LITMIR.BIZ

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went down on his knees by his wife, leaned forward and kissed the rosary, while tears blinded him.

      "Yes, yes," he said. "Leave her in peace. I would not move it for the world: it was her toy, was it not?"

      The girl stared at him, astonished.

      "We can be generous, too," he said. "We have all the world at last. And she—she has lost nothing: it was too late."

      "I did what I could."

      "Yes, my darling, and you were right. But she was too old; she could not understand."

      He paused.

      "Euthanasia?" he whispered with something very like tenderness.

      She nodded.

      "Yes," she said; "just as the last agony began. She resisted, but I knew you would wish it."

      They talked together for an hour in the garden before Oliver went to his room; and he began to tell her presently of all that had passed.

      "He has refused," he said. "We offered to create an office for Him; He was to have been called Consultor, and he refused it two hours ago. But He has promised to be at our service…. No, I must not tell you where He is…. He will return to America soon, we think; but He will not leave us. We have drawn up a programme, and it is to be sent to Him presently…. Yes, we were unanimous."

      "And the programme?"

      "It concerns the Franchise, the Poor Laws and Trade. I can tell you no more than that. It was He who suggested the points. But we are not sure if we understand Him yet."

      "But, my dear—-"

      "Yes; it is quite extraordinary. I have never seen such things. There was practically no argument."

      "Do the people understand?"

      "I think so. We shall have to guard against a reaction. They say that the Catholics will be in danger. There is an article this morning in the Era. The proofs were sent to us for sanction. It suggests that means must be taken to protect the Catholics."

      Mabel smiled.

      "It is a strange irony," he said. "But they have a right to exist. How far they have a right to share in the government is another matter. That will come before us, I think, in a week or two."

      "Tell me more about Him."

      "There is really nothing to tell; we know nothing, except that He is the supreme force in the world. France is in a ferment, and has offered him Dictatorship. That, too, He has refused. Germany has made the same proposal as ourselves; Italy, the same as France, with the title of Perpetual Tribune. America has done nothing yet, and Spain is divided."

      "And the East?"

      "The Emperor thanked Him; no more than that."

      Mabel drew a long breath, and stood looking out across the heat haze that was beginning to rise from the town beneath. These were matters so vast that she could not take them in. But to her imagination Europe lay like a busy hive, moving to and fro in the sunshine. She saw the blue distance of France, the towns of Germany, the Alps, and beyond them the Pyrenees and sun-baked Spain; and all were intent on the same business, to capture if they could this astonishing figure that had risen over the world. Sober England, too, was alight with zeal. Each country desired nothing better than that this man should rule over them; and He had refused them all.

      "He has refused them all!" she repeated breathlessly.

      "Yes, all. We think He may be waiting to hear from America. He still holds office there, you know."

      "How old is He?"

      "Not more than thirty-two or three. He has only been in office a few months. Before that He lived alone in Vermont. Then He stood for the Senate; then He made a speech or two; then He was appointed delegate, though no one seems to have realised His power. And the rest we know."

      Mabel shook her head meditatively.

      "We know nothing," she said. "Nothing; nothing! Where did He learn His languages?"

      "It is supposed that He travelled for many years. But no one knows. He has said nothing."

      She turned swiftly to her husband.

      "But what does it all mean? What is His power? Tell me, Oliver?"

      He smiled back, shaking his head.

      "Well, Markham said that it was his incorruption—that and his oratory; but that explains nothing."

      "No, it explains nothing," said the girl.

      "It is just personality," went on Oliver, "at least, that's the label to use. But that, too, is only a label."

      "Yes, just a label. But it is that. They all felt it in Paul's House, and in the streets afterwards. Did you not feel it?"

      "Feel it!" cried the man, with shining eyes. "Why, I would die for Him!"

      They went back to the house presently, and it was not till they reached the door that either said a word about the dead old woman who lay upstairs.

      "They are with her now," said Mabel softly. "I will communicate with the people."

      He nodded gravely.

      "It had better be this afternoon," he said. "I have a spare hour at fourteen o'clock. Oh! by the way, Mabel, do you know who took the message to the priest?"

      "I think so."

      "Yes, it was Phillips. I saw him last night. He will not come here again."

      "Did he confess it?"

      "He did. He was most offensive."

      But Oliver's face softened again as he nodded to his wife at the foot of the stairs, and turned to go up once more to his mother's room.

      Chapter II

       Table of Contents

      I

       Table of Contents

      It seemed to Percy Franklin as he drew near Rome, sliding five hundred feet high through the summer dawn, that he was approaching the very gates of heaven, or, still better, he was as a child coming home. For what he had left behind him ten hours before in London was not a bad specimen, he thought, of the superior mansions of hell. It was a world whence God seemed to have withdrawn Himself, leaving it indeed in a state of profound complacency—a state without hope or faith, but a condition in which, although life continued, there was absent the one essential to well-being. It was not that there was not expectation—for London was on tip-toe with excitement. There were rumours of all kinds: Felsenburgh was coming back; he was back; he had never gone. He was to be President of the Council, Prime Minister, Tribune, with full capacities of democratic government and personal sacro-sanctity, even King—if not Emperor of the West. The entire constitution was to be remodelled, there was to be a complete rearrangement of the pieces; crime was to be abolished by the mysterious power that had killed war; there was to be free food—the secret of life was discovered, there was to be no more death—so the rumours ran…. Yet that was lacking, to the priest's mind, which made life worth living….

      In Paris, while the volor waited at the great station at Montmartre, once known as the Church of the Sacred Heart, he had heard the roaring of the mob in love with life at last, and seen the banners go past. As it rose again over the suburbs he had seen the long lines of trains streaming in, visible as bright serpents in the brilliant glory of the electric globes, bringing the country folk up to the Council of the Nation which the legislators, mad with drama, had summoned to decide the great question. At Lyons it had been the same. The night was as clear as the day, and as full of sound. Mid France was arriving to register its votes.

      He had fallen

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