“Through Miss Abbeway,” Julian answered. “You have her to thank. I can assure you that every charge I have made can be substantiated.” There was a little murmur of confidence. Everyone seemed to find speech difficult. “One word more,” Julian went on. “Don’t disband this Council. Keep it together, just as it is. Keep this building. Keep our association and sanctify it to one purpose--victory.” A loud clamour of applause answered him. Once more Cross glanced towards the prostrate form upon the sofa. “Let no one interfere,” Julian enjoined. “There is an Act which will deal with him. He will be removed from this place presently, and he will not be heard of again for a little time. We don’t want a soul to know how nearly we were duped. It rests with every one of you to destroy all the traces of what might have happened. You can do this if you will. To-morrow call a meeting of the Council. Appoint a permanent chairman, a new secretary, draw out a syllabus of action for promoting increased production, for stimulating throughout every industry a passionate desire for victory. If speaking, writing, or help of mine in any way is wanted, it is yours. I will willingly be a disciple of the cause. But this morning let me be your ambassador. Let me go to the Premier with a message from you. Let me tell him what you have resolved.” “Hands up all in favour!” Cross exclaimed. Every hand was raised. Bright came back from the couch, blinking underneath his heavy spectacles but meekly acquiescent. “Let us remember this hour,” the Bishop begged, “as something solemn in our lives. The Council of Labour shall justify itself, shall voice the will or the people, fighting for victory.” “For the Peace which comes through Victory!” Julian echoed. CHAPTER XXII The Bishop and Catherine, a few weeks later, walked side by side up the murky length of St. Pancras platform. The train which they had come to meet was a quarter of an hour late, and they had fallen into a sort of reminiscent conversation which was not without interest to both of them. “I left Mr. Stenson only an hour ago,” the Bishop observed. “He could talk about nothing but Julian Orden and his wonderful speeches. They say that at Sheffield and Newcastle the enthusiasm was tremendous, and at three shipbuilding yards on the Clyde the actual work done for the week after his visit was nearly as much again. He seems to have that extraordinary gift of talking straight to the hearts of the men. He makes them feel.” “Mr. Stenson wrote me about it,” Catherine told her companion, with a little smile. “He said that no dignity that could be thought of or invented would be an adequate offering to Julian for his services to the country. For the first time since the war, Labour seems wholly and entirely, passionately almost, in earnest. Every one of those delegates went back full of enthusiasm, and with every one of them, Julian, before he has finished, is going to make a little tour in his own district.”