I tore off a bit of
paper, and passed a line to Bennett asking him to get hold of Edward, to
stop it. But I think Bennett had rather lost his presence of mind, and I
saw him look back at me and shake his head. Then time was up, and they
began to shout him down."

Marcella made an exclamation of horror. He turned to her.

"I think it was the most tragic scene I ever saw," he said with a
feeling as simple as it was intense. "This crowd so angry and
excited--without a particle of understanding or sympathy--laughing, and
shouting at him--and he in the midst--white as death--talking this
strange nonsense--his voice floating in a high key, quite unlike itself.
At last just as I was getting up to go to him, I saw Bennett rise. But
we were both too late. He fell at our feet!"

Marcella gave an involuntary sob! "What a horror!" she said, "what a
martyrdom!"

"It was just that," he answered in a low voice--"It was a martyrdom. And
when one thinks of the way in which for years past he has held these big
meetings in the hollow of his hand, and now, because he crosses their
passion, their whim,--no kindness!--no patience--nothing but a blind
hostile fury! Yet _they_ thought him a traitor, no doubt. Oh! it was all
a tragedy!"

There was silence an instant. Then he resumed:

"We got him into the back room. Luckily there was a doctor on the
platform. It was heart failure, of course, with brain prostration. We
managed to get him home, and Susie Hallin and I sat up. He was delirious
all night; but yesterday he rallied, and last night he begged us to move
him out of London if we could. So we got two doctors and an invalid
carriage, and by three this afternoon we were all at the Court. My aunt
was ready for him--his sister is there--and a nurse. Clarke was there to
meet him. He thinks he cannot possibly live more than a few
weeks--possibly even a few days. The shock and strain have been
irreparable."

Marcella lay back in her chair, struggling with her grief, her head and
face turned away from him, her eyes hidden by her handkerchief. Then in
some mysterious way she was suddenly conscious that Aldous was no longer
thinking of Hallin, but of her.

"He wants very much to see you," he said, bending towards her; "but I
know that you have yourself serious illness to nurse. Forgive me for not
having enquired after Mr. Boyce. I trust he is better?"

She sat up, red-eyed, but mistress of herself. The tone had been all
gentleness, but t