"Well—how are you getting on?" said the light voice, sending its vibration through all the man's strong frame.

"I suppose I'm getting on all right," he said, switching at the railings beside the road with his stick.

"What sort of work do you do?"

He gave her a stumbling account, from which she gathered that he was for the time being the factotum of an office, sent on everybody's errands, and made responsible for everybody's shortcomings.

She threw him a glance of pity. This young Hercules, with his open-air traditions, and his athlete's triumphs behind him, turned into the butt and underling of half a dozen clerks in a stuffy office!

"I don't mind," he said hastily. "All the others paid for their places; I didn't pay for mine. I'll be even with them all some day. It was the chance I wanted, and my uncle gives me a lift now and then. It was to please him they gave me the berth; he's worth thousands and thousands a year to them!"

And he launched into a boasting account of the importance and abilities of his uncle, Daniel Mason, who was now managing director of the great shipbuilding yard into which Hubert had been taken, as a favour to his kinsman.

"He began at the bottom, same as me—only he was younger than me," said Hubert, "so he had the pull. But you'll see, I'll work up. I've learnt a lot since I've been here. The classes at the Institute—well, they're fine!"

Laura showed an astonished glance. New sides of the lad seemed to be revealing themselves.

She inquired after his music. But he declared he was too busy to think of it. By-and-by in the winter he would have lessons. There was a violin class at the Institute—perhaps he'd join that. Then abruptly, staring down upon her with his wide blue eyes—

"And how have you been getting on with the Squire?"

He thought she started, but couldn't be quite sure.

"Getting on with the Squire? Why, capitally! Whenever he's there to get on with."

"What—he's been away?" he said eagerly.

She raised her shoulders.

"He's always away——"

"Why, I thought they'd have made a Papist of you by now," he said.

His laugh was rough, but his eyes held her with a curious insistence.

"Think something more reasonable, please, next time! Now, where are we going to lunch?"

"We've got it all ready. But we must see the yard first.... Miss Fountain—Laura—I've got that flower you gave me."

His voice was suddenly hoarse.

She glanced at him, lifting her eyebrows.

"Very foolish of you, I'm sure.... Now do tell me, how did you get off so early?"

He sulkily explained to her that work was unusually slack in his own yard; that, moreover, he had worked special overtime during the week in order to get an hour or two off this Saturday, and that Seaton was on night duty at a large engineering "works," and lord therefore of his days. But she paid small attention. She was occupied in looking at the new buildings and streets, the brand new squares and statues of Froswick.

"How can people build and live in such ugly places?" she said at last, standing still that she might stare about her—"when there are such lovely things in the world; Cambridge, for instance—or—Bannisdale."

The last word slipped out, dreamily, unaware.

The lad's face flushed furiously.

"I don't know what there is to see in Bannisdale," he said hotly. "It's a damp, dark, beastly hole of a place."

"I prefer Bannisdale to this, thank you," said Laura, making a little face at the very ample bronze gentleman in a frock coat who was standing in the centre of a great new-built empty square, haranguing a phantom crowd. "Oh! how ugly it is to succeed—to have money!"

Mason looked at her with a half-puzzled frown—a frown that of late had begun to tease his handsome forehead habitually.

"What's the harm of having a bit of brass?" he said angrily. "And what's the beauty o' livin in an old ramshackle place, without a sixpence in your pocket, and a pride fit to bring you to the workhouse!"

Laura's little mouth showed amusement, an amusement that stung. She lifted a little fan that hung at her girdle.

"Is there any shade in Froswick?" she said, looking round her.

Mason was silenced, and as Polly and Mr. Seaton joined them, he recovered his temper with a mighty effort and once more set himself to do the honours—the slighted honours—of his new home.

... But oh! the heat of the ship-building yard. Laura was already tired and faint, and could hardly drag her feet up and down the sides of the great skeleton ships that lay building in the docks, or through the interminable "fitting" sheds with their piles of mahogany and teak, their whirring lathes and saws, their heaps of shavings, their resinous wood smell. And yet the managing director appeared in person for twenty minutes, a thin, small, hawk-eyed man, not at all unwilling to give a brief patronage to the young lady who might be said to link the houses of Mason and Helbeck in a flattering equality.

"He wad never ha doon it for us!" Polly whispered in her awe to Miss Fountain. "It's you he's affther!"

Laura, however, was not grateful. She took her industrial lesson ill, with much haste and inattention, so that once when the director and his nephew fell behind, the great man, whose speech to his kinsman in private was often little less broad than Mrs. Mason's own—said scornfully:

"An I doan't think much o' your fine cousin, mon! she's nobbut a flighty miss."

The young man said nothing. He was still slavishly ill at ease with his uncle, on whose benevolence all his future depended.

"Is there something more to see?" said Laura languidly.

