第 10 页

swiftly through the incandescent glare towards the iron supports of the

next range of wind-wheels. Graham, recovering from his astonishment,

followed as fast, convinced of his imminent capture.

In a score of seconds they were within a tracery of glare and black

shadows shot with moving bars beneath the monstrous wheels. Graham's

conductor ran on for some time, and suddenly darted sideways and

vanished into a black shadow in the corner of the foot of a huge

support. In another moment Graham was beside him.

They cowered panting and stared out.

The scene upon which Graham looked was very wild and strange. The snow

had now almost ceased; only a belated flake passed now and again across

the picture. But the broad stretch of level before them was a ghastly

white, broken only by gigantic masses and moving shapes and lengthy

strips of impenetrable darkness, vast ungainly Titans of shadow. All

about them, huge metallic structures, iron girders, inhumanly vast as it

seemed to him, interlaced, and the edges of wind-wheels, scarcely moving

in the lull, I passed in great shining curves steeper and steeper up

into a luminous haze. Wherever the snow-spangled light struck down,

beams and girders, and incessant bands running with a halting,

indomitable resolution passed upward and downward into the black. And

with all that mighty activity, with an omnipresent sense of motive and

design, this snow-clad desolation of mechanism seemed void of all

human presence save themselves, seemed as trackless and deserted and

unfrequented by men as some inaccessible Alpine snowfield.

"They will be chasing us," cried the leader. "We are scarcely halfway

there yet. Cold as it is we must hide here for a space--at least until

it snows more thickly again."

His teeth chattered in his head.

"Where are the markets?" asked Graham staring out. "Where are all the

people?"

The other made no answer.

"Look!" whispered Graham, crouched close, and became very still.

The snow had suddenly become thick again, and sliding with the whirling

eddies out of the black pit of the sky came something, vague and large

and very swift. It came down in a steep curve and swept round, wide

wings extended and a trail of white condensing steam behind it, rose

with an easy swiftness and went gliding up the air, swept horizontally

forward in a wide curve, and vanished again in the steaming specks of

snow. And, through the ribs of its body, Graham saw two little men, very

minute and active, searching the snowy areas about him, as it seemed to

him, with field glasses. For a second they were clear, then hazy through

a thick whirl of snow, then small and distant, and in a minute they were

gone.

"Now!" cried his companion. "Come!"

He pulled Graham's sleeve, and incontinently the two were running

headlong down the arcade of ironwork beneath the wind-wheels. Graham,

running blindly, collided with his leader, who had turned back on him

suddenly. He found himself within a dozen yards of a black chasm. It

extended as far as he could see right and left. It seemed to cut off

their progress in either direction.

"Do as I do," whispered his guide. He lay down and crawled to the edge,

thrust his head over and twisted until one leg hung. He seemed to feel

for something with his foot, found it, and went sliding over the edge

into the gulf. His head reappeared. "It is a ledge," he whispered. "In

the dark all the way along. Do as I did."

Graham hesitated, went down upon all fours, crawled to the edge, and

peered into a velvety blackness. For a sickly moment he had courage

neither to go on nor retreat, then he sat and hung his leg down, felt

his guide's hands pulling at him, had a horrible sensation of sliding

over the edge into the unfathomable, splashed, and felt himself in a

slushy gutter, impenetrably dark.

"This way," whispered the voice, and he began crawling along the gutter

through the trickling thaw, pressing himself against the wall. They

continued along it for some minutes. He seemed to pass through a hundred

stages of misery, to pass minute after minute through a hundred degrees

of cold, damp, and exhaustion. In a little while he ceased to feel his

hands and feet.

The gutter sloped downwards. He observed that they were now many feet

below the edge of the buildings. Rows of spectral white shapes like the

ghosts of blind-drawn windows rose above them. They came to the end of

a cable fastened above one of these white windows, dimly visible and

dropping into impenetrable shadows. Suddenly his hand came against his

guide's.

