“You can guess what I felt and how I tried to bring him to a better frame of mind. But he’s a different man from what he used to be. I couldn’t believe I was listening to Dingle. Changed into something outside his real character. It shows how weak natures can be influenced. Others have been getting at him—enemies to us for certain. It’s a cruel, wicked thing, and it knocked me out, as you see. But I’m not concerned with myself. I’ve got to think of you, Medora, and the future—our future. Of course, what really hurts the soul of man or woman is what they inflict upon themselves; but all the same—there it is—if he don’t divorce you, where are we?” “Where we were,” she said, and strove to make her voice sufficiently mournful. But she guessed that it would be difficult to discuss this tremendous information without sooner or later revealing her true sentiments. “Don’t let’s talk about it for the present,” she continued. “The future will take care of itself—it always does. For the minute, I’m only troubled about your health and happiness, Jordan. Whatever comes of this, we’ve been through a great experience, and the end of it all is this shock to your nerves.” “‘The end of it all,’ Medora?” “I mean, so far as we’ve got. You are the only one to think about for the minute—not me and not Dingle. The first thing is your health and strength, and I’m not going to leave you again, Jordan, till you’re set up, and find yourself as clever as ever you were.” “If you come to the lecture, that would go a long way to quieting my nerves.” “Of course I’ll come. I always meant to come. It was only a bit of temper saying I wouldn’t—I never thought not to come. But will you be well enough to give it?” “Oh, yes. This flurry arose from causes outside the lecture, and quite outside _the_ Cause. You understand?” “Yes,” she answered. “I do understand, and I’m thankful for it, Jordan; because I know very well it means much more to you than your own trade. And our little lives are as nothing to the big things in your mind.” “If I never made paper again,” he assured her, “it would be less—far less—of a grief and disaster to me than if I was shut off from taking my part in the great struggle for Labour.” “You’ll do both; you’ll do both. It’s only a passing shock. You’ll forget all about it, I hope, and be at work again as well as ever in a few days.” “I don’t think so, Medora. As far as that goes, I believe it’s serious. I haven’t had time to collect my thoughts yet, and it’s no good worrying till I’ve seen the doctor; but I’m none too hopeful. If the stroke once goes, it wants a lot of careful nursing to get it back, and often enough it’s gone for good.” “Only with men who drink, and that kind of thing. Such a one as you—a saint—and strong in body and mind, and healthy every way—of course it will come back.”