As soon as Mrs. Trivett heard the bad news she stopped work, explained to her second in command the gravity of the situation, and hastened home as fast as she could go to Medora. Now or never might her daughter show what she was worth, and she felt that her girl’s place should be beside the sufferer. Duty and love alike prompted in that direction; indeed, Medora herself appeared to view the disaster with her mother’s eyes.

“Good Lord! Lost his stroke! Poor man,” she cried. “I must go to him. Is he ill? Have you seen him? What was the cause of it? Does he say what he’s going to do about it?”

“I haven’t seen him. He’s gone back to the inn, and Mr. Trood takes him into Totnes presently to the doctor. And it’s your place to go along with them in my opinion.”

Medora’s mind moved swiftly. She knew that Kellock was to have seen Ned Dingle on the previous evening, and eagerly she awaited information of what had happened at that meeting. Jordan intended to have come over to Priory Farm after working hours; but now she could hear even sooner than she expected.

“I shan’t leave him if he’s very bad,” said Medora.

“In no case, better or worse, will you leave him,” declared Lydia. “This is a fearful thing to overtake a vatman, and you, of all people, ought to be at his side to cheer him and encourage him and help him to hope. It’s a nervous breakdown along of all this waiting and trouble.”

“More likely the lecture,” suggested Medora. “Small wonder if his lecture is got on his mind and upset him. And he was to see Ned yesterday. Perhaps Ned said something to do it.”

Lydia sighed.

“Things be come to a climax, seemingly. Mr. Knox whispered to me that Ned might have a bit of good news for Kellock. On the other hand, perhaps he had not. Any way, your good is Jordan’s good, and his evil is your evil now; so you’d best to get to him as quick as you can, and stop with him if he wishes you to do so, as he doubtless will.”

In a couple of hours Medora sat at “The Waterman’s Arms.” She expected an emotional meeting, and indeed felt emotional. For a time Jordan’s sufferings weighed with her, and she found sympathy wakening for him. But he appeared much as usual, and while gratified at her swift return, held himself well in hand and made no great parade of his misfortune.

“Mother properly scared me to death,” explained Medora. “I do hope to God it’s not as bad as she said. How d’you feel, dear? You look pale.”

“I feel all right in myself.”

“It’s that lecture. Why don’t you give it up?”

“No, Medora. It’s nothing to do with the lecture. I can think of the lecture calmly enough. I’m very glad you came so quick. It’s a comfort to me first, and second, I’ve got a lot to tell you. You must brace yourself, for it’s bad news.”

“More?”

“What has lost me my stroke happened last night, Medora. I saw Mr. Dingle, and I heard more than enough to put any man off his stroke.”

“You don’t mean to say he’s going to take your money?”

“My money! Good powers, what’s that? He can have my money to the last penny if he likes. It’s far worse. I hate to say it—it’s enough to kill any pure woman—it’s very nearly killed me, I believe; but you’ve got to hear it, Medora, though it sweeps away the firm ground from under our feet and leaves us without any foothold. He—he won’t divorce you!”

She exhibited ample concern at this intelligence. Indeed, she very nearly fainted in earnest, and Kellock, who only observed the physical shock, doubted not that it sprang from emotion entirely creditable to Medora.

“You can guess what I felt and how I tried to bring him to a better frame of mind. But he’s a different man from what he used to be. I couldn’t believe I was listening to Dingle. Changed into something outside his real character. It shows how weak natures can be influenced. Others have been getting at him—enemies to us for certain. It’s a cruel, wicked thing, and it knocked me out, as you see. But I’m not concerned with myself. I’ve got to think of you, Medora, and the future—our future. Of course, what really hurts the soul of man or woman is what they inflict upon themselves; but all the same—there it is—if he don’t divorce you, where are we?”

“Where we were,” she said, and strove to make her voice sufficiently mournful. But she guessed that it would be difficult to discuss this tremendous information without sooner or later revealing her true sentiments.

