The theory of the freedom of the will, says the latest philosophy, is nonsense, and worse than nonsense. If we seriously follow out such an idea, it leads us into a mad confusion--an insane chaos of impossibilities piled on impossibilities. We have no power to will this or that; we have the power of following and obeying the strongest motives, and acting upon them. It was in strict accordance with this principle that Myles behaved in this crisis of his fate: he followed and obeyed the strongest motives--he stayed at home. Soon after eight the next morning he left. Later on the same day, Mr. Hoyle, hearing of the disappearance of Frederick Spenceley, was perforce reminded of the words of the preacher, and learnt practically that he had wrought in vain; that, truly, all was vanity. BOOK III. [Illustration] CHAPTER I. THE DAWN OF NEW DAYS. It was August; the second August since that memorable one in 1862. This year, that of 1864, was in many respects a remarkable one in the annals of commerce, more especially in that branch of it known as the cotton trade. Strange events had been witnessed; amongst others, a wondering world had looked on at the great ‘scare’ which took place amongst the cotton lords, when the first mistaken rumours of peace were spread. The members of a trade whose greatest friend, it might have been supposed, would be peace, turned pale and trembled when peace was mentioned, and actually wished for the continuance of war; some of them saying that for them the alternative was war or ruin. Things grew somewhat more sane and better balanced, later; but the fact remained, that for once a great industry had seriously inclined her ear unto warlike councils, and had sought therein her profit. Despite all drawbacks, however, this last mighty daughter of civilisation was slowly arousing, and shaking off the paralysis which oppressed her. She stretched her huge limbs, and found that there was still life and vigour in them. Factories were being reopened on every side, and amongst those which were again working full time was that of Sebastian Mallory. He sat breakfasting one Friday morning, alone, opening his letters, and with the unopened newspapers beside him. He usually breakfasted alone now, and had grown quite accustomed to it. Mrs. Mallory rather avoided his society, and he, when he thought about the matter at all, felt the absence to be a relief rather than otherwise.