"Still!" whispered the latter very softly.

He looked up with a start and saw the huge wings of the flying machine

gliding slowly and noiselessly overhead athwart the broad band of

snow-flecked grey-blue sky. In a moment it was hidden again.

"Keep still; they were just turning."

For awhile both were motionless, then Graham's companion stood up,

and reaching towards the fastenings of the cable fumbled with some

indistinct tackle.

"What is that?" asked Graham.

The only answer was a faint cry. The man crouched motionless. Graham

peered and saw his face dimly. He was staring down the long ribbon of

sky, and Graham, following his eyes, saw the flying machine small and

faint and remote. Then he saw that the wings spread on either side,

that it headed towards them, that every moment it grew larger. It was

following the edge of the chasm towards them.

The man's movements became convulsive. He thrust two cross bars into

Graham's hand. Graham could not see them, he ascertained their form by

feeling. They were slung by thin cords to the cable. On the cord were

hand grips of some soft elastic substance. "Put the cross between your

legs," whispered the guide hysterically, "and grip the holdfasts. Grip

tightly, grip!"

Graham did as he was told.

"Jump," said the voice. "In heaven's name, jump!"

For one momentous second Graham could not speak. He was glad afterwards

that darkness hid his face. He said nothing. He began to tremble

violently. He looked sideways at the swift shadow that swallowed up the

sky as it rushed upon him.

"Jump! Jump--in God's name! Or they will have us," cried Graham's guide,

and in the violence of his passion thrust him forward.

Graham tottered convulsively, gave a sobbing cry, a cry in spite of

himself, and then, as the flying machine swept over them, fell forward

into the pit of that darkness, seated on the cross wood and holding

the ropes with the clutch of death. Something cracked, something rapped

smartly against a wall. He heard the pulley of the cradle hum on its

rope. He heard the aeronauts shout. He felt a pair of knees digging into

his back.... He was sweeping headlong through the air, falling through

the air. All his strength was in his hands. He would have screamed but

he had no breath.

He shot into a blinding light that made him grip the tighter. He

recognised the great passage with the running ways, the hanging lights

and interlacing girders. They rushed upward and by him. He had a

momentary impression of a great circular aperture yawning to swallow him

up.

He was in the dark again, falling, falling, gripping with aching hands,

and behold! a clap of sound, a burst of light, and he was in a brightly

lit hall with a roaring multitude of people beneath his feet. The

people! His people! A proscenium, a stage rushed up towards him, and his

cable swept down to a circular aperture to the right of this. He felt he

was travelling slower, and suddenly very much slower. He distinguished

shouts of "Saved! The Master. He is safe!" The stage rushed up towards

him with rapidly diminishing swiftness. Then--

He heard the man clinging behind him shout as if suddenly terrified,

and this shout was echoed by a shout from below. He felt that he was no

longer gliding along the cable but falling with it. There was a tumult

of yells, screams and cries. He felt something soft against his extended

hand, and the impact of a broken fall quivering through his arm...

He wanted to be still and the people were lifting him. He believed

afterwards he was carried to the platform and given some drink, but he

was never sure. He did not notice what became of his guide. When his

mind was clear again he was on his feet; eager hands were assisting him

to stand. He was in a big alcove, occupying the position that in his

previous experience had been devoted to the lower boxes. If this was

indeed a theatre.

A mighty tumult was in his ears, a thunderous roar, the shouting of a

countless multitude. "It is the Sleeper! The Sleeper is with us!"

"The Sleeper is with us! The Master--the Owner! The Master is with us.

He is safe."

Graham had a surging vision of a great hall crowded with people. He saw

no individuals, he was conscious of a froth of pink faces, of waving

arms and garments, he felt the occult influence of a vast crowd pouring

over him, buoying him up. There were balconies, galleries, great

archways giving remoter perspectives, and everywhere people, a vast

arena of people, densely packed and cheering. Across the nearer space

lay the collapsed cable like a huge snake. It had been cut by the men

of the flying machine at its upper end, and had crumpled down into the

hall. Men seemed to be hauling this out of the way. But the whole effect

was vague, the very buildings throbbed and leapt with the roar of the

voices.

