He
paced the room like a caged lion, at one moment execrating Rodman,
the next railing against the mob to whose interests he had devoted
himself. Now and then his voice softened, and he spoke of Alice.
'The scoundrel set even her against me! If she lives, perhaps she'll
believe I'm guilty; how can my word stand against her husband's?
Why, he isn't her husband at all! It's a good thing if she dies--the
best thing that could happen. What will become of her? What are we
to call her? She's neither married nor single. Can we keep it from
her, do you think? No, that won't do; she must be free to marry an
honest man. You'll try and make friends with her, Adela--if ever
you've the chance? She'll have to live with us, of course unless
she'd rather live with mother. We mustn't tell her for a long time,
till she's strong enough to bear it.'
He with difficulty ate a few mouthfuls and went off to Clerkenwell.
In the erstwhile dancing-saloon it was a night of tempest. Mutimer
had never before addressed an unfriendly audience. After the first
few interruptions he lost his temper, and with it his cause, as far
as these present hearers were concerned. When he left them, it was
amid the mutterings of a storm which was not quite--only not
quite--ready to burst in fury.
'Who knows you won't take yer 'ook before to-morrow?' cried a voice
as he neared the door.
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