"He's lost it all," she cried. "An' he won it with his own hands an' worked for it an' bore up agen a world! An' it's gone!" It was when she came to this point that her terror seized on her as it had never done before. She got up, shaking in every limb. "I'll go to him myself," she said. "Who should go to him but his mother? Who should find him an' be a help to him if I can't? Jem--Jem, my dear, it's me that's comin' to you--_me_!" He had been sitting in a small back office in the Bank all through the day when they had been calling and searching for him. He had got in early and locked the door and waited, knowing well enough all that was to come. It was no feeling of fear that made him keep hidden; he had done with fear--if, indeed, he had ever felt it in his life. He knew what he was going to do and he laid his plans coolly. He was to stay here and do the work that lay before him and leave things as straight as he could, and then at night when all was quiet he would make his way out in the dark and go to the Works. It was only a fancy, this, of going to the Works, but he clung to it persistently. He had never been clearer-headed in his life--only, sometimes as he was making a calculation or writing a letter he would dash down his work and fall to cursing. "There's not another chap in England that had done it," he would say. "And it's gone!--it's gone!--it's gone!" Then again he would break into a short laugh, remembering the M. P. and his speech and poor Ffrench's stumbling, overwhelmed reply to it. When he heard the crowd shouting and hooting at the front, he went into a room facing the street and watched them through a chink in the shutter. He heard the red-faced farmer's anathemas, and swore a little himself, knowing his story was true. "Tha shalt have all Haworth can give, chaps," he muttered, "an' welcome. He'll tak' nowt with him." He laughed again but suddenly stopped, and walked back into the little office silently, and waited there. At nightfall he went out of a back door and slipped through unfrequented by-ways, feeling his heart beat with heavy thuds as he went. Nothing stood in his way and he got in, as he believed he should. The instant his foot crossed the threshold a change came upon him. He forgot all else but what lay before him. He was less calm, and in some little hurry. He reached his room and lighted the gas dimly--only so that he could see to move about. Then he went to his desk and opened it and took out one of a pair of pistols, speaking aloud as he did so. "Here," he said, "is the end of Jem Haworth." He knew where to aim, the heavy thuds marked the spot for him. "I'll count three," he said, "and then----" He began slowly, steadily, but in a voice that fell with a hollow sound upon the dead stillness.