of ruin that encircled him, and so back to the people. The voices of the
crowd swelled to a deafening tumult.

He saw the Councillors first afar off in the glare of one of the
temporary lights that marked their path, a little group of white figures
in a black archway. In the Council House they had been in darkness. He
watched them approaching, drawing nearer past first this blazing
electric star and then that; the minatory roar of the crowd over whom
their power had lasted for a hundred and fifty years marched along beside
them. As they drew still nearer their faces came out weary, white, and
anxious. He saw them blinking up through the glare about him and Ostrog.
He contrasted their strange cold looks in the Hall of Atlas.... Presently
he could recognise several of them; the man who had rapped the table at
Howard, a burly man with a red beard, and one delicate-featured, short,
dark man with a peculiarly long skull. He noted that two were whispering
together and looking behind him at Ostrog. Next there came a tall, dark
and handsome man, walking downcast. Abruptly he glanced up, his eyes
touched Graham for a moment, and passed beyond him to Ostrog. The way
that had been made for them was so contrived that they had to march past
and curve about before they came to the sloping path of planks that
ascended to the stage where their surrender was to be made.

"The Master, the Master! God and the Master," shouted the people. "To
hell with the Council!" Graham looked at their multitudes, receding
beyond counting into a shouting haze, and then at Ostrog beside him,
white and steadfast and still. His eye went again to the little group of
White Councillors. And then he looked up at the familiar quiet stars
overhead. The marvellous element in his fate was suddenly vivid. Could
that be his indeed, that little life in his memory two hundred years gone
by--and this as well?