Considerations of larger scope did not come within the purview of his intellect.  It never occurred to him, for instance, that in forfeiting his honour in this instance he began a process of undermining which would sooner or later threaten the stability of the purposes on which he most prided himself.  A suggestion that domestic perfidy was in the end incompatible with public zeal would have seemed to him ridiculous, and for the simple reason that he recognised no ’moral sanctions.  He could not regard his nature as a whole; he had no understanding for the subtle network of communication between its various parts.  Nay, he told himself that the genuineness and value of his life’s work would be increased by a marriage with Adela Waltham; he and she would represent the union of classes—­of the wage-earning with the bourgeois, between which two lay the real gist of the combat.  He thought of this frequently, and allowed the thought to inspirit him.

To the question of whether Adela would ever find out what he had done, and, if so, with what result, he gave scarcely a moment.  Marriages are not undone by subsequent discovery of moral faults on either side.

This is a tabular exposition of the man’s consciousness.  Logically, there should result from it a self-possessed state of mind, bordering on cynicism.  But logic was not predominant in Mutimer’s constitution.  So far from contemplating treason with the calm intelligence which demands judgment on other grounds than the common, he was in reality possessed by a spirit of perturbation.  Such reason as he could command bade him look up and view with scorn the ragged defenders of the forts; but whence came this hail of missiles which kept him so sore?  Clearly there was some element of his nature which eluded grasp and definition, a misty influence making itself felt here and there.  To none of the sources upon which I have touched was it clearly traceable; in truth, it arose from them all.  The man had never in his life been guilty of offence against his graver conscience; he had the sensation of being about to plunge from firm footing into untried depths.  His days were troubled; his appetite was not what it should have been; he could not take the old thorough interest in his work.  It was becoming clear to him that the matter must be settled one way or another with brief delay.

One day at the end of September he received a letter addressed by Alice.  On opening it he found, with much surprise, that the contents were in his mother’s writing.  It was so very rarely that Mrs. Mutimer took up that dangerous instrument, the pen, that something unusual must have led to her doing so at present.  And, indeed, the letter contained unexpected matter.  There were numerous errors of orthography, and the hand was not very legible; but Richard got at the sense quickly enough.