has developed. There is a new
Little Englander abroad and he speaks with the voice of Labour. It is
our task to find the soul of the people. And I have come to you for
your aid."

Tallente looked for a moment down to the bay and listened to the sound
of the incoming tide breaking upon the rocks. Dimmer now, but even more
majestic in the twilight, the great, immovable cliffs towered up to the
sky. An owl floated up from the grove of trees beneath and with a
strange cry circled round for a moment to drop on to the lawn, a
shapeless, solemn mass of feathers. At the back of the hills a little
rim of gold, no wider than a wedding ring, announced the rising of the
moon. He felt a touch upon his sleeve, a very sweet, persuasive voice
in his ear. Nora had left Miller in the background and was standing by
his side.

"I heard Mr. Dartrey's last words," she said. "Can you refuse such an
appeal in such a spot? You turn away to think, turn to the quietness of
all these dreaming voices. Believe me, if there is a soul beneath them,
it is the same soul which has inspired our creed. You yourself have
come here full of bitterness, Andrew Tallente, because it seemed to you
that there was no place for you amongst the prophets of democracy. It
was you yourself, in a moment of passion, perhaps, who said that
democracy, as typified in existing political parties, was soulless. You
were right. Hasn't Mr. Dartrey just told you so and doesn't that make
our task the clearer? It brings before us those wonderful days written
about in the Old Testament--the people must be led into the light."

Her voice had become almost part of the music of the evening. She was
looking up at him, her beautiful eyes aglow. Dartrey, a yard or two
off, his thoughtful face paler than ever in the faint light, was
listening with joyous approval. In the background, Miller, with his
hands in his pockets, was smoking mechanically the cigarette which he
had just rolled and lit. The thrill of a great moment brought to
Tallente a feeling of almost strange exaltation.

"I am your man, Dartrey," he promised. "I will do what I can."

CHAPTER X

The Right Honourable John Augustus Horlock, Prime Minister of England
through a most amazing fluke, received Tallente, a few days later, with
the air of one desiring to show as much graciousness as possible to a
discomfited follower. He extended two fingers and indicated an
uncomfortable chair.

"Well, well, Tallente," he said,