well shut his eyes. But soon his voice rose again.

'You must never influence anybody. That is my legacy to you. You cannot
teach men to stand by giving them a staff. Let the halt and the lame
alone. The strong will win. You must be free. There is nothing worth
while. . . .' A shiver passed over him, his voice became muffled.

'No, nothing at all . . . freedom only. . . .'

He spoke quicker. The words could not be distinguished. Now and then he
groaned.

'Wait,' whispered Betty, 'it will be over in a minute.' For two minutes
they waited.

Victoria's eyes fastened on a basin by the bedside, full of reddish
water. Then Farwell's face grew lighter in tone. His voice came faint as
the sound of a spinet.

'There will be better times. But before then fighting . . . the coming
to the top of the leaders . . . gold will be taken from the rich . . .
given to the vile . . . pictures burnt . . . chaos . . . woman rise as
a tyrant . . . there will be fighting . . . the coming to the top. . ..'
His voice thinned down to nothing as his wandering mind repeated his
prediction. Then he spoke again.

'You are a rebel . . . you will lead . . . you have understood . . .
only by understanding are you saved. I asked you to come here to tell
you to go on . . . earn your freedom . . . at the expense of others.'

'Why at the expense of others?' asked Betty, leaning over the bed.
Farwell was hypnotising her. His eyes wandered to her face.

'Too late . . .' he said, 'you do not see . . . you are a slave . . . a
woman has only one weapon . . . otherwise, a slave . . . ask . . . ask
Victoria.' He closed his eyes but went on speaking.

'There is not freedom for everybody . . . capitalism means freedom for a
few . . . you must have freedom, like food . . . food for the soul . . .
you must capture the right to respect . . . a woman may not toil . . .
make money . . .'

Then again. 'I am going into the blackness . . . before Death . . . the
Judge . . . Death will judge me. . . .'

''E's thinking of his Maker, poor genelman,' said the landlady hoarsely.

Victoria and Betty looked at one another. Agnostic or indifferent in
their cooler moments, the superstition of their ancestors worked in
their blood, powerfully assisted by the spectacle of this being passing
step by step into an unknown. There must be life there, feeling, loving.
There must be Something.

The voice stopped. Betty had seized Victoria's arm and now clutched it
violently.