There was commotion that day in Dallory. An offer such as this of Richard North's, coming as it did in the very midst of distress and prolonged privation, could not be rejected off-hand without dissenting voices. The few men who had not joined the Union, who only wished to get back to work, pleaded for acceptance as if they were pleading for life. Strangers also--that is, gentlemen who had no direct interest in the question--went about amongst the men, striving to impress upon them where their obligations lay, and what their course ought to be. One of these was Dr. Rane. There had been a good deal of sickness lately--when is there not where privation reigns?--and the doctor's services were in great requisition. Every house he visited that day, every workman with whom he came into contact, he spoke to forcibly and kindly: urging them all most strongly not to reject this opportunity of putting themselves right with the world. It was one, he said, that might never occur again, if neglected now. Dr. Rane, whilst blaming the men, was sorry for them; keenly sorry for their wives and children. He had had a very fatiguing day. When the dusk of evening came on, he went and sat in the garden, tired and weary. Bessy had gone to spend the evening at Ham Court with Miss Dallory; and the doctor had promised to fetch her home. His ruminations still ran, as ever, on getting away from Dallory; but at present there seemed to be little chance of his doing it. Unless he could dispose of his practice here, he would not have the wherewithal to establish himself elsewhere. Had Oliver Rane been a less healthy man than he really was, he would long ago have thought and worried himself into a nervous fever. It grew darker. Dr. Rane struck his repeater--for it was too dark to see the hands--wondering whether it was time to go for his wife. No; not quite, he found; he could delay another quarter-of-an-hour yet. And he lapsed into his musings. The seat he had chosen was under the great cedar-tree at the extreme corner of the garden, close to the wire fence that divided his ground from Mrs. Cumberland's, and also close to that lady's back-door. Some foliage of clematis and woodbine would have hidden him from any one on the other side even in daylight, and Dr. Rane felt as solitary as he would have felt in an African desert. From his own troubles his thoughts went roaming off to other matters: to his mother's long sojourn at Eastsea; to wondering when she meant to return home; to speculating on what the workmen's answer to Richard North's call would be. "Will they show the white feather still? it is nothing less, this cowardly grovelling to the dictates of the Union," soliloquized Dr. Rane; "or will they respond to Dick like men of sense, and go back to him? If it were not for those agitators----"