I went home to my house in triumph; but I had much to do before noon on the following day, but very little time in which to do it. I had spent the morning of that day in preparing for my departure, and in so arranging matters with my clerks that the entrance of Sir Ferdinando on his new duties might be easy. I had said nothing, and had endeavoured to think as little as possible, of the Fixed Period. An old secretary of mine, — old in years of work, though not as yet in age, — had endeavoured to comfort me by saying that the college up the hill might still be used before long. But I had told him frankly that we in Britannula had all been too much in a hurry, and had foolishly endeavoured to carry out a system in opposition to the world’s prejudices, which system, when successful, must pervade the entire world. “And is nothing to be done with those beautiful buildings?” said the secretary, putting in the word beautiful by way of flattery to myself. “The chimneys and the furnaces may perhaps be used,” I replied. “Cremation is no part of the Fixed Period. But as for the residences, the less we think about them the better.” And so I determined to trouble my thoughts no further with the college. And I felt that there might be some consolation to me in going away to England, so that I might escape from the great vexation and eyesore which the empty college would have produced.

But I had to bid farewell to my wife and my son, and to Eva and Crasweller. The first task would be the easier, because there would be no necessity for any painful allusion to my own want of success. In what little I might say to Mrs Neverbend on the subject, I could continue that tone of sarcastic triumph in which I had replied to Sir Ferdinando. What was pathetic in the matter I might altogether ignore. And Jack was himself so happy in his nature, and so little likely to look at anything on its sorrowful side, that all would surely go well with him. But with Eva, and with Eva’s father, things would be different. Words must be spoken which would be painful in the speaking, and regrets must be uttered by me which could not certainly be shared by him. “I am broken down and trampled upon, and all the glory is departed from my name, and I have become a byword and a reproach rather than a term of honour in which future ages may rejoice, because I have been unable to carry out my long-cherished purpose by — depositing you, and insuring at least your departure!” And then Crasweller would answer me with his general kindly feeling, and I should feel at the moment of my leaving him the hollowness of his words. I had loved him the better because I had endeavoured to commence my experiment on his body. I had felt a vicarious regard for the honour which would have been done him, almost regarding it as though I myself were to go in his place. All this had received a check when he in his weakness had pleaded for another year. But he had yielded; and though he had yielded without fortitude, he had done so to comply with my wishes, and I could not but feel for the man an extraordinary affection. I was going to England, and might probably never see him again; and I was going with aspirations in my heart so very different from those which he entertained!

From the hours intended for slumber, a few minutes could be taken for saying adieu to my wife. “My dear,” said I, “this is all very sudden. But a man engaged in public life has to fit himself to the public demands. Had I not promised to go to-day, I might have been taken away yesterday or the day before.”

“Oh, John,” said she, “I think that everything has been put up to make you comfortable.”

“Thanks; yes, I’m sure of it. When you hear my name mentioned after I am gone, I hope that they’ll say of me that I did my duty as President of the republic.”

“Of course they will. Every day you have been at these nasty executive chambers from nine till five, unless when you’ve been sitting in that wretched Assembly.”

“I shall have a holiday now, at any rate,” said I, laughing gently under the bedclothes.

“Yes; and I am sure it will do you good, if you only take your meals regular. I sometimes think that you have been encouraged to dwell upon this horrid Fixed Period by the melancholy of an empty stomach.”

It was sad to hear such words from her lips after the two speeches to which she had listened, and to feel that no trace had been left on her mind of the triumph which I had achieved over Sir Ferdinando; but I put up with that, and determined to answer her after her own heart. “You have always provided a sandwich for me to take to the chambers.”

“Sandwiches are nothing. Do remember that. At your time of life you should always have something warm, — a frizzle or a cutlet, and you shouldn’t eat it without thinking of it. What has made me hate the Fixed Period worse than anything is, that you have never thought of your victuals. You gave more attention to the burning of these pigs than to the cooking of any food in your own kitchen.”

“Well, my dear, I’m going to England now,” said I, beginning to feel weary of her reminiscences.

