sat down with a long breath, evidently trying to regain his ordinary
even manner. His clothes, too, were covered with dust, and his hand
shook. Catherine stood before him in consternation, while a nurse came
for the child.

'We had just begun our committee at four o'clock,' he said at last,
'though only about half of the men had arrived, when there was a great
shouting and commotion outside, and a man rushed in calling for Elsmere.
We ran out, found a great crowd, a huge brewer's dray standing in the
street, and a man run over. Your husband pushed his way in. I followed,
and, to my horror, I found him kneeling by--Charles Richards!'

'Charles Richards?' Catherine repeated vacantly.

Flaxman looked up at her, as though puzzled; then a flash of
astonishment passed over his face.

'Elsmere has never told you of Charles Richards, the little gasfitter,
who has been his right hand for the past three months?'

'No--never,' she said slowly.

Again he looked astonished; then he went on sadly: 'All this spring he
has been your husband's shadow--I never saw such devotion. We found him
lying in the middle of the road. He had only just left work, a man said
who had been with him, and was running to the meeting. He slipped and
fell, crossing the street, which was muddy from last night's rain. The
dray swung round the corner--the driver was drunk or careless--and they
went right over him. One foot was a sickening sight. Your husband and I
luckily knew how to lift him for the best. We sent off for doctors. His
home was in the next street, as it happened--nearer than any hospital;
so we carried him there. The neighbours were round the door.'

Then he stopped himself.

'Shall I tell you the whole story?' he said kindly; 'it has been a
tragedy! I won't give you details if you had rather not.'

'Oh no!' she said hurriedly; 'no--tell me.'

And she forgot to feel any wonder that Flaxman, in his chivalry, should
treat her as though she were a girl with nerves.

'Well, it was the surroundings that were so ghastly. When we got to the
house an old woman rushed at me--"His wife's in there, but ye'll not
find her in her senses; she's been at it from eight o'clock this
morning. We've took the children away." I didn't know what she meant
exactly till we got into the little front room. There, such a spectacle!
A young woman on a chair by the fire sleeping heavily, dead drunk; the
breakfast things on the table, the sun blazing in on the d