He stood unsteadily and looked at those about him. Someone supported him

by one arm. "Let me go into a little room," he said, weeping; "a little

room," and could say no more. A man in black stepped forward, took his

disengaged arm. He was aware of officious men opening a door before

him. Someone guided him to a seat. He staggered. He sat down heavily and

covered his face with his hands; he was trembling violently, his nervous

control was at an end. He was relieved of his cloak, he could not

remember how; his purple hose he saw were black with wet. People were

running about him, things were happening, but for some time he gave no

heed to them.

He had escaped. A myriad of cries told him that. He was safe. These were

the people who were on his side. For a space he sobbed for breath,

and then he sat still with his face covered. The air was full of the

shouting of innumerable men.

CHAPTER IX. THE PEOPLE MARCH

He became aware of someone urging a glass of clear fluid upon his

attention, looked up and discovered this was a dark young man in a

yellow garment. He took the dose forthwith, and in a moment he was

glowing. A tall man in a black robe stood by his shoulder, and pointed

to the half open door into the hall. This man was shouting close to

his ear and yet what was said was indistinct because of the tremendous

uproar from the great theatre. Behind the man was a girl in a silvery

grey robe, whom Graham, even in this confusion, perceived to be

beautiful. Her dark eyes, full of wonder and curiosity,-were fixed on

him, her lips trembled apart. A partially opened door gave a glimpse

of the crowded hall, and admitted a vast uneven tumult, a hammering,

clapping and shouting that died away and began again, and rose to a

thunderous pitch, and so continued intermittently all the time that

Graham remained in the little room. He watched the lips of the man in

black and gathered that he was making some clumsy explanation.

He stared stupidly for some moments at these things and then stood up

abruptly; he grasped the arm of this shouting person.

"Tell me!" he cried. "Who am I? Who am I?"

The others came nearer to hear his words. "Who am I?" His eyes searched

their faces.

"They have told him nothing!" cried the girl.

"Tell me, tell me!" cried Graham.

"You are the Master of the Earth. You are owner of half the world."

He did not believe he heard aright. He resisted the persuasion. He

pretended not to understand, not to hear. He lifted his voice again. "I

have been awake three days--a prisoner three days. I judge there is some

struggle between a number of people in this city--it is London?"

"Yes," said the younger man.

"And those who meet in the great hall with the white Atlas? How does it

concern me? In some way it has to do with me. Why, I don't know. Drugs?

It seems to me that while I have slept the world has gone mad. I have

gone mad."

"Who are those Councillors under the Atlas? Why should they try to drug

me?"

"To keep you insensible," said the man in yellow.

"To prevent your interference."

"But _why?_"

"Because _you_ are the Atlas, Sire," said the man in yellow. "The world

is on your shoulders. They rule it in your name."

The sounds from the hall had died into a silence threaded by one

monotonous voice. Now suddenly, trampling on these last words, came

a deafening tumult, a roaring and thundering, cheer crowded on cheer,

voices hoarse and shrill, beating, overlapping, and while it lasted the

people in the little room could not hear each other shout.

Graham stood, his intelligence clinging helplessly to the thing he had

just heard. "The Council," he repeated blankly, and then snatched at a

name that had struck him. "But who is Ostrog?" he said.

"He is the organiser--the organiser of the revolt. Our Leader--in your

name."

"In my name?--And you? Why is he not here?"

"He--has deputed us. I am his brother--his half-brother, Lincoln. He

wants you to show yourself to these people and then come on to him. That

is why he has sent. He is at the wind-vane offices directing. The people

are marching."

"In your name," shouted the younger man. "They have ruled, crushed,

tyrannised. At last even--"

"In my name! My name! Master?"

The younger man suddenly became audible in a pause of the outer thunder,