e area became dim and blue and the air pungent with the
thin smoke of their weapons.

Too late! The flying machine dwindled smaller and smaller, and curved
about and swept gracefully downward to the flying stage from which it had
so lately risen. Ostrog had escaped.

For a while a confused babblement arose from the ruins, and then the
universal attention came back to Graham, perched high among the
scaffolding. He saw the faces of the people turned towards him, heard
their shouts at his rescue. From the throat of the ways came the song of
the revolt spreading like a breeze across that swaying sea of men.

The little group of men about him shouted congratulations on his escape.
The man in yellow was close to him, with a set face and shining eyes. And
the song was rising, louder and louder; tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.

Slowly the realisation came of the full meaning of these things to him,
the perception of the swift change in his position. Ostrog, who had stood
beside him whenever he had faced that shouting multitude before, was
beyond there--the antagonist. There was no one to rule for him any
longer. Even the people about him, the leaders and organisers of the
multitude, looked to see what he would do, looked to him to act, awaited
his orders. He was king indeed. His puppet reign was at an end.

He was very intent to do the thing that was expected of him. His nerves
and muscles were quivering, his mind was perhaps a little confused, but
he felt neither fear nor anger. His hand that had been trodden upon
throbbed and was hot. He was a little nervous about his bearing. He knew
he was not afraid, but he was anxious not to seem afraid. In his former
life he had often been more excited in playing games of skill. He was
desirous of immediate action, he knew he must not think too much in
detail of the huge complexity of the struggle about him lest be should be
paralysed by the sense of its intricacy.

Over there those square blue shapes, the flying stages, meant Ostrog;
against Ostrog, who was so clear and definite and decisive, he who was so
vague and undecided, was fighting for the whole future of the world.

CHAPTER XXIII

GRAHAM SPEAKS HIS WORD

For a time the Master of the Earth was not even master of his own mind.
Even his will seemed a will not his own, his own acts surprised him and
were but a part of the confusion of strange experiences that poured
across his being. These things were definite, the neg