Still, something of the sort has to come."

The butler brought in the postbag while they talked. Segerson, as he
rose to depart, glanced with curiosity at half a dozen orange-coloured
wrappers which were among the rest of the letters.

"Fancy your subscribing to a press-cutting agency, Lady Jane!" he
exclaimed. "You haven't been writing a novel under a pseudonym, have
you?"

She laughed as she gathered up her correspondence in her hand.

"Don't pry into my secrets," she enjoined. "We may meet in Barnstaple
to-morrow. If the weather clears, I want to go in and see those cattle
for myself."

The young man took his reluctant departure. Jane crossed the hall,
entered her own little sanctum, drew the lamp to the edge of the table
and sank into her easy-chair with a little sigh of relief. All the rest
of her correspondence she threw to one side. The orange-coloured
wrappers she tore off, one by one. As she read, her face softened and
her eyes grew very bright. The first cutting was a report of Tallente's
last speech in the House, a clever and forceful attack upon the
Government's policy of compromise in the matter of recent strikes. The
next was a speech at the Holborn Town Hall, on workmen's dwellings,
another a thoughtful appreciation of him from the pages of a great
review. There was also a eulogy from an American journal and a gloomy
attack upon him in the chief Whig organ. When she had finished the
pile, she sat for some time gazing at the burning logs. The little
epitome of his daily life--there were records there even of many of his