he revolutionary song. He saw through
a gap in the people that a thick stream of heads still poured up
the stairway. "The Master is coming," shouted voices, "the Master is
coming," and the crowd about him grew denser and denser. He began to
thrust himself towards the central groove. "The Master is coming!" "The
Sleeper, the Master!" "God and the Master!" roared the Voices.

And suddenly quite close to him were the black uniforms of the
revolutionary guard, and for the first and last time in his life he saw
Graham, saw him quite nearly. A tall, dark man in a flowing black robe,
with a white, resolute face and eyes fixed steadfastly before him; a man
who for all the little things about him held neither ears nor eyes
nor thoughts.... For all his days that man remembered the passing of
Graham's bloodless face. In a moment it had gone and he was fighting
in the swaying crowd. A lad weeping with terror thrust against him,
pressing towards the stairways, yelling "Clear for the aeropile!" The
bell that clears the flying stage became a loud unmelodious clanging.

With that clanging in his ears Graham drew near the aeropile, marched
into the shadow of its tilting wing. He became aware that a number of
people about him were offering to accompany him, and waved their offers
aside. He wanted to think how one started the engine. The bell clanged
faster and faster, and the feet of the retreating people roared faster
and louder. The man in yellow was assisting him to mount through the
ribs of the body. He clambered into the aeronaut's place, fixing himself
very carefully and deliberately. What was it? The man in yellow was
pointing to two aeropiles driving upward in the southern sky. No doubt
they were looking for the coming aeroplanes. That--presently--the thing
to do now was to start. Things were being shouted at him, questions,
warnings. They bothered him. He wanted to think about the aeropile, to
recall every item of his previous experience. He waved the people from
him, saw the man in yellow dropping off through the ribs, saw the crowd
cleft down the line of the girders by his gesture.

For a moment he was motionless, staring at the levers, the wheel by
which the engine shifted, and all the delicate appliances of which he
knew so little. His eye caught a spirit level with the bubble towards
him, and he remembered something, spent a dozen seconds in swinging the
engine forward until the bubble floated in the centre of the tube.
H