ve a kind heart, they all do say; not as I know, not
coming here till she was gone, nor wanting to know much on her, for
'twas a right bad way she was in, and 'twere well if them nasty
races were put down by Act of Parliament, for they be the very ruin
of the girls in these parts."

"There's a new suggestion, Raymond," said Julius as he shut the
garden gate.

Raymond was long in answering, and when he spoke, it was to say, "I
shall withdraw from the subscription to the Wil'sbro' Cup."

"So much the better."

Then Raymond began discussing the terms of the letter in which he
would state his reasons, but with an amount of excitement that made
Julius say, "I should think it better not to write in this first
heat. It will take more effect if it is not so visibly done on the
spur of the moment."

But the usually deliberate Raymond exclaimed, "I cannot rest till it
is done. I feel as if I must be like Lady Macbeth, continually
washing my hands of all this wreck and ruin."

"No wonder; but I should think there was great need of caution--to
use your own words."

"My seat must go, if this is to be the price," said Raymond. "I
felt through all the speeches at that gilt-gingerbread place, that
it was a monument of my truckling to expediency. We began the whole
thing at the wrong end, and I fear we are beginning to see the
effects."

"Do you mean that you are anxious about that fever in Water Lane?"

"There was an oppressive sickly air about everything, strongest at
the ball. I can't forget it," said Raymond, taking off his hat, so
that the morning air might play about his temples. "We talked about
meddling women, but the truth was that they were shaming us by doing
what they could."

"I hope others will see it so. Is not Whitlock to be mayor next
time?"

"Yes. He may do something. Well, they will hardly unseat me! I
should not like to see Moy in my place, and it would be a sore thing
for my mother; but," he continued, in the same strange, dreamy
manner, "everything has turned out so wretchedly that I hardly know
or care how it goes."

"My dear old fellow!"

Raymond had stopped to lean over a gate, where he could look up to
the old red house in the green park, set in brightly-tinted trees,
all aglow in the morning sunshine. Tears had sprung on his cheeks,
and a suppressed sob heaved his chest. Julius ventured to say,
"Perhaps there may yet be a change of mind."

"No!" was the answer. "In the present