A cheer greeted her from the farther side of the market-place, where the police kept back a crowd that had waited all the evening to see the two Suffragettes from London, and not, as the local paper afterwards somewhat flamboyantly put it, to "worship from afar the apostle of progress and democracy, almost as the servants of the gods might wait at Olympic banquets for crumbs to fall from the rich man's table." It was a friendly cheer, she noticed, though this did not matter much. Nothing seemed to matter much, just then, except that the black mass of the cathedral towered overhead and looked unshakable. A little altercation floated down to her from the top of the steps, as she leaned motionless against the worn stones of the old balustrade. "Martha! You of all people! Disgracing me like that! However did you come to be mistaken for one of those screaming----?" "Well, I couldn't stand the humbug of it, there! Talking about free speech and all that fal-lal nonsense, and then----! I wouldn't let my cat be treated as they treated her, all for nothing----" "Nothing, do you call it? Coming here on purpose to interrupt----" "So did that ranting Socialist you think so much of! So did Mr. What's-his-name with the husky voice. Why didn't they tear _them_ to pieces? Now, you listen to me, James. You brought me here to-night because you said I'd got to be made to think. Very well. I've been made. If you don't like it, you should ha' let me stay at home, as I wanted to." She stuffed a mass of dropped stitches into a torn work-bag, and went down the steps, her chin in the air. "If that's politics," she called back to him from the pavement, "then it's time women got the vote, if it's only to put a stop to them!" The girl in grey came round the corner of the building and joined her comrade, who still waited in the shadow cast by the cathedral. Her muff was gone, her cap lopped over one eye, and she held her hand to her throat where the collar had been wrenched at; but her eyes shone with their unalterable courage and spirit. She knew better than any one that every skirmish in the battle they were out to fight was always won before a single blow was struck. "All right, are you? You did splendidly, for a first shot! Come along to the Martyrs' Cross; the police say we may hold a meeting there. Oh, I know you never have, but you can come and try. Any _idiot_ can speak after being chucked out of a Cabinet Minister's meeting!" Encouraged by this quaint process of exhaustion to regard herself as an orator, the woman who had never been to a political meeting till she went to be thrown out of one, walked across the market-place to shake hands with the Middle Ages on a spot where men and women were made to die, centuries ago, for having been born too soon. She found the girl in grey cheerfully assuring an interested crowd that she stood there as the champion of free speech. IV Filling the War Chest