The people who sat before him stirred in their seats; some leaned forward, breathing quickly. There were those who turned pale; here and there a man bent his head and a woman choked back a sob, or sat motionless with streaming eyes. "Repentance is too late--except for him who buys hope and peace with it. A lifetime of it cannot _undo_." The old comfortable convention seemed to cease to be supporting. It seemed to cease to be true that one may wound and crush and kill, and then be admirable in escaping by smug repentance. It seemed to cease to be true that humanity need count only with an abstract, far-off Deity Who can easily afford to pardon--that one of his poor myriads has been done to death. It was all new--strange--direct--and each word fell like a blow from a hammer, because a strong, dramatic, reasoning creature spoke from the depths of his own life and soul. In him Humanity rose up an awful reality, which must itself be counted with--not because it could punish and revenge, but because the laws of nature cried aloud as a murdered man's blood cries from the ground. As Baird crossed the pavement to reach his cab, the first night he delivered this lecture, a man he knew but slightly stepped to his side and spoke to him. "Mr. Baird," he said, "will you drive me to the station?" Baird turned and looked at him in some surprise. There were cabs enough within hailing distance. The man was well known as a journalist, rather celebrated for his good looks and masculine charm. He was of the square-shouldered, easy-moving, rich-coloured type; just now his handsome eye looked perturbed. "I am going away suddenly," he said, in answer to Baird's questioning expression. "I want to catch the next train. I want you to see me off--_you_." "Let us get in," was Baird's brief reply. He had an instant revelation that the circumstance was not trivial or accidental. As the door closed and the cab rolled away his companion leaned back, folding his arms. "I had an hour to pass before keeping an appointment," he said. "And I dropped in to hear you. You put things before a man in a new way. You are appallingly vivid. I am not going to keep my appointment. It is not easy _not_ to keep it! I shall take the train to New York and catch to-morrow's steamer to Liverpool. Don't leave me until you have seen me off. I want to put the Atlantic Ocean and a year of time between myself and----" "Temptation," said Baird, though he scarcely realised that he spoke. "Oh, the devil!" exclaimed the other man savagely. "Call her that if you like--call me that--call the whole thing that! She does not realise where we are drifting. She's a lovely dreamer and has not realised that we are human. I did not allow myself to realise it until the passion of your words brought me face to face with myself. I am repenting in time. Don't leave me! I can't carry it through to-night alone."