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building. This mass had been isolated by the ruthless destruction of

its surroundings. Black gaps marked the passages the disaster had torn

apart; big halls had been slashed open and the decoration of their

interiors showed dismally in the wintry dawn, and down the jagged wall

hung festoons of divided cables and twisted ends of lines and metallic

rods. And amidst all the vast details moved little red specks, the

red-clothed defenders of the Council. Every now and then faint flashes

illuminated the bleak shadows. At the first sight it seemed to Graham

that an attack upon this isolated white building was in progress, but

then he perceived that the party of the revolt was not advancing, but

sheltered amidst the colossal wreckage that encircled this last ragged

stronghold of the red-garbed men, was keeping up a fitful firing.

And not ten hours ago he had stood beneath the ventilating fans in a

little chamber within that remote building wondering what was happening

in the world!

Looking more attentively as this warlike episode moved silently across

the centre of the mirror, Graham saw that the white building was

surrounded on every side by ruins, and Ostrog proceeded to describe

in concise phrases how its defenders had sought by such destruction to

isolate themselves from a storm. He spoke of the loss of men that huge

downfall had entailed in an indifferent tone. He indicated an improvised

mortuary among the wreckage showed ambulances swarming like cheese-mites

along a ruinous groove that had once been a street of moving ways. He

was more interested in pointing out the parts of the Council House, the

distribution of the besiegers. In a little while the civil contest

that had convulsed London was no longer a mystery to Graham. It was

no tumultuous revolt had occurred that night, no equal warfare, but

a splendidly organised _coup d'etat_. Ostrog's grasp of details was

astonishing; he seemed to know the business of even the smallest knot of

black and red specks that crawled amidst these places.

He stretched a huge black arm across the luminous picture, and showed

the room whence Graham had escaped, and across the chasm of ruins the

course of his flight. Graham recognised the gulf across which the gutter

ran, and the wind-wheels where he had crouched from the flying machine.

The rest of his path had succumbed to the explosion. He looked again at

the Council House, and it was already half hidden, and on the right a

hillside with a cluster of domes and pinnacles, hazy, dim and distant,

was gliding into view.

"And the Council is really overthrown?" he said.

"Overthrown," said Ostrog.

"And I--. Is it indeed true that I?"

"You are Master of the World."

"But that white flag--"

"That is the flag of the Council--the flag of the Rule of the World. It

will fall. The fight is over. Their attack on the theatre was their last

frantic struggle. They have only a thousand men or so, and some of these

men will be disloyal. They have little ammunition. And we are reviving

the ancient arts. We are casting guns."

"But--help. Is this city the world?"

"Practically this is all they have left to them of their empire.

Abroad the cities have either revolted with us or wait the issue. Your

awakening has perplexed them, paralysed them."

"But haven't the Council flying machines? Why is there no fighting with

them?"

"They had. But the greater part of the aeronauts were in the revolt with

us. They wouldn't take the risk of fighting on our side, but they would

not stir against us. We had to get a pull with the aeronauts. Quite half

were with us, and the others knew it. Directly they knew you had got

away, those looking for you dropped. We killed the man who shot at

you--an hour ago. And we occupied the flying stages at the outset in

every city we could, and so stopped and captured the airplanes, and as

for the little flying machines that turned out--for some did--we kept up

too straight and steady a fire for them to get near the Council House.

If they dropped they couldn't rise again, because there's no clear space

about there for them to get up. Several we have smashed, several others

have dropped and surrendered, the rest have gone off to the Continent

to find a friendly city if they can before their fuel runs out. Most of

these men were only too glad to be taken prisoner and kept out of harm's

way. Upsetting in a flying machine isn't a very attractive prospect.

There's no chance for the Council that way. Its days are done."

He laughed and turned to the oval reflection again to show Graham what

he meant by flying stages. Even the four nearer ones were remote and

obscured by a thin morning haze. But Graham could perceive they were

very vast structures, judged even by the standard of the things about

them.

And then as these dim shapes passed to the left there came again the

sight of the expanse across which the disarmed men in red had been

marching. And then the black ruins, and then again the beleaguered

white fastness of the Council. It appeared no longer a ghostly pile, but

glowing amber in the sunlight, for a cloud shadow had passed. About it

the pigmy struggle still hung in suspense, but now the red defenders

were no longer firing.

So, in a dusky stillness, the man from the nineteenth century saw the

closing scene of the great revolt, the forcible establishment of his

rule. With a quality of startling discovery it came to him that this

was his world, and not that other he had left behind; that this was no

spectacle to culminate and cease; that in this world lay whatever

life was still before him, lay all his duties and dangers and

responsibilities. He turned with fresh questions. Ostrog began to answer

them, and then broke off abruptly. "But these things I must explain more

fully later. At present there are--duties. The people are coming by the

moving ways towards this ward from every part of the city--the markets

and theatres are densely crowded. You are just in time for them. They

are clamouring to see you. And abroad they want to see you. Paris,

New York, Chicago, Denver, Capri--thousands of cities are up and in a

tumult, undecided, and clamouring to see you. They have clamoured that

you should be awakened for years, and now it is done they will scarcely

believe--"

"But surely--I can't go..."

Ostrog answered from the other side of the room, and the picture

on the oval disc paled and vanished as the light jerked back again.

