‘Sadbag, what hast thou done?’ demanded Mercia with eyes of fire and cheek of flame.
‘Fear nothing, sweet lady, thy fair fame hath been kept guarded and unsullied by me. Not a word is given of which thou needest be ashamed. In this recital thou art truly pictured; gentle, modest, and unsuspecting up to the point where knowledge is forced upon thee, and the deceiver shows his hand. Then, the art of the seducer utterly fails in its purpose, for thine irreproachable virtue shielded thee as a coat of armour; thy sense of honour to thy fellow-woman was as a wall of defence to thy shoulders, for thou didst refuse the most tempting blandishments rather than blight the happiness of a wife; albeit thou wert offered the crown of an Empress as the reward of thy dishonour. But what of thy letter of resignation; I wish I had seen it beforehand; for the Emperor makes a bitter enemy, and will revile thee soundly to his ministers?’
‘I think I have made myself pretty clear,’ replied Mercia, who had considerably calmed down by this time; ‘here is a copy of my letter; read it.’
‘Good!’ exclaimed Sadbag as soon as he had finished perusing the document; ‘this is fine! Canst thou trust it with me for one night and I will return it to-morrow morning without fail?’
‘Seeing thou hast done so much already,’ returned Mercia in a weary tone of voice, ‘there can be no harm in giving it thee to make what use thou mayest choose. But, listen, here comes Geometrus—I will invite him to dine with us, and we three will discuss the matter together.’
At the next moment Geometrus had entered the apartment, and startled the two with the look of painful concern on his countenance.
‘Why so glum, my friend?’ cried Sadbag cheerily; ‘this is but a passing cloud which will be carried away presently by the fair breezes of public opinion. No one can hurt thee, or Mercia: I cannot say so much for myself, for indeed I have meddled considerably in this business, and nobody knows how it will turn out for me. But ye twain are innocent victims, and have naught to fear in this advanced period of the world’s history. Truth and justice should prevail in the dawn of the twenty-first century, if ever it is to prevail at all on this earth. Ah, I wonder if anything approaching perfection can ever be reached here!’
‘Our present day littérateurs,’ observed Mercia, ‘felicitate themselves that we are in the enjoyment of such an advanced civilisation as the world has never seen in the past, or possible to attain in the future. But thou, Sadbag, seest much to improve in the political arena, and I see much to be discovered in the world of Nature. We have still to learn how to rule the elements. As yet, the winds and the storms, and the waters, are our masters. The time will arrive when these shall be our servants to come and go at our will. The rains it is true now water the earth at our desire, but soon the winds shall be dispersed by our art, and the heaving waves of the ocean shall be made subservient to our will; not by the wand of the sorcerer, but by the hand of that more wonderful magician—Science. When man has made Nature to obey his behests then that extraordinary time shall have arrived that the prophets dreamed of in the far off ages, which they symbolised by the metaphor of the lion and the lamb lying side by side. This, indeed, is the true millennium for which all may ardently pray; for it is the earth-glory awaiting the planet-dwellers of our sun’s system, yea, of every star system throughout the whole of the vast universe.’
Mercia paused, and looked at her friends, as if inquiring if she might proceed.
‘Go on,’ said Sadbag, ‘we delight to listen to thee.’