His head sank on his breast. He waited--mastering his emotion before he spoke again. Now, at last, she knew him once more. Now he was the man, indeed, whom she had expected to see. Unconsciously she sat listening, with her eyes fixed on his face, with his heart hanging on his words, in the very attitude of the by-gone day when she had heard him for the first time! “I did all I could to plead for the helpless ones,” he resumed. “I went round among the holders of the land to say a word for the tillers of the land. ‘These patient people don’t want much’ (I said); ‘in the name of Christ, give them enough to live on!’ Political Economy shrieked at the horrid proposal; the Laws of Supply and Demand veiled their majestic faces in dismay. Starvation wages were the right wages, I was told. And why? Because the laborer was obliged to accept them! I determined, so far as one man could do it, that the laborer should _not_ be obliged to accept them. I collected my own resources--I wrote to my friends--and I removed some of the poor fellows to parts of England where their work was better paid. Such was the conduct which made the neighborhood too hot to hold me. So let it be! I mean to go on. I am known in London; I can raise subscriptions. The vile Laws of Supply and Demand shall find labor scarce in that agricultural district; and pitiless Political Economy shall spend a few extra shillings on the poor, as certainly as I am that Radical, Communist, and Incendiary--Julian Gray!” He rose--making a little gesture of apology for the warmth with which he had spoken--and took a turn in the room. Fired by _his_ enthusiasm, Mercy followed him. Her purse was in her hand, when he turned and faced her. “Pray let me offer my little tribute--such as it is!” she said, eagerly. A momentary flush spread over his pale cheeks as he looked at the beautiful compassionate face pleading with him. “No! no!” he said, smiling; “though I am a parson, I don’t carry the begging-box everywhere.” Mercy attempted to press the purse on him. The quaint humor began to twinkle again in his eyes as he abruptly drew back from it. “Don’t tempt me!” he said. “The frailest of all human creatures is a clergyman tempted by a subscription.” Mercy persisted, and conquered; she made him prove the truth of his own profound observation of clerical human nature by taking a piece of money from the purse. “If I must take it--I must!” he remarked. “Thank you for setting the good example! thank you for giving the timely help! What name shall I put down on my list?” Mercy’s eyes looked confusedly away from him. “No name,” she said, in a low voice. “My subscription is anonymous.” As she replied, the library door opened. To her infinite relief--to Julian’s secret disappointment--Lady Janet Roy and Horace Holmcroft entered the room together. “Julian!” exclaimed Lady Janet, holding up her hands in astonishment.