“Not clearly, perhaps. But—tell me.”
She turned to him with sudden resolution. “It is so hard to explain. I have meant to, I have wanted to. And now—I cannot. I am not ready with words. But about you—there is something. It is wonder. Your sleep—your awakening. These things are miracles. To me at least—and to all the common people. You who lived and suffered and died, you who were a common citizen, wake again, live again, to find yourself Master almost of the earth.”
“Master of the earth,” he said. “So they tell me. But try and imagine how little I know of it.”
“Cities—Trusts—the Labour Department—”
“Principalities, powers, dominions—the power and the glory. Yes, I have heard them shout. I know. I am Master. King, if you wish. With Ostrog, the Boss—”
He paused.
She turned upon him and surveyed his face with a curious scrutiny. “Well?”
He smiled. “To take the responsibility.”
“That is what we have begun to fear.” For a moment she said no more. “No,” she said slowly. “You will take the responsibility. You will take the responsibility. The people look to you.”
She spoke softly. “Listen! For at least half the years of your sleep—in every generation—multitudes of people, in every generation greater multitudes of people, have prayed that you might awake—prayed.”