as warming his blood! And it was too late now. He had passed
into the other world. In his pocket lay the letter which he had
received that evening from Mr. Foley--a few dignified lines of bitter
disappointment. He was an outcast, one who might even soon be regarded
as the wrecker of his own country. And still the music grew and faded
and grew again.

It was late before they had finished dinner, and Maraton took Selingman
to one side.

"Remember," he insisted, "it is a bargain. Before I go north I must see
Maxendorf."

Selingman nodded.

"It is arranged," he said. "We both agreed that it was better for you
not to go to the hotel. Wait."

He glanced at his watch and nodded.

"Stay with your brother, little one," he directed, turning to Julia.
"We shall be away only a few moments. Come."

"Where are we going?" Maraton enquired, as they passed through the
restaurant and ascended the stairs.

Selingman placed his finger by the side of his nose.

"A plan of mine," he whispered. "Maxendorf is here, in a private room."

Selingman hurried his companion into a small private dining-room.
Maxendorf was sitting there alone, smoking a cigarette over the remnants
of an unpretentious feast. He welcomed them without a smile; his
aspect, indeed, as he waved his hand towards a chair, was almost
forbidding.

"What do you want with me, Maraton?" he asked. "They tell me--Selingman
tells me--there was a word you had to say before you press the levers.
Say it, then, and remember that hereafter, the less communication
between you and me the better."

Maraton ignored the chair. He stood a little way inside the room.
Through the partially opened window came the ceaseless roar of traffic
from the busy street below.

"Maxendorf," he began, "there isn't much to be said. You
know--Selingman has told you--what my decision is. It took me some time
to make up my mind--only because I doubted one thing, and one thing
alone, in the world. That one thing, Maxendorf, was your good faith."

Maxendorf lifted his eyes swiftly.

"You doubted me," he repeated.

"You're a people's man, I know," Maraton went one, "but here and there
one finds queer traits in your character. They say that you are also a
patriot and a schemer."

"They say truly," Maxendorf admitted, "yet these things are by the way.
They occupy a little cell of life--no more. It is for the people I live
and breathe."

"For the people of the world," Maraton persisted slowly--"