ed. Prophet after prophet they have
followed blindly through the wilderness. Always it has been the prophet
who has been caught up into the easier ways, and the people who have
sunk back into misery."

She fell suddenly upon her knees. Before he could stop her, she was at
his feet, her face straining up to his.

"Forgive me!" she cried. "For the love of the women and the little
children, don't fail us now! If you don't say the word to-night, it
will never be spoken, never in your day nor mine. It isn't legislation
they want any more. It's revolution, the cleansing fires! The land
where the sun shines lies on the other side of the terrible way. Lead
them across. Don't try the devious paths. They have filled you with
the poison of common sense. It isn't common sense that's wanted. It's
only an earthquake can bring out the spirit of the people and make them
see and hold what belongs to them."

Maraton lifted her up. Her body was quivering. She lay, for a moment,
passive in his arms. Then she sprang away. She stood with her back to
him, looking out of the window.

"The streets are full of people," she said quietly. "Their eyes are all
turned here. Poor people!"

Maraton crossed the room and stood by her side. He spoke very gently.
He even took her hand, which lay like a lump of ice in his.

"Julia," he whispered, "you lose hope and trust too soon."

"You have spoken of doubts," she answered, in a low tone. "The prophet
has no doubts."

There was a sound of voices outside, of heavy footsteps on the stairs.
They heard Graveling's loud, unpleasant voice. The delegates had
arrived!

CHAPTER XVI

Maraton, with the peculiar sensitiveness of the artist to an altered
atmosphere, was keenly conscious of the change when Julia had left the
room and the delegates had entered. One by one they shook hands with
Maraton and took their places around the table. They had no appearance
of men charged with a great mission. Henneford, who had met them at the
station, was beaming with hospitality. Peter Dale was full of gruff
good-humour and jokes. Graveling alone entered with a scowl and sat
with folded arms and the air of a dissentient. Borden, who complained
of feeling train-sick, insisted upon drinks being served, and Culvain,
with a notebook upon his knee, ostentatiously sharpened a pencil. It
was very much like a meeting of a parish council. Ross alone amongst
the delegates had the absorbed air of a man on the threshold of