“You know what this means?” Litchfield had demanded of him.  “You realize that your action to-morrow will deprive us of millions, and will plunge the country into a panic which will cost that dear public which you profess to love, more than we should have kept from them in a decade?”

“Yes,” replied Gorham, resolutely; “I realize it all.  It is a simple case of surgery—­it may be necessary to sacrifice the limb to save the life.  You, gentlemen, have had it in your power to place the standard of the business world so high that no longer would other nations gaze at our marvellous machine, appalled by its pace—­politically, socially, financially—­wondering whether they or we read correctly the danger-signals ahead.  You have had it in your power, and you refused to embrace the opportunity; and if men of your intelligence and high standing in the world are not ready for it, then the world itself is not ready.  The people have trusted themselves to me, and have placed in my hands power beyond that which has ever yet been given; now that I have learned how that power may be misused against them, I will prevent their betrayal.”

From his office, Gorham returned to his home before leaving for Washington.  It was from Riley’s hand, as he entered, that he received the telegram from his Denver attorneys, announcing that the lawyer, Jennings, was already on his way East, bringing with him absolute evidence that the divorce papers had been properly served on Buckner.  Strengthened for the ordeal before him by the removal of this burden, he sought Eleanor; but she met him in the hallway before he reached her room.

“Robert,” she said, impulsively, after looking for a moment searchingly into his face—­“something has happened, and the light in your eyes tells me that all is well.  You have decided not to take that awful step.”

“All is well, dear heart,” he repeated, handing her the telegram; “but it would not be so except that the ‘awful step’ has already been taken.”

“Then there is no doubt regarding the divorce?” she cried, joyfully, after reading the telegram.

“There never has been,” he replied, as he pressed her to him.

“May I tell the children?” she asked, happily, a moment later, and Alice and Allen responded quickly.

The Consolidated Companies was forgotten in the joy of the new knowledge, and it was Allen who first made reference to it.

“Are you really going to put things through as you said, Mr. Gorham?”

“The die is cast, my boy; I leave for Washington to-night.”

“Then monopolies are doomed?”

“Monopolies can never be prevented,” Gorham answered, seriously, “but I hope that my action to-morrow will go far toward forcing their control.  You and I have seen the impossibility of trying to make them change their spots.  I thought I had solved the problem, but I was wrong.  Far ahead in the future, beyond the point which our present vision reaches, perhaps the solution lies.  Until it is found, the Government must protect itself and the people it represents.”