erbiage she could hear the words:
"South Africa--Details--" Mr. Cannon glanced at his watch impatiently.
Hilda could see, under her bent and frowning brow, his white hand moving
on the dark expanse of his waistcoat.

Immediately afterwards Mr. Cannon, interrupting, said:

"That'll be all right. Finish it. I must be off."

"Right you are!" said Dayson grandly. "I'll run down with it to the
printer's myself--soon as it's copied."

Mr. Cannon nodded. "And tell him we've got to be on the railway
bookstalls first thing to-morrow morning."

"He'll never do it."

"He must do it. I don't care if he works all night."

"But--"

"There hasn't got to be any 'buts,' Dayson. There's been a damned sight
too much delay as it is."

"All right! All right!" Dayson placated him hastily.

Mr. Cannon departed.

It seemed to Hilda that she shivered, but whether with pain or pleasure
she knew not. Never before had Mr. Cannon sworn in her presence. All day
his manner had been peculiar, as though the strain of mysterious
anxieties was changing his spirit. And now he was gone, and she had said
naught to him about the telegram from Miss Gailey!

Arthur Dayson rolled oratorically on in defence of the man whom
yesterday he had attacked.

And then Sowter, the old clerk, entered.

"What is it? Don't interrupt me!" snapped Dayson.

"There's the _Signal_.... Latest details.... This here Majuba business!"

"What do I care about your Majuba?" Dayson retorted. "I've got something
more important than your Majuba."

"It was the governor as told me to give it you," said Sowter, restive.

"Well, give it me, then; and don't waste my time!" Dayson held out an
imperial hand for the sheet. He looked at Hilda as if for moral support
and added, to her, in a martyred tone: "I suppose I shall have to dash
off a few lines about Sowter's Majuba while you're copying out my
article."

"And the governor said to remind you that Mr. Enville wants a proof of
his advertisement," Sowter called out sulkily as he was disappearing
down the stairs.

Hilda blushed, as she had blushed in writing George Cannon's first lie
about the printing of the first issue. She had accustomed herself to
lies, and really without any difficulty or hesitation. Yes! She had even
reached the level of being religiously proud of them! But now her
bullied and crushed conscience leaped up again, and in the swift alarm
of the shock her heart was once more violently beating. Yet amid