alance, and her
lips twitched; then holding out her hand she took Mr. Lavender's and
gave it a good squeeze.

"You really are a dear," she said. "I think you ought to be in bed. My
name's Isabel, you know."

"Not to me," said Mr. Lavender. "You are the Dawn; nothing shall persuade
me to the contrary. And from henceforth I swear to rise with you every
morning."

"Oh, no!" cried the young lady, "please don't imagine that I sniff the
matutinal as a rule. I just happened to be in a night shift."

"No matter," said Mr. Lavender; "I shall see you with the eye of faith,
in your night shifts, and draw from the vision strength to continue my
public work beckoned by the fingers of the roseate future."

"Well," murmured the young lady, "so long for now; and do go back to
bed. It's only about five." And waving the tips of those fingers, she
ran lightly up the garden-path and disappeared into her house.

Mr. Lavender remained for a moment as if transfigured; then entering
his garden, he stood gazing up at her window, until the thought that she
might appear there was too much for him, and he went in.

XI

BREAKS UP A PEACE MEETING

While seated at breakfast on the morning after he had seen this vision,
Mr. Lavender, who read his papers as though they had been Holy Writ,
came on an announcement that a meeting would be held that evening at a
chapel in Holloway under the auspices of the "Free Speakers' League," an
association which his journals had often branded with a reputation, for
desiring Peace. On reading the names of the speakers Mr. Lavender felt
at once that it would be his duty to attend. "There will," he thought,
"very likely be no one there to register a protest. For in this country
we have pushed the doctrine of free speech to a limit which threatens
the noble virtue of patriotism. This is no doubt a recrudescence of
that terrible horse-sense in the British people which used to permit
everybody to have his say, no matter what he said. Yet I would rather
stay at home," he mused "for they will do me violence, I expect;
cowardice, however, would not become me, and I must go."

He was in a state of flurry all day, thinking of his unpleasant duty
towards those violent persons, and garbishing up his memory by reading
such past leaders in his five journals as bore on the subject. He spoke
no word of his intentions, convinced that he ran a considerable risk
at the hands of the Pacifists, but too sensible of his ho