d, the railways and the roads of Notting Hill, men
will love them, and be afraid of them for ever."

"What the devil are you talking about?" asked the King.

"It has made mean landscapes magnificent, and hovels outlast
cathedrals," went on the madman. "Why should it not make lamp-posts
fairer than Greek lamps; and an omnibus-ride like a painted ship? The
touch of it is the finger of a strange perfection."

"What is your wand?" cried the King, impatiently.

"There it is," said Wayne; and pointed to the floor, where his sword
lay flat and shining.

"The sword!" cried the King; and sprang up straight on the dais.

"Yes, yes," cried Wayne, hoarsely. "The things touched by that are
not vulgar; the things touched by that--"

King Auberon made a gesture of horror.

"You will shed blood for that!" he cried. "For a cursed point of
view--"

"Oh, you kings, you kings!" cried out Adam, in a burst of scorn. "How
humane you are, how tender, how considerate! You will make war for a
frontier, or the imports of a foreign harbour; you will shed blood for
the precise duty on lace, or the salute to an admiral. But for the
things that make life itself worthy or miserable--how humane you are!
I say here, and I know well what I speak of, there were never any
necessary wars but the religious wars. There were never any just wars
but the religious wars. There were never any humane wars but the
religious wars. For these men were fighting for something that
claimed, at least, to be the happiness of a man, the virtue of a man.
A Crusader thought, at least, that Islam hurt the soul of every man,
king or tinker, that it could really capture. I think Buck and Barker
and these rich vultures hurt the soul of every man, hurt every inch of
the ground, hurt every brick of the houses, that they can really
capture. Do you think I have no right to fight for Notting Hill, you
whose English Government has so often fought for tomfooleries? If, as
your rich friends say, there are no gods, and the skies are dark above
us, what should a man fight for, but the place where he had the Eden
of childhood and the short heaven of first love? If no temples and no
scriptures are sacred, what is sacred if a man's own youth is not
sacred?"

The King walked a little restlessly up and down the dais.

"It is hard," he said, biting his lips, "to assent to a view so
desperate--so responsible...."

As he spoke, the door of the audience chamber fell ajar, and through