"Only the steel works," said Mr. Seaton, with a patronising smile. "You young ladies, I presume, would hardly wish to go away without seeing our chief establishment. Froswick Steel and Hematite Works employ three thousand workmen."

"Do they?—and does it matter?" said Laura, playing with the salt.

She wore a little plaintive, tired air, which suited her soft paleness, and made her extraordinarily engaging in the eyes of both the young men. Mason watched her perpetually, anticipating her slightest movement, waiting on her least want. And Mr. Seaton, usually so certain of his own emotions and so wholly in command of them, began to feel himself confused. It was with a distinct slackening of ardour that he looked from Miss Fountain to Polly—his Polly, as he had almost come to think of her, honest managing Polly, who would have a bit of "brass," and was in all respects a tidy and suitable wife for such a man as he. But why had she wrapped all that silly white stuff round her head? And her hands!—Mr. Seaton slyly withdrew his eyes from Polly's reddened members to fix them on the thin white wrist that Laura was holding poised in air, and the pretty fingers twirling the salt spoon.

Polly meantime sat up very straight, and was no longer talkative. Lunch had not improved her complexion, as the mirror hanging opposite showed her. Every now and then she too threw little restless glances across at Laura.

"Why, we needn't go to the works at all if we don't like," said Polly. "Can't we get a fly, Hubert, and take a jaunt soomwhere?"

Hubert bent forward with alacrity. Of course they could. If they went four miles up the river or so, they would come to real nice country and a farmhouse where they could have tea.

"Well, I'm game," said Mr. Seaton, magnanimously slapping his pocket. "Anything to please these ladies."

"I don't know about that seven o'clock train," said Mason doubtfully.

"Well, if we can't get that, there's a later one."

"No, that's the last."

"You may trust me," said Seaton pompously. "I know my way about a railway guide. There's one a little after eight."

Hubert shook his head. He thought Seaton was mistaken. But Laura settled the matter.

"Thank you—we'll not miss our train," she said, rising to put her hat straight before the glass—"so it's the works, please. What is it—furnaces and red-hot things?"

In another minute or two they were in the street again. Mr. Seaton settled the bill with a magnificent "Damn the expense" air, which annoyed Mason—who was of course a partner in all the charges of the day—and made Laura bite her lip. Outside he showed a strong desire to walk with Miss Fountain that he might instruct her in the details of the Bessemer process and the manufacture of steel rails. But the ease with which the little nonchalant creature disposed of him, the rapidity with which he found himself transferred to Polly, and left to stare at the backs of Laura and Hubert hurrying along in front, amazed him.

"Isn't she nice looking?" said poor Polly, as she too stared helplessly at the distant pair.

Her shawl weighed upon her arm, Mr. Seaton had forgotten to ask for it. But there was a little sudden balm in the irritable vexation of his reply:

"Some people may be of that opinion, Miss Mason. I own I prefer a greater degree of balance in the fair sex."

"Oh! does he mean me?" thought Polly.

And her spirits revived a little.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, as Laura and Hubert walked along to the desolate road that led to the great steel works, Hubert knew a kind of jealous and tormented bliss. She was there, fluttering beside him, her delicate face often turned to him, her feet keeping step with his. And at the same time what strong intangible barriers between them! She had put away her mocking tone—was clearly determined to be kind and cousinly. Yet every word only set the tides of love and misery swelling more strongly in the lad's breast. "She doan't belong to us, an there's noa undoin it." Polly's phrase haunted his ear. Yet he dared ask her no more questions about Helbeck; small and frail as she was, she could wrap herself in an unapproachable dignity; nobody had ever yet solved the mystery of Laura's inmost feeling against her will; and Hubert knew despairingly that his clumsy methods had small chance with her. But he felt with a kind of rage that there were signs of suffering about her; he divined something to know, at the same time that he realised with all plainness it was not for his knowing. Ah! that man—that ugly starched hypocrite—after all had he got hold of her? Who could live near her without feeling this pain—this pang?... Was she to be surrendered to him without a struggle—to that canting, droning fellow, with his jail of a house? Why, he would crush the life out of her in six months!

There was a rush and whirl in the lad's senses. A cry of animal jealousy—of violence—rose in his being.

* * * * *

"How wonderful!—how enchanting!" cried Laura, her glance sparkling, her whole frame quivering with pleasure.

They had just entered the great main shed of the steel works. The foreman, who had been induced by the young men to take them through, was in the act of placing Laura in the shelter of a brick screen, so as to protect her from a glowing shower of sparks that would otherwise have swept over her; and the girl had thrown a few startled looks around her.

A vast shed, much of it in darkness, and crowded with dim forms of iron and brick—at one end, and one side, openings, where the June day came through. Within—a grandiose mingling of fire and shadow—a vast glare of white or bluish flame from a huge furnace roaring against the inner wall of the shed—sparks, like star showers, whirling through dark spaces—ingots of glowing steel, pillars of pure fire passing and repassing, so that the heat of them scorched the girl's shrinking cheek—and everywhere, dark against flame, the human movement answering to the elemental leap and rush of the fire, black forms of men in a constant activity, masters and ministers at once of this crackling terror round about them.

