For a moment Graham stood with the deferential attendant listening to Ostrog’s retreating steps. There was a sound of quick question and answer and of men running. The curtain was snatched back and Ostrog reappeared, his massive face glowing with excitement. He crossed the room in a stride, clicked the room into darkness, gripped Graham’s arm and pointed to the mirror.
“Even as we turned away,” he said.
Graham saw his index finger, black and colossal, above the mirrored Council House. For a moment he did not understand. And then he perceived that the flagstaff that had carried the white banner was bare.
“Do you mean—?” he began.
“The Council has surrendered. Its rule is at an end for evermore.”
“Look!” and Ostrog pointed to a coil of black that crept in little jerks up the vacant flagstaff, unfolding as it rose.
The oval picture paled as Lincoln pulled the curtain aside and entered.
“They are clamorous,” he said.
Ostrog kept his grip of Graham’s arm.
“We have raised the people,” he said. “We have given them arms. For to-day at least their wishes must be law.”