"Your message came through; this may possibly do the same," he remarked. He turned off the radiator as orderly as though he had reached the close of a working day, and they went out together, locking the doors behind them. "They were attacking Hanwood when you left?" she asked with the tensest interest. They had sent off the telescript, and it seemed to Irene that they had reached the end of things. "Yes," he replied. "But all the same," he added, as a fresh outburst of cries rose from the street, and the light through the shattered window attracted a renewed fusillade of missiles, "I think that we have kept our promise to let you be in the thick of it." She shook her head with the very faintest smile. "That seems a very long time ago. But you, how could _you_ come? When I sent I never thought ... I never dreamed----" "It was possible to leave," he said. "My work is done. Yes," in reply to her startled glance, "it has all happened!" "You mean----?" she asked eagerly. He took a paper from his pocket-book. It was, as she saw immediately, a telescript from Sir John Hampden. It had reached him at Hanwood an hour before he left. "I have this afternoon received a deputation of Ministerialists who have the adherence of a majority in the House without taking the Opposition into account," she read. "The Parliamentary Representation Committees throughout the country are frantically insisting upon members accepting _any terms_, if we will give an undertaking that the normal balance of trade and labour shall be restored at once. The Cabinet is going to pieces every hour, and the situation can no longer either be faced or ignored by the Government. There will be a great scene in the House to-night. The deputation will see me again to-morrow morning with a formal decision. I have confidential assurances that a complete acceptance is a foregone conclusion. The arrival of the Midland colliers to-night, if not of those from Monmouth, will precipitate matters." Tears she could not hold back stood in her eyes as she returned to him the paper. "Then it has not been in vain," she said softly. "No," he replied. "Nothing has been in vain." They stood silently for a minute, looking back over life. So might two shipwrecked passengers have stood on a frail raft waiting for the end, resigned but not unhopeful of a larger destiny beyond, while the elements boiled and roared around them. "It was very weak of me to send that message," said Irene presently; "the message that brought you. I suppose," she added, "that it _was_ the message that brought you?" "Yes, thank God!" he replied. "And if it had been impossible for you to come? If it had been an utterly critical moment in every way, what would you have done?" He laughed a little, quietly, as he looked at her. "The question did not arise, fortunately," he replied.