to you. You
stand in a very bright light, and they see not you but a magnified
image of you thrown on a screen--so that even the furtherest man in the
remotest gallery can, if he chooses, count your eyelashes."

Graham clutched desperately at one of the questions in his mind. "What
is the population of London?"

"Eight and twaindy myriads."

"Eight and what?"

"More than thirty-three millions."

These figures went beyond Graham's imagination "You will be expected to
say something," said Ostrog. "Not what you used to call a Speech, but
what our people call a Word--just one sentence, six or seven words.
Something formal. If I might suggest--' I have awakened and my heart is
with you.' That is the sort of thing they want."

"What was that?" asked Graham.

"'I am awakened and my heart is with you.' And bow--bow royally. But
first we must get you black robes--for black is your colour. Do you
mind? And then they will disperse to their homes."

Graham hesitated. "I am in your hands," he said.

Ostrog was clearly of that opinion. He thought for a moment, turned
to the curtain and called brief directions to some unseen attendants.
Almost immediately a black robe, the very fellow of the black robe
Graham had worn in the theatre, was brought. And as he threw it about
his shoulders there came from the room without the shrilling of a
high-pitched bell. Ostrog turned in interrogation to the attendant,
then suddenly seemed to change his mind, pulled the curtain aside and
disappeared.

For a moment Graham stood with the deferential attendant listening
to Ostrog's retreating steps. There was a sound of quick question and
answer and of men running. The curtain was snatched back and Ostrog
reappeared, his massive face glowing with excitement. He crossed the
room in a stride, clicked the room into darkness, gripped Grahams arm
and pointed to the mirror.

"Even as we turned away," he said.

Graham saw his index finger, black and colossal, above the mirrored
Council House. For a moment he did not understand. And then he perceived
that the flagstaff that had carried the white banner was bare.

"Do you mean--?" he began.

"The Council has surrendered. Its rule is at an end for evermore."

"Look!" and Ostrog pointed to a coil of black that crept in little jerks
up the vacant flagstaff, unfolding as it rose.

The oval picture paled as Lincoln pulled the curtain aside and entered.

"They are clamourous," he said.

Ostrog k