herself to the great work after the manner of his ideal? Had he
not been tempted by his friendship for Sidney to introduce into his
scheme what was really an incompatible element? Was it not decidedly,
infinitely better that Jane should be unmarried?

Michael had taken the last step in that process of dehumanisation which
threatens idealists of his type. He had reached at length the pass of
those frenzied votaries of a supernatural creed who exact from their
disciples the sacrifice of every human piety. Returning home, he
murmured to himself again and again, 'She must not marry. She must
overcome this desire of a happiness such as ordinary women may enjoy.
For my sake, and for the sake of her suffering fellow-creatures, Jane
must win this victory over herself.'

He purposed speaking to her, but put it off from day to day. Sidney
paid his visits as usual, and tried desperately to behave as though he
had no trouble. Could he have divined why it was that Michael had ended
by accepting his vague pretences with apparent calm, indignation,
wrath, would have possessed him; he believed, however, that the old man
out of kindness subdued what he really felt. Sidney's state was
pitiable. He knew not whether he more shrank from the thought of being
infected with Joseph Snowdon's baseness or despised himself for his
attitude to Jane. Despicable entirely had been his explanations to
Michael, but how could he make them more sincere? To tell the whole
truth, to reveal Joseph's tactics would be equivalent to taking a part
in the dirty contest; Michael would probably do him justice, but who
could say how far Joseph's machinations were becoming effectual? The
slightest tinct of uncertainty in the old man's thought, and he,
Kirkwood, became a plotter, like the others, meeting mine with
countermine.

'There will be no possibility of perfect faith between men until there
is no such thing as money! H'm, and when is that likely to come to
pass?'

Thus he epigrammatised to himself one evening, savagely enough, as with
head bent forward he plodded to Red Lion Street. Some one addressed
him; he looked up and saw Jane. Seemingly it was a chance meeting, but
she put a question at once almost as though she had been waiting for
him. 'Have you seen Pennyloaf lately, Mr. Kirkwood?'

Pennyloaf? The name suggested Bob Hewett, who again suggested John
Hewett, and so Sidney fell upon thoughts of some one who two days ago
had found a refuge in John's