Julian smiled as he leaned towards her. A kind of resentment of which he had been conscious, even though in some measure ashamed of it, resentment at her unswerving loyalty to the task she had set herself, melted away. He suddenly knew why he had kissed her, on that sunny morning on the marshes, an ecstatic and incomprehensible moment which had seemed sometimes, during these days of excitement, as though it had belonged to another life and another world. He took both her hands in his, and, stooping down, kissed her on the lips. “Dear Catherine,” he said, “I am so glad that you came to me. I think that during these last few days we have forgotten to be human, and it might help us--for after all, you know, we are engaged!” “But that,” she whispered, “was only for my sake.” “At first, perhaps,” he admitted, “but now for mine.” Her little sigh of content, as she stole nearer to him, was purely feminine. The moments ticked on in restful and wonderful silence. Then, unwillingly, she drew away from his protecting arm. “My dear,” she said, “you look so nice as you are, and it is such happiness to be here, but there is a great task before us.” “You are right,” he declared, straightening himself. “Wait for a few minutes, dear. We shall find them all at Westminster--the place will be open all night. Close your eyes and rest while I am away.” “I am rested,” she answered softly, “but do not be long. The car is outside, and on the way I have more to tell you about Nicholas Fenn.” CHAPTER XXI If the closely drawn blinds of the many windows of Westminster Buildings could have been raised that night and early morning, the place would have seemed a very hive of industry. Twenty men were hard at work in twenty different rooms. Some went about their labours doubtfully, some almost timorously, some with jubilation, one or two with real regret. Under their fingers grew the more amplified mandates which, following upon the bombshell of the already prepared telegrams, were within a few hours to paralyse industrial England, to keep her ships idle in the docks, her trains motionless upon the rails, her mines silent, her forges cold, her great factories empty. Even the least imaginative felt the thrill, the awe of the thing he was doing. On paper, in the brain, it seemed so wonderful, so logical, so certain of the desired result. And now there were other thoughts forcing their way to the front. How would their names live in history? How would Englishmen throughout the world regard this deed? Was it really the truth they were following, or some false and ruinous shadow? These were fugitive doubts, perhaps, but to more than one of those midnight toilers they presented themselves in the guise of a chill and drear presentiment.