"There are kinetotele-photographs," he said. "As you bow to the people

here--all over the world myriads of myriads of people, packed and still

in darkened halls, will see you also. In black and white, of course--not

like this. And you will hear their shouts reinforcing the shouting in

the hall.

"And there is an optical contrivance we shall use," said Ostrog, "used

by some of the posturers and women dancers. It may be novel to you. You

stand in a very bright light, and they see not you but a magnified

image of you thrown on a screen--so that even the furtherest man in the

remotest gallery can, if he chooses, count your eyelashes."

Graham clutched desperately at one of the questions in his mind. "What

is the population of London?"

"Eight and twaindy myriads."

"Eight and what?"

"More than thirty-three millions."

These figures went beyond Graham's imagination "You will be expected to

say something," said Ostrog. "Not what you used to call a Speech, but

what our people call a Word--just one sentence, six or seven words.

Something formal. If I might suggest--' I have awakened and my heart is

with you.' That is the sort of thing they want."

"What was that?" asked Graham.

"'I am awakened and my heart is with you.' And bow--bow royally. But

first we must get you black robes--for black is your colour. Do you

mind? And then they will disperse to their homes."

Graham hesitated. "I am in your hands," he said.

Ostrog was clearly of that opinion. He thought for a moment, turned

to the curtain and called brief directions to some unseen attendants.

Almost immediately a black robe, the very fellow of the black robe

Graham had worn in the theatre, was brought. And as he threw it about

his shoulders there came from the room without the shrilling of a

high-pitched bell. Ostrog turned in interrogation to the attendant,

then suddenly seemed to change his mind, pulled the curtain aside and

disappeared.

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 Grahams 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 clamourous," he said.

Ostrog kept his grip of Graham's arm.

"We have raised the people," he said. "We have given them arms. For

today at least their wishes must be law."

Lincoln held the Curtain open for Graham and Ostrog to pass through.

On his way to the markets Graham had a transitory glance of a long

narrow white-walled room in which men in the universal blue canvas

were carrying covered things like biers, and about which men in medical

purple hurried to and fro. From this room came groans and wailing.

He had an impression of an empty blood-stained couch, of men on other

couches, bandaged and blood-stained. It was just a glimpse from a railed

footway and then a buttress hid the place and they were going on towards

the markets.

The roar of the multitude was near now: it leapt to thunder. And,

arresting his attention, a fluttering of black banners, the waving of

blue canvas and brown rags, and the swarming vastness of the theatre

near the public markets came into view down a long passage. The picture

opened out. He perceived they were entering the great theatre of his

first appearance, the great theatre he had last seen as a chequer-work

of glare and blackness in his flight from the red police. This time he

entered it along a gallery at a level high above the stage. The place

was now brilliantly lit again. He sought the gangway up which he had

fled, but he could not tell it from among its dozens of fellows; nor

could he see anything of the smashed seats, deflated cushions, and such

like traces of the fight because of the density of the people. Except

the stage the whole place was closely packed. Looking down the effect

was a vast area of stippled pink, each dot a still upturned face

regarding him. At his appearance with Ostrog the cheering died away, the

singing died away, a common interest stilled and unified the disorder.

It seemed as though every individual of those myriads was watching him.

CHAPTER XIII. THE END OF THE OLD ORDER

So far as Graham was able to judge, it was near midday when the white

banner of the Council fell. But some hours had to elapse before it was

possible to effect the formal capitulation, and so after he had spoken

his "Word" he retired to his new apartments in the wind-vane offices.

The continuous excitement of the last twelve hours had left him

inordinately fatigued, even his curiosity was exhausted; for a space he

sat inert and passive with open eyes, and for a space he slept. He

was roused by two medical attendants, come prepared with stimulants to

sustain him through the next occasion. After he had taken their drugs

and bathed by their advice in cold water, he felt a rapid return of

interest and energy, and was presently able and willing to accompany

Ostrog through several miles (as it seemed) of passages, lifts, and

slides to the closing scene of the White Council's rule.

The way ran deviously through a maze of buildings. They came at last to

a passage that curved about, and showed broadening before him an oblong

opening, clouds hot with sunset, and the ragged skyline of the ruinous

Council House. A tumult of shouts came drifting up to him. In another

moment they had come out high up on the brow of the cliff of torn

buildings that overhung the wreckage. The vast area opened to Graham's

eyes, none the less strange and wonderful for the remote view he had had

of it in the oval mirror.

This rudely amphitheatral space seemed now the better part of a mile to

its outer edge. It was gold lit on the left hand, catching the sunlight,

and below and to the right clear and cold in the shadow. Above the

shadowy grey Council House that stood in the midst of it, the great

black banner of the surrender still hung in sluggish folds against

the blazing sunset. Severed rooms, halls and passages gaped strangely,

broken masses of metal projected dismally from the complex wreckage,

vast masses of twisted cable dropped like tangled seaweed, and from its

base came a tumult of innumerable voices, violent concussions, and

the sound of trumpets. All about this great white pile was a ring of

desolation; the smashed and blackened masses, the gaunt foundations and

ruinous lumber of the fabric that had been destroyed by the Council's

orders, skeletons of girders, Titanic masses of wall, forests of stout

pillars. Amongst the sombre wreckage beneath, running water flashed and

glistened, and far away across the space, out of the midst of a vague