CHAPTER XI.
HERO-WORSHIP.
Neither George Bullen, or the "Lebanon Rose," whom he had so opportunely saved, had had any idea of how rapidly time had fled during that afternoon. On reaching the street, and looking at his watch, George was amazed to find that it was past six o'clock. Moving as briskly as it was wise to do, so as not to call attention to himself, he made his way to where the noise of the multitude told him that something extra was happening.
He soon discovered that the excitement came from a kind of impromptu mass meeting that had followed upon the appearance of Apleon riding on his now celebrated black charger.
The first thing which struck Bullen was the fact that, already, every one seemed to be wearing the "Covenant" sign—"The Mark of the Beast." He himself appeared to be the only person who was not wearing it. And—was it fancy? or did Apleon's eyes fix on him with a momentary scowl.
The second thing which struck him, was the intense admiration and homage of the great crowd—all classes alike seemed absolutely infatuated—for this Emperor-Dictator of the world, Lucien Apleon, "The Anti-christ."
Two cries rose loud and laudatory from the multitude "Who is like Apleon? Who dare oppose him?" It was the ultimate fruit of the jingoism of the previous years!
"This is what John beheld," Bullen told himself, "all the world wondered after the Beast!" They are, already, worshipping him, in their poor deluded hearts, as a God!
Almost, it seemed to the young journalist as though there was headed up in this one man—the Man of Sin—all that men through the by-gone ages had worshipped. The captivating power of ancient Babylon. The mighty prowess of the Medo-Persian, the power that held all the world in subjection and awe. The Grecian polish. The Roman legal acumen, and martial perfection. All these things seemed combined in this one notable man. And added to all this, there was his resistless attractiveness, his beauty of face, his grace of form, his wondrous voice, his regal air—"all the world wondered after him."
As, after awhile, he walked slowly homewards, George Bullen asked himself the question: