rew, he was conscious of the spectre of anxiety at his
elbow. It had been a simple thing to make a thousand and then ten and
then twenty, till, as he marched ever faster toward the siren call, he
perceived that he was no longer in his own country, but one in which the
landmarks were all changed. Now, with the throb of his wife's heart
against his own, he acknowledged defeat, but perhaps it was defeat of
that which was not himself.

Presently the little woman stirred, brushed the tears from her cheeks,
and, smiling, kissed him tenderly.

"I'm happier than I've been for years. Did you ever guess that people
here thought you were a rich man?"

"No."

"Well, they did, at least some of them, Mrs. Dibbott for one."

"Then you can put Mrs. Dibbott right."

"Will what has happened at the works make much difference here?"

"Probably a good deal. I'm looking for trouble."

"Up at Ironville?" she said anxiously.

"But I'm good for it." He stretched his great arms, feeling strangely
free and fit for his duty.

"What about Mr. Clark?"

At this Manson grew suddenly thoughtful. Caught up in his own anxiety,
he had never considered Clark. The figure of the latter began to take on
strange proportions. What, he wondered, had Clark lost? Within twenty
hours of the time he maintained his unaltered belief, the bottom had
dropped out. Or, he queried, had Clark merely said this to prevent him
from throwing his stock on the market? He pondered over this, and
decided that five thousand shares were negligible amongst millions. Then
he felt his wife's inquiring glance.

"I'm sorry for Clark, but I guess he's wise enough to take care of
himself."

"I hope so. I've only spoken to him once, but I like him."

She disappeared presently, leaving him busy with special instructions to
the police--in case of disturbance. She did not worry about that, being
chiefly conscious that a load was gone from her spirit. Singing softly
to herself, she went out with gladness in her eyes, and halfway to
Filmer's store encountered Mrs. Bowers. The latter looked pale and
tired. Bowers, for the past twenty-four hours, had been a much tried
man--and his wife reflected it.

"Good evening," said the latter, "you look very fresh. How do you manage
it?"

Mrs. Manson, suddenly recalled to earth, smiled gently. "I'm rather
happy to-day. I hope Mr. Bowers is not very anxious."

"It's no use saying he isn't, but he doesn't talk about it.