arrived
and there was a general air of seriousness. Mr. Foley sent one to
Maraton, who glanced at the opening page upon which his name was
displayed in large type:

FIVE MILLION WORKERS WAIT FOR

MARATON!

WHAT THE STRIKE MAY MEAN.

HOME SECRETARY LEAVES POST MANCHESTER.

TO-MORROW.

ILLEGAL STRIKES BILL TO RE PROPOSED

ON MONDAY.

Maraton only glanced at the paper and put it on one side. There was a
little constraint. One or two who had not known of his identity were
glancing curiously in his direction. Mr. Foley smiled at him
pleasantly.

"You may drink your port without fear, Mr. Maraton," he said. "We live
in civilised ages. A thousand years ago, you would certainly have had
some cause for suspicion!"

Maraton raised his glass to his lips and sipped the wine critically.

"I am afraid," he remarked, with a gleam in his eyes, "that there are a
good many of you who may be wishing that they could set back time a
thousand years!"

Mr. Foley shook his head.

"No," he decided, "to-day's principles are the best. We argue away what
is wrong in the minds of our enemies, and we take unto ourselves what
they bring us of good. If you would rather, Mr. Maraton, we will not
talk politics at all. On the other hand, the news to-night is serious.
Armley here is wondering what the actual results will be if Sheffield,
Leeds, and Manchester stand together, and the railway strike comes at
the same time."

"I do not know that I wonder at all," Lord Armley declared. "The result
will be ruin.

"There is no such thing as permanent destruction," Maraton objected.
"The springs of human life are never crushed. Sometimes a generation
must suffer that succeeding ones may be blest."

"The question is," Mr. Foley said, holding up his wine-glass, "how far
we are justified in experiments concerning which nothing absolute can be
known, experiments of so disastrous a nature."

A servant entered and made a communication to Mr. Foley, who turned at
once to Maraton.

"It is your secretary," he announced, "who has arrived from London with
some letters."

Maraton at once followed the servant from the room. Mr. Foley, too,
rose to his feet.

"In ten minutes or so," he declared, "I shall follow you. We can have
our chat quietly in the study."

Maraton followed the butler across the hall and found himself ushered
into a room at the back of the house--a room lined with books; with
French windows, wide open, leading out on to the