhouse child, had a mitigating effect upon the bitterness she could
not wholly subdue.
There was, however, another reason why she sped eagerly on her
present mission. The man to whom she was conveying Mrs. Hewett's
message was one of the very few persons who had ever treated her with
human kindness. She had known him by name and by sight for some
years, and since her mother's death (she was eleven when that happened)
he had by degrees grown to represent all that she understood by the
word 'friend.' It was seldom that words were exchanged between them;
the opportunity came scarcely oftener than once a month; but whenever
it did come, it made a bright moment in her existence. Once before she
had fetched him of an evening to see Mrs. Hewett, and as they walked
together he had spoken with what seemed to her wonderful gentleness,
with consideration inconceivable from a tall, bearded man,
well-dressed, and well to do in the world. Perhaps he would speak in
the same way to-night; the thought of it made her regardless of the cold

rain that was drenching her miserable garment, of the wind that now
and then, as she turned a corner, took away her breath, and made her
cease from running.
She reached St. John's Square, and paused at length by a door on which
was the inscription: 'H. Lewis, Working Jeweller.' It was just possible
that the men had already left; she waited for several minutes with
anxious mind. No; the door opened, and two workmen came forth.
Jane's eagerness impelled her to address one of them.
'Please, sir, Mr. Kirkwood hasn't gone yet, has he?'
'No, he ain't,' the man answered pleasantly; and turning back, he called
to some one within the doorway; 'Hello, Sidney! here's your sweetheart
waiting for you.'
Jane shrank aside; but in a moment she saw a familiar figure; she
advanced again, and eagerly delivered her message.
'All right, Jane! I'll walk on with you,' was the reply. And whilst the
other two men were laughing good-naturedly, Kirkwood strode away
by the girl's side. He seemed to be absent-minded,