“Yes, my dear, I know you are; and do remember that as you get nearer and nearer to that chilly country the weather will always be colder and colder. I have put you up four pairs of flannel drawers, and a little bag which you must wear upon your chest. I observed that Sir Ferdinando, when he was preparing himself for his speech, showed that he had just such a little bag on. And all the time I endeavoured to spy how it was that he wore it. When I came home I immediately went to work, and I shall insist on your putting it on the first thing in the morning, in order that I may see that it sits flat. Sir Ferdinando’s did not sit flat, and it looked bulgy. I thought to myself that Lady Brown did not do her duty properly by him. If you would allow me to come with you, I could see that you always put it on rightly. As it is, I know that people will say that it is all my fault when it hangs out and shows itself.” Then I went to sleep, and the parting words between me and my wife had been spoken.

Early on the following morning I had Jack into my dressing-room, and said good-bye to him. “Jack,” said I, “in this little contest which there has been between us, you have got the better in everything.”

“Nobody thought so when they heard your answer to Sir Ferdinando last night.”

“Well, yes; I think I managed to answer him. But I haven’t got the better of you.”

“I didn’t mean anything,” said Jack, in a melancholy tone of voice. “It was all Eva’s doing. I never cared twopence whether the old fellows were deposited or not, but I do think that if your own time had come near, I shouldn’t have liked it much.”

“Why not? why not? If you will only think of the matter all round, you will find that it is all a false sentiment.”

“I should not like it,” said Jack, with determination.

“Yes, you would, after you had got used to it.” Here he looked very incredulous. “What I mean is, Jack, that when sons were accustomed to see their fathers deposited at a certain age, and were aware that they were treated with every respect, that kind of feeling which you describe would wear off. You would have the idea that a kind of honour was done to your parents.”

“When I knew that somebody was going to kill him on the next day, how would it be then?”

“You might retire for a few hours to your thoughts, — going into mourning, as it were.” Jack shook his head. “But, at any rate, in this matter of Mr Crasweller you have got the better of me.”

“That was for Eva’s sake.”

“I suppose so. But I wish to make you understand, now that I am going to England, and may possibly never return to these shores again — ”

“Don’t say that, father.”

“Well, yes; I shall have much to do there, and of course it may be that I shall not come back, and I wish you to understand that I do not part from you in the least in anger. What you have done shows a high spirit, and great devotion to the girl.”

“It was not quite altogether for Eva either.”

“What then?” I demanded.

“Well, I don’t know. The two things went together, as it were. If there had been no question about the Fixed Period, I do think I could have cut out Abraham Grundle. And as for Sir Kennington Oval, I am beginning to believe that that was all Eva’s pretence. I like Sir Kennington, but Eva never cared a button for him. She had taken to me because I had shown myself an anti-Fixed–Period man. I did it at first simply because I hated Grundle. Grundle wanted to fix-period old Crasweller for the sake of the property; and therefore I belonged naturally to the other side. It wasn’t that I liked opposing you. If it had been Tallowax that you were to begin with, or Exors, you might have burnt ’em up without a word from me.”

“I am gratified at hearing that.”

“Though the Fixed Period does seem to be horrible, I would have swallowed all that at your bidding. But you can see how I tumbled into it, and how Eva egged me on, and how the nearer the thing came the more I was bound to fight. Will you believe it? — Eva swore a most solemn oath, that if her father was put into that college she would never marry a human being. And up to that moment when the lieutenant met us at the top of the hill, she was always as cold as snow.”

“And now the snow is melted?”

“Yes, — that is to say, it is beginning to thaw!” As he said this I remembered the kiss behind the parlour-door which had been given to her by another suitor before these troubles began, and my impression that Jack had seen it also; but on that subject I said nothing. “Of course it has all been very happy for me,” Jack continued; “but I wish to say to you before you go, how unhappy it makes me to think that I have opposed you.”

“All right, Jack; all right. I will not say that I should not have done the same at your age, if Eva had asked me. I wish you always to remember that we parted as friends. It will not be long before you are married now.”

“Three months,” said Jack, in a melancholy tone.

“In an affair of importance of this kind, that is the same as to-morrow. I shall not be here to wish you joy at your wedding.”

“Why are you to go if you don’t wish it?”

