earth's greatest artists should contribute paintings for his walls, and
palaces give up to him their bronzes and tapestries.

When a half-hour later Ham Burton was alone with the stranger he found
himself asking and answering many questions. He had not meant to impart
his secret of discontent, but just as Mary had confided her troubles at
the roadside, so Ham told his as he sat on the edge of the bed in the
chilly attic-room of the farm-house. Perhaps it was because this man had
actually seen the things that existed beyond the sky-line, and had
walked through the veil of mystery which the boy himself so burned to
penetrate. At all events it transpired. Ham had shown his little store
of greedily conned books and had bared to the gaze of the other his
naked and scorching torture of ambition. The lad knew something of the
men who had made themselves masters of the world and wished to know
more. Edwardes had not even laughed when Ham declared with naïve
conviction: "None of them men ever did anything I couldn't do, if I got
the chance." It was impossible to laugh, though listening to such
boundless egotism, in the face of so deep a sincerity and such an
implicit self-belief as shone from those young eyes.

"Sometimes the great man knows his greatness in advance," said the
visitor gravely. "Sometimes it surprises himself. But most of the
mightiest _made_ their own chance."

"I know that. I'm going to make mine. Power is what I want an' it's what
I'm goin' to have. But I've got to get away from here. Julius Cæsar
couldn't do nothin' here."

When Jefferson Edwardes came down stairs Mary, who had slipped timidly
away, edged into the room, bashful and adorned. She had put on her best