"But, Sylvanus," she expostulated, "what do you mean?... Sylvanus?... Mr.
Power?"

The telephone had become a dumb thing. She replaced the receiver.

"I don't understand," she told Philip. "All that he said was--'You will
receive my present at five o'clock this morning!'"

"Does he think we are going to sit up for it?" Philip asked.

"He is the strangest man," she sighed....

* * * * *

After all, some queer fancy awoke Philip at a little before five that
morning and drew him to the window. He sat looking out over the still
sleeping city. All sound now was hushed. It was the brief breathing space
before the dawn. In the clear morning spring light, the buildings of the
city seemed to stand out with a new and marvellous distinctness. Now and
then from the harbour came the shriek of a siren. A few pale lights were
still burning along the river way. From one of the city clocks the hour
was slowly tolled. Philip counted the strokes--one, two, three, four,
five. Then, almost as he was preparing to leave his post, there came a
terrific roar. The window against which he leaned shook. Some of the
buildings in the distance trembled. One, with its familiar white cupola,
seemed for a moment to be lifted from the ground and then split through
by some unseen hand. The roar of the explosion was followed by the
crashing of falling masonry. Long fingers of fire suddenly leapt up into
the quiet, cool air. Fragments of masonry, a portion, even, of that