Humbleness swept over her and she blamed herself
for the petty thoughts concerning him that had been in her mind. "It
does not matter," she whispered to herself. "Now I know that nothing
matters, nothing but his success. He must do this thing he has set out
to do. He must not be denied. I would give the blood out of my body or
expose my body to shame if that could bring him success."
Margaret became exalted in her humbleness. When her carriage had taken
her to her house she ran quickly upstairs to her own room and knelt by
her bed. She started to pray but presently stopped and sprang to her
feet. Running to the window she looked off across the city. "He must
succeed," she cried again. "I shall myself be one of his marchers. I
will do anything for him. He is tearing the veil from my eyes, from
all men's eyes. We are children in the hands of this giant and he must
not meet defeat at the hands of children."
CHAPTER II
On the day of the great demonstration, when McGregor's power over the
minds and the bodies of the men of labour sent hundreds of thousands
marching and singing in the streets, there was one man who was
untouched by the song of labour expressed in the threshing of feet.
David Ormsby had in his quiet way thought things out. He expected that
the new impetus given to solidity in the ranks of labour would make
trouble for him and his kind, that it would express itself finally in
strikes and in wide-spread industrial disturbance.
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