thought that such an intellect as his should be thus wasted. He is a man who might have done almost anything in the scientific world, and now he seems destined to waste his life, a dreamer of dreams, a sort of modern St. Francis in a world lacking in idealism, and where he will be looked upon as a wandering lunatic rather than a saint." I sat silent for a few minutes. I had not quite realised that poor Armitage had come to this--a frequenter of casual wards, a homeless and wandering lunatic; my brother was right, the world would judge him as such. I was not, however, in the least surprised at the news. The servants had by now come down and we had breakfast brought to the study, and I gave Raymond an account of my night's proceedings. When I concluded my brother said, "Well, Isabel, you will remain almost alone at the _Tocsin_. Kosinski is leaving, Giannoli is gone, Armitage is otherwise occupied. Will you be able to keep it going?" "Oh, I could keep it going," I replied. "There are still a lot of comrades hanging on to it; new ones are constantly turning up. The work can be done between us, there is no doubt of that. It is rather of myself that I doubt. I begin to feel isolated in the midst of the others; I cannot believe that people like Short and Simpkins can change Society; they would have to begin reforming themselves, and that they are incapable of. I can admire a man like Kosinski: I cannot exactly sympathise with him. As to Armitage, I can only grieve that he should thus waste his life and talents. Probably, had he thought a little more of his personal happiness, he would have avoided falling a victim to monomania, for such he is in part. And then--and then--it is not only of others that I doubt, but of myself. Am I really doing any good? Can I sincerely believe that the _Tocsin_ will help towards the regeneration of mankind? Can mankind be regenerated? When such questions never occurred to me, or, if they did, were answered by my brain with an unhesitating affirmative, then it was easy to work. No difficulties could daunt me; everything seemed easy, straightforward. But now--but now...." "Well, then, why don't you give it up, Isabel?" "Give it up? Oh, how could I? I have never really thought of that. Oh no; the paper must come out. I have undertaken it. I must go on with it." "And you an Anarchist! Why, I always thought you believed in the absolute freedom of the individual, and here you are saying that you must go on with a work in which you no longer feel the requisite confidence, for the mere reason that you once, under other circumstances, started it."