jest," said Sybil. "England, Wales, Scotland will
be forced to work as they were forced before. How can they subsist
without labour? And if they could, there is an organised power that will
subdue them."

"The Benefit Societies, the Sick and Burial Clubs, have money in the
banks that would maintain the whole working classes, with aid in kind
that will come, for six weeks, and that will do the business. And as for
force, why there are not five soldiers to each town in the kingdom. It's
a glittering bugbear this fear of the military; simultaneous strikes
would baffle all the armies in Europe."

"I'll go back and pray that all this is wild talk," said Sybil
earnestly. "After all that has passed, were it only for your child, you
should not speak, much less think, this, my father. What havoc to our
hearts and homes has been all this madness! It has separated us; it has
destroyed our happy home; it has done more than this--" and here she
wept.

"Nay, nay, my child," said Gerard, coming up and soothing her; "one
cannot weigh one's words before those we love. I can't hear of the
people moving with coldness--that's out of nature; but I promise you
I'll not stimulate the lads here. I am told they are little inclined to
stir. You found me in a moment of what I must call I suppose elation;
but I hear they beat the red-coats and police at Staley Bridge, and that
pricked my blood a bit. I have been ridden down before this when I was a
lad, Sybil, by Yeomanry hoofs. You must allow a little for my feelings."

She extended her lips to the proffered embrace of her father. He blessed
her and pressed her to his heart, and soothed her apprehensions with
many words of softness. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," said Gerard. And there came in Mr Hatton.

They had not met since Gerard's release from York Castle. There Hatton
had visited him, had exercised his influence to remedy his grievances,
and had more than once offered him the means of maintenance on receiving
his freedom. There were moments of despondency when Gerard had almost
wished that the esteem and regard with which Sybil looked upon Hatton
might have matured into sentiments of a deeper nature; but on this
subject the father had never breathed a word. Nor had Hatton, except
to Gerard, ever intimated his wishes, for we could scarcely call them
hopes. He was a silent suitor of Sybil, watching opportunities and ready
to avail himself of circumstances which he worshippe