an incalculable gain for them, and
loss for the Individualists, that confessors were not all on one side
after all. The huge electric placards over London had winked out the
facts in Esperanto as Oliver stepped into the train at twilight.

"_Oliver Brand wounded.... Catholic assailant.... Indignation of the
country.... Well-deserved fate of assassin_."

He was pleased, too, that he honestly had done his best to save the man.
Even in that moment of sudden and acute pain he had cried out for a fair
trial; but he had been too late. He had seen the starting eyes roll up
in the crimson face, and the horrid grin come and go as the hands had
clutched and torn at his throat. Then the face had vanished and a heavy
trampling began where it had disappeared. Oh! there was some passion and
loyalty left in England!

His mother got up presently and went out, still without a word; and
Mabel turned to him, laying a hand on his knee.

"Are you too tired to talk, my dear?"

He opened his eyes.

"Of course not, my darling. What is it?"

"What do you think will be the effect?"

He raised himself a little, looking out as usual through the darkening
windows on to that astonishing view. Everywhere now lights were
glowing, a sea of mellow moons just above the houses, and above the
mysterious heavy blue of a summer evening.

"The effect?" he said. "It can be nothing but good. It was time that
something happened. My dear, I feel very downcast sometimes, as you
know. Well, I do not think I shall be again. I have been afraid
sometimes that we were losing all our spirit, and that the old Tories
were partly right when they prophesied what Communism would do. But
after this---"

"Well?"

"Well; we have shown that we can shed our blood too. It is in the nick
of time, too, just at the crisis. I don't want to exaggerate; it is only
a scratch--but it was so deliberate, and--and so dramatic. The poor
devil could not have chosen a worse moment. People won't forget it."

Mabel's eyes shone with pleasure.

"You poor dear!" she said. "Are you in pain?"

"Not much. Besides, Christ! what do I care? If only this infernal
Eastern affair would end!"

He knew he was feverish and irritable, and made a great effort to drive
it down.

"Oh, my dear!" he went on, flushed a little. "If they would not be such
heavy fools: they don't understand; they don't understand."

"Yes, Oliver?"

"They don't understand what a glorious thing it all is Humanity,