They accused Blatz himself of apostasy when he again pleaded in favour of the artist. They would do without Mr. Karne’s gifts rather than be robbed of the faith of their forefathers. They would ask one of the Rothschilds or Montefiores to build them a club; they would accept nothing more from Herbert Karne. The meeting broke up in noisy confusion, a motion being carried to arrange further proceedings the following night. The men dispersed in twos and threes, each discoursing volubly with his neighbour in whatever his native language happened to be. Emil Blatz went on his way alone, with heavy heart and thoughtful brow. Usually he himself, as foreman, took the lead in factory affairs, but to-night he had been superseded. The men had been swayed by Strelitzki and Horwitz, who by common consent had established themselves as leaders, and their temper boded no good towards Herbert Karne. Blatz possessed a strong admiration for the artist, who had done him many a good turn. He could not forget a certain eventful night, when his boy lay dying, and Karne had kept vigil with him for eight weary hours, until, at dawn, the little soul had fled into the dim unknown. He felt he owed him a debt of gratitude for that, which, if it were in his power, he must repay. Almost involuntarily his steps turned towards the Towers, although he had only a vague idea as to what he intended to do. Without giving himself time for thought he pressed the visitors’ bell. Noiselessly the gate swung back, gaining him admittance to the grounds. The coachman’s wife peered out at him as he drew near the lodge, but offered no resistance: and with careful steps he passed along the gravelled path which bounded the lawn, until the house with its ornamental turrets loomed clear against the blackness of the night. Presently the sound of music made him pause; the mellow tones of a piano, and then a woman’s voice, full, rich, and clear. Blatz listened with eager attention, for he was a musician born. Softly and sweetly the notes floated towards him through the half-open windows. He recognized the melody; it was an _aria_ from _Elijah_. Moving a few steps to the right he found himself in full view of the drawing-room. The blinds had not been lowered; and through the transparent curtains he could see the interior of the room. The scene struck him strangely, being in such marked contrast to the one he had just left. It was as if, in the midst of turbulent strife, he had suddenly come upon a haven of rest. Here for one short moment he might breathe the atmosphere of peace and refinement. Although but a humble factory worker, Blatz possessed a passionate love of the beautiful; and this luxurious apartment, with its dainty touches of femininity, awakened a keen thrill of pleasure within his breast.