“Don’t let’s talk about it for the present,” she continued. “The future will take care of itself—it always does. For the minute, I’m only troubled about your health and happiness, Jordan. Whatever comes of this, we’ve been through a great experience, and the end of it all is this shock to your nerves.”

“‘The end of it all,’ Medora?”

“I mean, so far as we’ve got. You are the only one to think about for the minute—not me and not Dingle. The first thing is your health and strength, and I’m not going to leave you again, Jordan, till you’re set up, and find yourself as clever as ever you were.”“If you come to the lecture, that would go a long way to quieting my nerves.”

“Of course I’ll come. I always meant to come. It was only a bit of temper saying I wouldn’t—I never thought not to come. But will you be well enough to give it?”

“Oh, yes. This flurry arose from causes outside the lecture, and quite outside the Cause. You understand?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I do understand, and I’m thankful for it, Jordan; because I know very well it means much more to you than your own trade. And our little lives are as nothing to the big things in your mind.”

“If I never made paper again,” he assured her, “it would be less—far less—of a grief and disaster to me than if I was shut off from taking my part in the great struggle for Labour.”

“You’ll do both; you’ll do both. It’s only a passing shock. You’ll forget all about it, I hope, and be at work again as well as ever in a few days.”

“I don’t think so, Medora. As far as that goes, I believe it’s serious. I haven’t had time to collect my thoughts yet, and it’s no good worrying till I’ve seen the doctor; but I’m none too hopeful. If the stroke once goes, it wants a lot of careful nursing to get it back, and often enough it’s gone for good.”

“Only with men who drink, and that kind of thing. Such a one as you—a saint—and strong in body and mind, and healthy every way—of course it will come back.”

“We must be frank with ourselves,” he said. “We must tell the doctor the truth. My stroke was shocked away. And sometimes what’s shocked away can only be shocked back.”

“That’s an idea,” said Medora.

She was always quick to fasten on ideas and his words made her thoughtful for a moment. She registered his statement for future consideration, then flowed on again. She was cheerful, sympathetic, and full of consolation. Indeed, presently, as Kellock grew grateful, she began to think she might be overdoing the part. For it was, if not wholly, at least in large measure an impersonation now. She was acting again, and she played with a purpose and exceeding concern to touch the right note, but avoid overemphasis upon it. Kellock appeared to be in two minds, and he looked at her and held her hand.

“I want to say something,” he declared presently; “but I won’t. I’ll keep it off, because I’m not very strong for the moment, and the spoken word once spoken remains. This is a great crisis all round. I hope good will come out of trouble, as it often does. We’ve had enough to shake us cruelly to-day—both of us—and I won’t add to it. And what’s in my thoughts may look different to-morrow, so I’ll keep it there.”

“Don’t think any more about anything,” she begged him. “Just let your mind rest, or talk about the lecture. And don’t you think, whatever happens, and whatever is in store for me, that it is going to lessen your great future. Perhaps it was the strangeness of your ideas that made me shrink from them.”

He began to discuss his ruling passion. She kept him easily to that.

Presently they ate together, and when Ernest Trood drove up in a dog-cart, lent by Mr. Trenchard, he found Kellock calm and contented. Medora sat behind, and joined in the conversation as they trotted through the green lanes to Totnes.

The master had sent cheering messages to Jordan, and hoped to see him on the following day.

“He’s not a bit troubled,” said Trood. “He reckons that with a man of your fine physique and constitution—a man that lives the life you lead—this is a flea-bite—just a shake-up along of some trifle. And if you’ve got to chuck it and go away for six weeks even, he’s not going to trouble about it.”

“Like him,” said Kellock. “But it won’t be any question of six weeks, or six days, Ernest. I’ve got a feeling about this that I shall be right in twenty-four hours, or not at all. I’m not letting it get on my nerves, you understand. If it’s gone, it’s gone. There’s plenty of work for me in the world, whether at the vat, or somewhere else.”

“Never heard better sense,” answered the foreman. “All the same, don’t you throw up the sponge—that would be weak. You must remember you’re a great paper maker, Jordan, and there are not any too many of ’em left in England now-a-days. So it’s up to every man that’s proud of his business to stick to it.”

