‘I write this,’ began Mrs. Mutimer, ’because it’s a long time since you’ve been to see us, and because I want to say something that’s better written than spoken.  I saw Emma last night, and I’m feeling uncomfortable about her.  She’s getting very low, and that’s the truth.  Not as she says anything, nor shows it, but she’s got a deal on her hands, and more on her mind.  You haven’t written to her for three weeks.  You’ll be saying it’s no business of mine, but I can’t stand by and see Emma putting up with things as there isn’t no reason.  Jane is in a very bad way, poor girl; I can’t think she’ll live long.  Now, Dick, what I’m aiming at you’ll see.  I can’t understand why you don’t get married and done with it.  Jane won’t never be able to work again, and that Kate ’ll never keep up a dressmaking.  Why don’t you marry Emma, and take poor Jane to live with you, where she could be well looked after? for she won’t never part from her sister.  And she does so hope and pray to see Emma married before she goes.  You can’t surely be waiting for her death.  Now, there’s a good lad of mine, come and marry your wife at once, and don’t make delays.  That’s all, but I hope you’ll think of it; and so, from your affectionate old mother,

‘S.  MUTIMER.’

Richard read the letter several times, and sat at home through the morning in despondency.  It had got to the pass that he could not marry Emma; for all his suffering he no longer gave a glance in that direction.  Not even if Adela Waltham refused him; to have a ‘lady’ for his wife was now an essential in his plans for the future, and he knew that the desired possession was purchasable for coin of the realm.  No way of retreat any longer; movement must be forward, at whatever cost.

He let a day intervene, then replied to his mother’s letter.  He represented himself as worked to death and without a moment for his private concerns; it was out of the question for him to marry for a few weeks yet.  He would write to Emma, and would send her all the money she could possibly need to supply the sick girl with comforts.  She must keep up her courage, and be content to wait a short while longer.  He was quite sure she did not complain; it was only his mother’s fancy that she was in low spirits, except, of course, on Jane’s account.

Another fortnight went by.  Skies were lowering towards winter, and the sides of the valley showed bare patches amid the rich-hued death of leaves; ere long a night of storm would leave ‘ruined choirs.’  Richard was in truth working hard.  He had just opened a course of lectures at a newly established Socialist branch in Belwick.  The extent of his daily correspondence threatened to demand the services of a secretary in addition to the help already given by Rodman.  Moreover, an event of importance was within view; the New Wanley Public Hall was completed, and its formal opening must be made an occasion of ceremony.  In that ceremony Richard would be the