t. He forced himself to make it a
success, but when it was over he was conscious of an overwhelming
weariness that weighed him down like a physical burden.

He said good-night to the men, and prepared to depart with a feeling that
he was nearing the end of his endurance. It was not soothing to nerves
already on edge to be waylaid by Ashcott and made the unwilling recipient
of gloomy forebodings.

"We shan't hold 'em much longer," the manager said. "They're getting
badly out of hand. There's talk of sending a deputation to Lord
Wilchester or--failing him--Ivor Yardley, the K.C. chap who is in with
him in this show."

"Yardley!" Dick uttered the name sharply.

"Yes, ever met him? He took over a directorship when he got engaged to
Lord Wilchester's sister--Lady Joanna Farringmore. They're rather pinning
their hopes on him, it seems. Do you know him at all?"

"I've met him--once," Dick said. "Went to him for advice--on a matter of
business."

"Any good?" asked Ashcott.

"Oh yes, shrewd enough. Hardest-headed man at the Bar, I believe.
I didn't know he was a director of this show. They won't get much
out of him."

"I fancy they're going to ask you to draw up a petition," said Ashcott.

"Me!" Dick turned on him in a sudden blaze of anger. "I'll see 'em damned
first!" he said.

Ashcott shrugged his shoulders. "It's your affair. You're the only man
who has any influence with 'em. I'm sick of trying to keep the peace."

Dick checked his indignation. "Poor devils! They certainly have some
cause for grievance, but I'm not going to draw up their ultimatum for
them. I've no objection to speaking to Yardley or any other man on their
behalf, but I'm hanged if I'll be regarded as their representative.
They'll make a strike-leader of me next."

"Well, they're simmering," Ashcott said, as he prepared to depart.
"They'll boil over before long. If they don't find a responsible
representative they'll probably run amuck and get up to mischief."

"Oh, man, stop croaking!" Dick said with weary irritation and went away
down the hill.

He took the cliff-path though the night was dark with storm-clouds.
Somehow, instinctively, his feet led him thither. There were no
nightingales singing now, and the gorse had long since faded in the
fierce heat of summer. The sea lay leaden far below him, barely visible
in the dimness. And there was no star in the sky.

Heavily he tramped over the ground where Juliet had lingered on that
night