ut I
do bar their coming from outside, bang out of the sunset clouds."

"And yet you came from the outside, too, Jim," said the stranger in a
voice almost affectionate.

"What do you want?" asked Turnbull, with an explosion of temper as
sudden as a pistol shot.

"I have already told you," said the man, lowering his voice and speaking
with evident sincerity; "I want you."

"What do you want with me?"

"I want exactly what you want," said the new-comer with a new gravity.
"I want the Revolution."

Turnbull looked at the fire-swept sky and the wind-stricken woodlands,
and kept on repeating the word voicelessly to himself--the word that did
indeed so thoroughly express his mood of rage as it had been among those
red clouds and rocking tree-tops. "Revolution!" he said to himself. "The
Revolution--yes, that is what I want right enough--anything, so long as
it is a Revolution."

To some cause he could never explain he found himself completing the
sentence on the top of the wall, having automatically followed the
stranger so far. But when the stranger silently indicated the rope that
led to the machine, he found himself pausing and saying: "I can't leave
MacIan behind in this den."

"We are going to destroy the Pope and all the kings," said the
new-comer. "Would it be wiser to take him with us?"

Somehow the muttering Turnbull found himself in the flying ship also,
and it swung up into the sunset.

"All the great rebels have been very little rebels," said the man with
the red scarf. "They have been like fourth-form boys who sometimes
venture to hit a fifth-form boy. That was all the worth of their
French Revolution and regicide. The boys never really dared to defy the
schoolmaster."

"Whom do you mean by the schoolmaster?" asked Turnbull.

"You know whom I mean," answered the strange man, as he lay back on
cushions and looked up into the angry sky.

They seemed rising into stronger and stronger sunlight, as if it were
sunrise rather than sunset. But when they looked down at the earth
they saw it growing darker and darker. The lunatic asylum in its large
rectangular grounds spread below them in a foreshortened and infantile
plan, and looked for the first time the grotesque thing that it was.
But the clear colours of the plan were growing darker every moment. The
masses of rose or rhododendron deepened from crimson to violet. The maze
of gravel pathways faded from gold to brown. By the time they had
risen a few