Her voice had become clearer and more like itself as she earnestly pleaded for her father. Some one in the main building had started a rollicking music-hall song then as infectious as an epidemic on the streets of London. The whole house had joined in the swinging chorus, beating time with the tramp of many feet. Neither of the two appeared to hear the song, but both raised their voices slightly to make themselves heard above the sound. “I care nothing for any personal triumph--nothing at all,” said Marsten. “If I could change places with your father and accept defeat for him I willingly would. But the men have trusted me----” “The men!” cried Edna, the scarlet chasing the whiteness from her cheeks as her eyes flashed and her voice rose. “What do the men care? Listen to them!” She waved her hand toward the hall. “They would sing and shout like that if their best friend was dying. Who has done more for his men than my father? He risked his life for them at the fire, and would do so again. He has built up the works that have given them employment. He has kept the shops full at a loss when times were bad, so that they might not starve. Every man was sure of his place as long as he deserved it, and no master in London was more loath than he to discharge a man.” She cast down her eyes as she suddenly remembered that one man had been discharged without cause by her father; then, without raising them, she pleaded again: “Why will not a real victory, without the name of it, satisfy you?” “Because it is not for these men alone who are now shouting that I am fighting. The eyes of all England are on this strike. An acknowledged victory over so strong a firm as that of Monkton & Hope will mean an easier victory for every man who is now earning his bread in this country, when he is compelled to strike for his just due. It will hearten every workingman and be a warning to every employer.” The chorus in the hall was broken by three sharp raps of a mallet on a table. The sound of the singing subsided, and the voice of some one calling the meeting to order was heard. Edna slowly raised her eyes and looked at him, with a flash of fearing defiance in them. She spoke in an agitated whisper. “You remember what you said to me in the garden at Eastbourne. If you will do what I ask of you, I will do as you wish when--when you ask me.” The young man, his trembling right hand clenching and unclenching nervously, strode a step forward. “No, no!” she cried. “Stay where you are. Answer me, answer me!” “Oh, Edna,” he whispered, “God knows I would do anything to win you,--anything,--yes, almost what you ask!” “Yes, or no?” she cried. “Answer me!” “I cannot be a traitor to the men!” As if in approval of this sentiment, a cheer rose from the hall. Some one was speaking, and even in his misery Marsten recognized the voice of Gibbons. Edna turned without a word and opened the door. Marsten followed her out. “Stay where you are,” she said, with a sob.