The deputation then withdrew, and Marsten paced up and down the room, wondering if the directors were giving Sartwell as uneasy a time as the men were giving him. As was the case during the former strike, the Salvation Hall had been placed at the disposal of the men. Marsten had called no meetings except the one that had ushered in the strike. He made his headquarters, however, in a room that opened upon the platform, and which also communicated with a narrow lane that led along the outside of the hall to the street. Here his pickets reported to him, and here the work made necessary by the strike--the bookkeeping and the correspondence--was done. Here also letters and telegrams were received. It was a bare room with only two or three chairs and a rough table as its furnishing. Several religious and moral mottoes were tacked on the boards that formed the walls. “Love one another” was the sentence that met Mars-ten’s eye whenever he looked up from his seat at the table. He sometimes smiled sadly as he gazed at it. Marsten paused in his walk, and sat down at the table on hearing a knock at the outside door. A telegraph messenger entered and handed him an envelope. Marsten tore it open, and read the single word “Stopped.” The word had come from the other side of the earth, travelling from Sydney, New South Wales, to London. A gleam of savage joy lit up the eyes of the young man, and, to the amazement of the messenger, he brought his fist down heavily on the deal table. “There is no answer,” he said to the waiting boy, suddenly recollecting that he was not alone; “and,” he added to himself, “there will be no answer but one from Monkton & Hope.” Once more he paced the room up and down, his frame quivering with the delight of battle and the fore-knowledge of victory. The motto, “Love one another,” shone peacefully, but unnoticed, on the wall. CHAPTER XXXVI.