rose in his throat. He had lost and yet he
had won,--been defeated and yet had risen to something bigger than he
had ever achieved before. He could face the future now, even though it
were written that he should face it alone. He tried to speak, then
turned on his heel and walked towards the dock, where Clark's fast
launch lay glinting in the sun.

The gray eyes followed him in profound contemplation. Presently Clark
smiled, it seemed a little sadly, and advanced to the officer
commanding the troops. Baudette was sitting up. Manson, his face gray
with pain, was nursing a dangling arm, and round them the derelicts of
battle were strewn grotesquely. But it was Fisette who spoke first.

"By Gar!" he said with flashing teeth, "she's one big fight, eh!"

Silence spread again over the works. An armed picket was left at the
big gates, while the rest of the troops patrolled suddenly deserted
streets in Ironville. In the accounting office there began again the
clicking of typewriters, and Clark, at his desk, dictated a dispatch to
Philadelphia. This done, he fell into a mood of strange abstraction.
The car of destiny was traveling fast.

Just then the telephone rang, and he took up the receiver
automatically. As in a dream Elsie's voice came in, tremulous but very
clear. He smiled wearily as he listened.

"Thank you very much," he said in answer. "There is really no serious
damage done, except to a few foolish heads; and," he added, "please
thank Mr. Belding again for me,--yes, he'll understand."

A hush fell in the office again, and he felt inexpressibly alone. He
was not in any sense hopeless, being assured that in the vast machine
of his own creation were inherent qualities of life that could never be
extinguished. He was strong, since for himself he desired nothing. In
this hour of uncertainty his imagination traveled far, but again and
again it was captured by the remembrance of his days with the bishop.
This had nothing to do with works, and yet in a way they were
intimately connected. The bishop had demonstrated the operation of
high and subtle forces to which he himself had not given much thought.
The bishop had saved his life, just as Belding had saved it, and he
still seemed to feel the working of big muscles under his twitching
palms. There flashed back what the prelate had said about being
prepared for the worst, which after all was sometimes the best, and,
with half closed eyes, he wondered