"Aye!" said their guide, answering the girl's questions as well as he could in the roar—"that's the great furnace where they boil the steel. Now you watch—when the flame—look! it's white now—turns blue—that means the process is done—the steel's cooked. Then they'll bring the vat beneath—turn the furnace over—you'll see the steel pour out."

"Is that a railway?"

She pointed to a raised platform in front of the furnace. A truck bearing a high metal tub was running along it.

"Yes—it's from there they feed the furnace—in a minute you'll see the tub tip over."

There was a signal bell—a rattle of machinery. The tub tilted—a great jet of white flame shot upwards from the furnace—the great mouth had swallowed down its prey.

"And those men with their wheelbarrows? Why do they let them go so close?"

She shuddered and put her hand over her eyes.

The foreman laughed.

"Why, it's quite safe!—the tub's moved out of the way. You see the furnace has to be fed with different stuffs—-the tub brings one sort and the barrows another. Now look—they're going to turn it over. Stand back!"

He held up his hand to bid Mason come under shelter.

Laura looked round her.

"Where are the other two?" she asked.

"Oh! they've gone to see the bar-testing—they'll be here soon. Seaton knows the man in charge of the testing workshop."

Laura ceased to think of them. She was absorbed in the act before her. The great lip of the furnace began to swing downwards; fresh showers of sparks fled in wild curves and spirals through the shed; out flowed the stream of liquid steel into the vat placed beneath. Then slowly the fire cup righted itself; the flame roared once more against the wall; the swarming figures to either side began once more to feed the monster—men and trucks and wheelbarrow, the little railway line, and the iron pillars supporting it, all black against the glare——

Laura stood breathless—her wild nature rapt by what she saw. But while she hung on the spectacle before her, Mason never spared it a glance. He was conscious of scarcely anything but her—her childish form, in the little clinging dress, her white face, every soft feature clear in the glow, her dancing eyes, her cloud of reddish hair, from which her wide black hat had slipped away in the excitement of her upward gaze. The lad took the image into his heart—it burnt there as though it too were fire.

"Now let's look at something else!" said Laura at last, turning away with a long breath.

And they took her to see the vat that had been filled from the furnace, pouring itself into the ingot moulds—then the four moulds travelling slowly onwards till they paused under a sort of iron hand that descended and lifted them majestically from the white-hot steel beneath, uncovering the four fiery pillars that reddened to a blood colour as they moved across the shed—till, on the other side, one ingot after another was lowered from the truck, and no sooner felt the ground than it became the prey of some unseen force, which drove it swiftly onwards from beneath, to where it leapt with a hiss and crunch into the jaws of the mill. Then out again on the further side, lengthened, and pared, the demon in it already half tamed!—flying as it were from the first mill, only to be caught again in the squeeze of the second, and the third—until at last the quivering rail emerged at the further end, a twisting fire serpent, still soft under the controlling rods of the workmen. On it glided, on, and out of the shed, into the open air, till it reached a sort of platform over a pit, where iron claws caught at it from beneath, and brought it to a final rest, in its own place, beside its innumerable fellows, waiting for the market and its buyers.

"Mayn't we go back once more to the furnace?" said Miss Fountain eagerly to her guide—"just for a minute!"

He smiled at her, unable to say no.

And they walked back across the shed, to the brick shelter. The great furnace was roaring as before, the white sheet of flame was nearing its last change of colour, tub after tub, barrow after barrow poured its contents into the vast flaring throat. Behind the shelter was an elderly woman with a shawl over her head. She had brought a jar of tea for some workmen, and was standing like any stranger, watching the furnace and hiding from the sparks.

Now there is only one man more—and after that, one more tub to be lowered—and the hell-broth is cooked once again, and will come streaming forth.

The man advances with his barrow. Laura sees his blackened face in the intolerable light, as he turns to give a signal to those behind him. An electric bell rings.

Then——

What was that?

God!—what was that?

A hideous cry rang through the works. Laura drew her hand in bewilderment across her eyes. The foreman beside her shouted and ran forward.

"Where's the man?" she said helplessly to Mason.

But Mason made no answer. He was clinging to the brick wall, his eyes staring out of his head. A great clamour rose from the little railway—from beneath it—from all sides of it. The shed began to swarm with running men, all hurrying towards the furnace. The air was full of their cries. It was like the loosing of a maddened hive.

Laura tottered, fell back against the wall. The old woman who had come to bring the tea rushed up to her.

"Oh, Lord, save us!—Lord, save us!" she cried, with a wail to rend the heart.

And the two women fell into each other's arms, shuddering, with wild broken words, which neither of them heard or knew.

END OF VOL. I