come to the conclusion that the responsibility is too
heavy. I shall be doing the men themselves more harm than good. There is
the case in a nutshell. We differ--I can't help that. The responsibility
is mine."

Craven rose with a quick, nervous movement. The prophet spoke at last.

"You understand," he said, laying a thin hand on the table, "that the
condition of the workers in this trade is _infamous_!--that the award
and your action together plunge them back into a state of things which
is a _shame_ and a _curse_ to England!"

Wharton made no answer. He, too, had risen, and was putting away some
papers in a drawer. A tremor ran through Craven's tall frame; and for an
instant, as his eye rested on his companion, the idea of foul play
crossed his mind. He cast it out, that he might deal calmly with his own
position.

"Of course, you perceive," he said, as he took up his hat, "that I can
no longer on these terms remain the _Clarion's_ correspondent. Somebody
else must be found to do this business."

"I regret your decision, immensely," said Wharton, with perfect
suavity, "but of course I understand it. I trust, however, that you will
not leave us altogether. I can give you plenty of work that will suit
you. Here, for instance"--he pointed to a pile of Blue Books from the
Labour Commission lying on the table--"are a number of reports that want
analysing and putting before the public. You could do them in town at
your leisure."

Craven struggled with himself. His first instinct was to fling the offer
in Wharton's face. Then he thought of his wife; of the tiny new
household just started with such small, happy, self-denying shifts; of
the woman's inevitable lot, of the hope of a child.

"Thank you," he said, in a husky voice. "I will consider, I will write."

Wharton nodded to him pleasantly, and he went.

The owner of the _Clarion_ drew a long breath.

"Now I think on the whole it would serve my purpose best to sit down and
write to _her_--after that. It would be well that _my_ account should
come first."

A few hours later, after an interview with his bankers and a further
spell of letter-writing, Wharton descended the steps of his club in a
curious restless state. The mortgage on the _Clarion_ had been arranged
for, his gambling debts settled, and all his other money matters were
successfully in train. Nevertheless, the exhilaration of the morning had
passed into misgiving and depression.

Vague presentime