Haworth sat down near him with a dogged face.
"Nay," he replied, "nor me either."
They sat and stared at each other for a moment in silence. Then Murdoch drew a long, wearied breath.
"But it is done," he said, "nevertheless."
After that he got up and began to make his preparations to go home while Haworth sat and watched him.
"I shall want to go away," he said. "When I come back I shall know what the result is to be."
"Start to-morrow morning," said Haworth. "And keep close. By the time you come back——"
He stopped and left his chair, and the bell which called the hands to work began its hurried clanging. At the door he paused.
"When shall you take it away?" he asked.
"To-night," Murdoch answered. "After dark."
At home he only told them one thing—that in the morning he was going to London and did not know when he should return. He did not go to the Works during the day, but remained at home trying to rest. But he could not sleep and the day seemed to lag heavily. In the afternoon he left the sofa on which he had lain through the morning and went out. He walked slowly through the town and at last turned down the lane which led to the Briarley's cottage. He felt as if there would be a sort of relief to the tenseness of his mood in a brief interview with Janey. When he went into the house, Mr. Briarley was seated in Mrs. Dixon's chair unscientifically balancing his latest-born upon his knee. His aspect was grave and absorbed; he was heated and disheveled with violent exertion; the knot of his blue cotton neckerchief had twisted itself under his right ear in a painfully suggestive manner. Under some stress of circumstances
