There was work to do in England, work too little done--the memory of the great meeting at Heddington flashed upon him.

Could his labour and his skill, if he had any, not be used there?
Ah, the green fields, the soft grey skies, the quiet vale, the brave, self-respecting, toiling millions, the beautiful sense of law and order and goodness! Could his gifts and labours not be used there?
Could not-- He was suddenly startled by a smothered cry, then a call of distress.

It was the voice of a woman.
He started up.

The voice seemed to come from a room at his right; not that from which he had entered, but one still beyond this where he was.
He sprang towards the wall and examined it swiftly.

Finding a division in the tapestry, he ran his fingers quickly and heavily down the crack between.