“I promised that I would go when Captain Battleax talked of carrying me off the day before yesterday. With a hundred soldiers, no doubt he could get me on board.”

“There are a great many more than a hundred men in Britannula as good as their soldiers. To take a man away by force, and he the President of the republic! Such a thing was never heard of. I would not stir if I were you. Say the word to me, and I will undertake that not one of these men shall touch you.”

I thought of his proposition; and the more I thought of it, the more unreasonable it did appear that I, who had committed no offence against any law, should be forced on board the John Bright. And I had no doubt that Jack would be as good as his word. But there were two causes which persuaded me that I had better go. I had pledged my word. When it had been suggested that I should at the moment be carried on board, — which might no doubt then have been done by the soldiers, — I had said that if a certain time were allowed me I would again be found in the same place. If I were simply there, and were surrounded by a crowd of Britannulans ready to fight for me, I should hardly have kept my promise. But a stronger reason than this perhaps actuated me. It would be better for me for a while to be in England than in Britannula. Here in Britannula I should be the ex-President of an abolished republic, and as such subject to the notice of all men; whereas in England I should be nobody, and should escape the constant mortification of seeing Sir Ferdinando Brown. And then in England I could do more for the Fixed Period than at home in Britannula. Here the battle was over, and I had been beaten. I began to perceive that the place was too small for making the primary efforts in so great a cause. The very facility which had existed for the passing of the law through the Assembly had made it impossible for us to carry out the law; and therefore, with the sense of failure strong upon me, I should be better elsewhere than at home. And the desire of publishing a book in which I should declare my theory, — this very book which I have so nearly brought to a close, — made me desire to go. What could I do by publishing anything in Britannula? And though the manuscript might have been sent home, who would see it through the press with any chance of success? Now I have my hopes, which I own seem high, and I shall be able to watch from day to day the way in which my arguments in favour of the Fixed Period are received by the British public. Therefore it was that I rejected Jack’s kind offer. “No, my boy,” said I, after a pause, “I do not know but that on the whole I shall prefer to go.”

“Of course if you wish it.”

“I shall be taken there at the expense of the British public, which is in itself a triumph, and shall, I presume, be sent back in the same way. If not, I shall have a grievance in their parsimony, which in itself will be a comfort to me; and I am sure that I shall be treated well on board. Sir Ferdinando with his eloquence will not be there, and the officers are, all of them, good fellows. I have made up my mind, and I will go. The next that you will hear of your father will be the publication of a little book that I shall write on the journey, advocating the Fixed Period. The matter has never been explained to them in England, and perhaps my words may prevail.” Jack, by shaking his head mournfully, seemed to indicate his idea that this would not be the case; but Jack is resolute, and will never yield on any point. Had he been in my place, and had entertained my convictions, I believe that he would have deposited Crasweller in spite of Sir Ferdinando Brown and Captain Battleax. “You will come and see me on board, Jack, when I start.”

“They won’t take me off, will they?”

“I should have thought you would have liked to have seen England.”

“And leave Eva! They’d have to look very sharp before they could do that. But of course I’ll come.” Then I gave him my blessing, told him what arrangements I had made for his income, and went down to my breakfast, which was to be my last meal in Britannula.

When that was over, I was told that Eva was in my study waiting to see me. I had intended to have gone out to Little Christchurch, and should still do so, to bid farewell to her father. But I was not sorry to have Eva here in my own house, as she was about to become my daughter-in-law. “Eva has come to bid you good-bye,” said Jack, who was already in the room, as I entered it.

“Eva, my dear,” said I.

“I’ll leave you,” said Jack. “But I’ve told her that she must be very fond of you. Bygones have to be bygones, — particularly as no harm has been done.” Then he left the room.

She still had on the little round hat, but as Jack went she laid it aside. “Oh, Mr Neverbend,” she said, “I hope you do not think that I have been unkind.”

“It is I, my dear, who should express that hope.”

“I have always known how well you have loved my dear father. I have been quite sure of it. And he has always said so. But — ”

“Well, Eva, it is all over now.”

“Oh yes, and I am so happy! I have got to tell you how happy I am.”

“I hope you love Jack.”