happens, you will remember that there was one who at least wished to be worthy of your love.” He could remember the proud, brave look; again he felt the trembling of the hand that timidly sought his for an instant; he could almost scent the white-rose again, and hear the murmur of the people in the corridor.  And this was the woman, into whose eyes he had looked as if they were the eyes of his wife, who was to be taken away from him by means of a couple of sheets of note-paper all covered over with little specious suggestions.

He thrust the letter into a pocket, and hurriedly proceeded with his dressing, for he had a breakfast appointment.  Indeed, before he was ready, the porter came up and said that a gentleman had called for him, and was waiting for him in the coffee-room.

“Ask him what he will have for breakfast, and let him go on.  I shall be down presently.”

When Brand did at length go down, he found that his visitor had frankly accepted this permission, and had before him a large plate of corned-beef, with a goodly tankard of beer.  Mr. John Molyneux, although he was a great authority among English workmen generally, and especially among the trades-unionists of the North, had little about him of the appearance of the sleek-haired demagogue as that person is usually represented to us.  He was a stout, yeoman-looking man, with a frosty-red face and short silver-white whiskers; he had keen, shrewd blue eyes, and a hand that gave a firm grip.  The fact is, that Molyneux had in early life been a farmer, and a well-to-do-farmer.  But he had got smitten with the writings of Cobbett, and he began to write too.  Then he took to lecturing—­on the land laws, on Robert Owenism, on the Church of England, but more especially on co-operation.  Finding, however, that all this pamphleteering and lecturing was playing ducks and drakes with his farming, and being in many respects a shrewd and sensible person, he resolved on selling out of his farm and investing the proceeds in the government stock of America, the country of his deepest admiration.  In the end he found that he had about one hundred and fifty pounds a year, on which he could live very comfortably, while giving up all his time and attention to his energetic propagandism.  This was the person who now gave Brand a hearty greeting, and then took a long draught at the tankard of ale.

“You see, Mr. Brand,” said he, looking cautiously around, and then giving a sly wink.  “I thought we might have a chat by ourselves in this corner.”

Brand nodded; there was no one near them.

“Now I have been considering about what you told me; and last night I called on Professor ——­, of Owens College, ye know, and I had some further talk with him.  Well, sir, it’s a grand scheme—­splendid; and I don’t wonder you’ve made such progress as I hear of.  And when all the lads are going in for it, what would they say if old John Molyneux kept out, eh?”