He would have kept away from Clerkenwell that evening, but even this Adela would not let him do.  She insisted that he must be seen and heard, that the force of innocence would prevail even with his enemies.  The couple of hours he passed with her were spent in ceaseless encouragement on her side, in violent tirades on his.  He paced the room like a caged lion, at one moment execrating Rodman, the next railing against the mob to whose interests he had devoted himself.  Now and then his voice softened, and he spoke of Alice.

’The scoundrel set even her against me!  If she lives, perhaps she’ll believe I’m guilty; how can my word stand against her husband’s?  Why, he isn’t her husband at all!  It’s a good thing if she dies—­the best thing that could happen.  What will become of her?  What are we to call her?  She’s neither married nor single.  Can we keep it from her, do you think?  No, that won’t do; she must be free to marry an honest man.  You’ll try and make friends with her, Adela—­if ever you’ve the chance?  She’ll have to live with us, of course unless she’d rather live with mother.  We mustn’t tell her for a long time, till she’s strong enough to bear it.’

He with difficulty ate a few mouthfuls and went off to Clerkenwell.  In the erstwhile dancing-saloon it was a night of tempest.  Mutimer had never before addressed an unfriendly audience.  After the first few interruptions he lost his temper, and with it his cause, as far as these present hearers were concerned.  When he left them, it was amid the mutterings of a storm which was not quite—­only not quite—­ready to burst in fury.

’Who knows you won’t take yer ‘ook before to-morrow?’ cried a voice as he neared the door.

‘Wait and see!’ Mutimer shouted in reply, with a savage laugh.  ’I’ve a word or two to say yet to blackguards like you.’

He could count on some twenty pairs of fists in the room, if it came to that point; but he was allowed to depart unmolested.

On the way home he called at the hospital.  There was no change in Alice’s condition.

The next day he remained at home till it was time to start for Clerkenwell Green.  He was all but worn out, and there was nothing of any use to be done before the meeting assembled.  Adela went for him to the hospital and brought back still the same report.  He ate fairly well of his midday dinner, seeming somewhat calmer.  Adela, foreseeing his main danger, begged him to address the people without anger, assured him that a dignified self-possession would go much farther than any amount of blustering.  He was induced to promise that he would follow her advice.

He purposed walking to the Green; the exercise would perhaps keep his nerves in order.  When it was time to start, he took Adela’s hand, and for a second time kissed it.  She made an effort over herself and held her lips to him.  The ‘good-bye’ was exchanged, with a word of strengthening from Adela; but still he did not go.  He was endeavouring to speak.