“You take that to heart, Jordan,” advised Medora. “Not that there isn’t greater work in the world than paper-making—we all know that.”

“No, we don’t know anything of the sort,” answered Trood. “Don’t you talk nonsense, Medora, because I won’t hear it. Paper stands for civilisation, and the better the paper, the higher the civilisation. You’d soon see that if anything happened to spoil paper and raise the price of rag. If the quality of paper goes down, that’s a sure sign the quality of civilisation’s doing the same. By its paper you can judge a nation, and English paper, being the best in the world, helps to show we’re first in the world. And if a man like Kellock was to hide his light under a bushel, his conscience would very soon tell him about it.”

Jordan smiled at Mr. Trood’s enthusiasm.

“I love my work,” he said, “and should never give it up, unless it gave me up, Ernest, but for one reason—that I could do something better.”

“That you never would, if they made you king of England,” replied the foreman. “You’d never be so good at anything else as you are at paper-making, because you’ve got the natural genius for the job. That’s your gift—and you may lecture or you may stand on your head, or do any other mortal thing, but you won’t do it as well as you do your work at the vat.”

The doctor found not much amiss with Jordan. He heard all particulars, and made a searching examination of the patient’s fine frame.

“Never saw a healthier, or more perfect man,” he declared. “You’re a long way above the average, and as healthy as a ten year old. Muscles hypertrophied a bit—you’d be muscle-bound in fact for any other work but your own; but your organs are as sound as a bell; there’s nothing whatever to show why you’ve broken down. It would be cruelty to animals to give you physic. What d’you drink and smoke?”

“I drink water, doctor. I don’t smoke.”

“Might have known it. Well, go away for a fortnight. Run up to Dartmoor, and walk ten miles a day, or twenty, if you like. Then you’ll be all right. This breakdown must have been mental, seeing it was nothing else. Have you got anything on your mind?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Get it off then, and you’ll be all right.”

Kellock nodded.

“Thank you very much. I shall soon see a way, I hope.”

“Let a way come then; don’t worry to find it. Don’t worry about anything. Go up to Dartmoor—Dartmoor’s a very good doctor—though his fees get higher every year, they tell me. I seem to know your name, by the way. Where did I see it?”

“Posted up perhaps, doctor. I’m going to give a lecture here next week.”

“Ah—so it was. Socialism—eh? Is the lecture getting on your nerves?”

“No, not at all. But I hope it’ll get on other people’s. I look forward to it.”

“Well, get to Dartmoor, and if your stroke doesn’t come back when you return, see me again.”

Kellock repeated his interview exactly, and Mr. Trood was much gratified. They went home in the best of spirits, and that evening Medora devoted to Jordan. He became more and more distracted and pre-occupied, however. She avoided personal subjects, and wanted him to read the lecture aloud; but this he would not do.

“Now that you are going to hear it,” he said, “I’ll let you off till then.”

He declared himself tired and went to his bed before ten o’clock. But he did not sleep. He had much thinking to do, and many hours elapsed before he arrived at any conclusion. His mind was entirely occupied with Medora, and her future caused him to pass through deep anxieties and fruitless regrets. Her loyal attitude that day had moved him much, for he supposed that Dingle’s decision must have come upon her with force at least as crushing as it had fallen on himself. Yet how bravely she had borne it, how unselfishly she had put it away from her, and devoted herself to him and his tribulations! Doubtless now, alone, she too considered the gravity of the situation, and lay awake in distress.

He had a human impulse to go and comfort her, to declare that nothing mattered while they shared their great love, to explain that since Dingle would not legally release her, they must take the law into their own hands. But another, and far more characteristic line of thought developed, and in the dominating and directing forces awakened by it, he followed his natural bent, and at last arrived at a decision. He perceived his duty towards Medora, albeit action appeared impossible until he had spoken with her. Yet, to put the matter before Medora might defeat his object, for there could be no doubt that Medora was his, heart and soul. He felt, therefore, that he must, after all, act without her knowledge, for he believed that if she knew his purpose, she would strive to prevent it.