Monday afternoon came. Winnington had been called away to Wanchester by urgent County business; against his will, for there had been some bad rioting the day before at Latchford, and he would rather have gone to help his brother magistrates. But there was no help for it. Lady Tonbridge was at the little Georgian house, shutting it up for six months. Delia was left alone in the Abbey, consumed with a restless excitement she had done her best to hide from her companions. She suddenly made up her mind that she would go and see for herself, and by herself, what was happening at Monk Lawrence. She set out unobserved and on foot, and had soon climbed the hill and reached the wood walk along its crest where she had once met Lathrop. Half way through, she came on two persons whom she at once recognised as the science-mistress, Miss Jackson, and Miss Toogood. They were waiting slowly, and, as it seemed to Delia, sadly; the little dressmaker limping painfully, with her head thrown back and a face of fixed and tragic distress. When they saw Delia, they stopped in agitation. "Oh, Miss Blanchflower!--" Delia who knew that Miss Jackson had been in town hoping for work at the Central Office of the League of Revolt, divined at once that she had been disappointed. "They couldn't find you anything?" The teacher shook her head. "And the Governors have given me a month's salary here in lieu of notice. I've left the school, Miss Blanchflower! I was in the Square you know, that day--and at the Police Court afterwards. That was what did it. And I have my old mother to keep." A pair of haggard eyes met Delia's. "Oh, but I'll help!" cried Delia.--"You must let me help!--won't you?" "Thank you--but I've got a few savings," said the teacher quietly. "It isn't that so much. It's--well, Miss Toogood feels it too. She was in town--she saw everything. And she knows what I mean. We're disheartened--that's what it is!" "With the movement?" said Delia, after a moment. "It seemed so splendid when we talked of it down here--and--it _was_--so horrible!" Her voice dropped. "So horrible!" echoed Miss Toogood drearily. "It wasn't what we meant, somehow. And yet we'd read about it. But to see those young women beating men's faces--well, it did for me!" "The police were rough too!" cried Miss Jackson. "But you couldn't wonder at it, Miss Blanchflower, could you?" Delia looked into the speaker's frank, troubled face. "You and I felt the same," she said in a choked voice. "It was ugly--and it was absurd." She walked back with them a little way, comforting them, as best she could. And her sympathy, her sweetness did--strangely--comfort them. When she left them, they walked on, talking tenderly of her, counting on _her_ good fortune, if there was none for them. At the end of the walk, towards Monk Lawrence, another figure emerged from the distance. Delia started, then gathered all her wits; for it was Lathrop.