nds!_'

Just one person caught the gleam from under Hazel's down-cast
eyes,--perhaps something made his own quick-sighted. Dr. Arthur
answered for her.

'They were not half paid before, Mr. Falkirk. That explains
it.'

'Weren't they paid as other mill hands are paid, Dr. Arthur?'

'The more need for a change, then,' said the young man, who
was a trifle Quixotic himself.

'But if the change is made by one man alone, he effects
nothing but his own ruin.'

'That is what Dane is about, I am firmly persuaded,' said Mrs.
Coles.

'No man ever yet went to ruin by doing right,' said Dr.
Maryland.

'Many a one!' said Mr. Falkirk,--'by doing what he _thought_
right; from John Brown up to John Huss, and from John Huss
back to the time when history is lost in a fog bank.'

'They'll get their reward, I suppose, in the other world,'
said Prudentia comfortably.

'How will his ruin affect the poor mill people?' said Wych
Hazel, so seriously, that perhaps only Mr. Falkirk--knowing
her-- knew what she was about.

'Why, my dear, it ruins them too in the end; that's it. When
he fails, of course his improvements fail, and everything goes
back where it was before. Only worse.'

'Precisely,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'You cannot lift the world out
of the grooves it runs in, by mere force; and he who tries,
will put his shoulder out of joint.'

'Then my picture of "the loss of all things," is the portrait
of a ruined man!' said Wych Hazel, with an expressive glance
at Dr. Maryland. He smiled.

'It partly depends, you know, Miss Kennedy, upon where the
race is supposed to end. But our friend is running well at
present, for both worlds.'

'Arthur, he is not!' said his sister emphatically. 'Paul and
John Charteris, the other mill-owners, hate him as hard as
they can hate him; and if they can ruin him, they will; that
you may depend upon.'

'And his own people love him as hard as they can,--so that,
even if you allow one rich mill-owner to be worth a hundred
poor employes, Dane can still strike a fair balance.'--Rather
more than that, Dr. Arthur thought, as his quick eye took
notice of the little screening hand that came suddenly up
about Wych Hazel's mouth and chin.

'That's all nonsense, Arthur; business is business, and not
sentiment. I never heard of a cotton mill yet that was run
upon sentiment; nor did you. And I tell you, it won't pay. I
am speaking of business _as_ business. Paul and John Charteris
will ruin Dane, if th