ored to
generous calm, he could admit that such men as Runcorn and Kenyon--the
one with his polyarchic commercialism, the other with his demagogic
violence--had possibly a useful part to play at the present stage of
things. He, however, could have no place in that camp. Too indiscreetly
he had hoisted his standard of idealism, and by stubborn resistance of
insuperable forces he had merely brought forward the least satisfactory
elements of his own character. 'Hold on!' cried Malkin. 'Fight the
grovellers to the end!' But Earwaker had begun to see himself in a
light of ridicule. There was just time to save his self-respect.

He was in no concern for his daily bread. With narrower resources in
the world of print, he might have been compelled, like many another
journalist, to swallow his objections and write as Runcorn dictated;
for the humble folks at home could not starve to allow him the luxury
of conscientiousness, whatever he might have been disposed to do on his
own account. Happily, his pen had a scope beyond politics, and by
working steadily for reviews, with which he was already connected, he
would be able to keep his finances in reasonable order until,
perchance, some hopeful appointment offered itself. In a mood of much
cheerfulness he turned for ever from party uproar, and focused his mind
upon those interests of humanity which so rarely coincide with the aims
of any league among men.

Half a year went by, and at length he granted himself a short holiday,
the first in a twelvemonth. It took the form of a voyage to Marseilles,
and thence of a leisurely ramble up the Rhone. Before returning, he
spent a day or two in Paris, for the most part beneath cafe' awnings,
or on garden seats--an indulgence of contented laziness.

On the day of his departure, he climbed the towers of Notre Dame, and
lingered for half-an-hour in pleasant solitude among the stone
monsters. His reverie was broken by an English voice, loud and animated:

'Come and look at this old demon of a bird; he has always been a
favourite of mine.--Sure you're not tired, Miss Bella? When you want to
rest, Miss Lily, mind you say so at once. What a day! What a sky!--When
I was last up here I had my hat blown away. I watched it as far as
Montmartre. A fact! Never knew such a wind in my life--unless it was
that tornado I told you about--Hollo! By the powers, if that isn't
Earwaker! Confound you, old fellow! How the deuce do you do? What a
glorious meeting