The door of the harness room had been left unbolted and Mrs.Derrick, unable to endure the heart-breaking suspense of waiting outside, had gathered up all her courage and had come into the room.

Trembling, she clung to Magnus's arm, her pretty light-brown hair in disarray, her large young girl's eyes wide with terror and distrust.

What was about to happen she did not understand, but these men were clamouring for Magnus to pledge himself to something, to some terrible course of action, some ruthless, unscrupulous battle to the death with the iron-hearted monster of steel and steam.

Nerved with a coward's intrepidity, she, who so easily obliterated herself, had found her way into the midst of this frantic crowd, into this hot, close room, reeking of alcohol and tobacco smoke, into this atmosphere surcharged with hatred and curses.

She seized her husband's arm imploring, distraught with terror.
"No, no," she murmured; "no, don't sign." She was the feather caught in the whirlwind.