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34 my efforts to emancipate the workers of Melbourne and the whole civilized world.”

Immediately that Harry had done speaking, the meeting burst out in furious applause; all the etiquette of public meetings was forgotten, and nearly all rushed forward to greet the veteran “agitator,” with a warmth of handshaking that would have made one think they had been intimate friends of years' standing instead of a few minutes.

It was decided that the next week's meeting should be devoted to Holdfast's lecture.

“One more thing before I go,” said Holdfast. “Can you tell me the present address of Miss Hypatia Stephens?” asked Harry.

No one could tell him, but some of them thought she had gone to Benalla in a situation as general servant. She was rather well known, although taking little part in public affairs, and had not been heard of for over twelve months.

Harry went away, thanking them sincerely for their cordial reception and their friendly intentions. But he thought of his poor lost Hypatia; and he felt sad. Where could she be? Why was she not near the jail when he was released; and now that he had been a free (?) man for a fortnight why had he heard nothing from her in the meantime? Perhaps, thought he, she is dead; she would not be silent otherwise. And with this cruel thought racking his brains, he sought the establishment wherein he lodged and tried to forget his dear one in slumber. But sleep had forsaken him; and the poor fellow laid in his bed in a mental agony more severe than any he had experienced during his long imprisonment. He had faced the world's torture all these years, only to find his life's hope gone!

“I think I have seen your face before!”

“And I think I remember your's!”

The speakers were Harry Holdfast and a gentleman he had met in the street a few days after the evening of Treadway's lecture. The two had looked steadfastly into each other's face while passing, and their eyes met and a mutual glance of recognition had prompted the above remarks.

“Might I ask you your name?”

“Certainly. My name is Holdfast—Harry Holdfast. And yours?”

“Frederick Wilberforce, your old friend and co-worker. Dear me, to think I should meet you again! But how you have changed! It can't be twenty years since I last saw you, and yet you look like an old man. Where are you living?”

“Living? Well, I suppose it's living. I am trying to exist at Fillemup's Restaurant, where I get a shilling a week, besides board and lodging, such as it is, for doing all sorts of odd work and helping in the kitchen.”

“Come along with me, then; I'll find something better for you than that.”