Maraton shook his head.
"Don't make any mistake about that," he said. "If I press the levers upon which to-day my hand seems to rest, this country will be laid waste with famine and riot and conquest. An hour ago a little man was here, a little, black-bearded man with a quiet voice, charged with a great mission. He came to offer me, on behalf of a syndicate of foreign manufacturers, a million pounds towards our universal strike."
They both gasped. The thing was surely incredible!
"An incident like that," Maraton continued, "may show you what this country must lose, for her rivals do not give away a million pounds for nothing."
Julia's eyes were fixed upon his. Her face was full of strained anxiety.
"You talk," she murmured, "as though you had doubts, as though you were hesitating. Forgive me—we have waited so long for to-day—we and all the others."
"Could any one," he demanded, "stand in the position I stand in to-day and not have doubts?"
Her eyes flashed at him.
"Yes," she cried, "a prophet could! A real man could—the man we thought you were, could!"
Aaron leaned forward, aghast. His monosyllable was charged with terrified reproach.