“Don’t ’e,” he whispered; “he’s a-gone to glory.”

But, hearing the dry rattle of the earth, he took out his own handkerchief and put it to his nose.

‘Yes, he’s a-gone,’ he thought; ‘another little baby.  Old men an’ maidens, young men an’ little children; it’s a-goin’ on all the time.  Where ‘e is now there’ll be no marryin’, no, nor givin’ out in marriage; till death do us part.’

The wind, sweeping across the filled-in hole, carried the rustle of his husky breathing, the dry, smothered sobbing of the seamstress, out across the shadows’ graves, to those places, to those streets....

From the baby’s funeral Hilary and Martin walked away together, and far behind them, across the road, the little model followed.  For some time neither spoke; then Hilary, stretching out his hand towards a squalid alley, said: 

“They haunt us and drag us down.  A long, dark passage.  Is there a light at the far end, Martin?”

“Yes,” said Martin gruffly.

“I don’t see it.”

Martin looked at him.

“Hamlet!”

Hilary did not reply.

The young man watched him sideways.  “It’s a disease to smile like that!”

Hilary ceased to smile.  “Cure me, then,” he said, with sudden anger, “you man of health!”

The young “Sanitist’s” sallow cheeks flushed.  “Atrophy of the nerve of action,” he muttered; “there’s no cure for that!”

“Ah!” said Hilary:  “All kinds of us want social progress in our different ways.  You, your grandfather, my brother, myself; there are four types for you.  Will you tell me any one of us is the right man for the job?  For instance, action’s not natural to me.”

“Any act,” answered Martin, “is better than no act.”

“And myopia is natural to you, Martin.  Your prescription in this case has not been too successful, has it?”

“I can’t help it if people will be d—–­d fools.”

“There you hit it.  But answer me this question:  Isn’t a social conscience, broadly speaking, the result of comfort and security?”

Martin shrugged his shoulders.

“And doesn’t comfort also destroy the power of action?”

Again Martin shrugged.

“Then, if those who have the social conscience and can see what is wrong have lost their power of action, how can you say there is any light at the end of this dark passage?”

Martin took his pipe out, filled it, and pressed the filling with his thumb.

“There is light,” he said at last, “in spite of all invertebrates.  Good-bye!  I’ve wasted enough time,” and he abruptly strode away.

“And in spite of myopia?” muttered Hilary.

A few minutes later, coming out from Messrs. Rose and Thorn’s, where he had gone to buy tobacco, he came suddenly on the little model, evidently waiting.

“I was at the funeral,” she, said; and her face added plainly:  ’I’ve followed you.’  Uninvited, she walked on at his side.