a hundred men. And from the iron they take the strength, and from a
hundred men's brains they absorb their wisdom. Divine missionaries, they
appear in all departments of life. In their hand is gathered to-day the
gold of the world. Mighty potentates of peace and war, they unlock new
seas and from distant continents lift the bars. Single-handed, they
accomplish what nations dared not hope; with Titan strides they scale
the stars and succeed where millions fail. In art they live, the makers
of new periods, the dreamers of new styles. They make themselves the
vocal sun-glasses of God. Homer and Shakespeare, Hugo and Balzac--they
concentrate the dispersed rays of a thousand lesser luminaries in one
singing flame that, like a giant torch, lights up humanity's path."

She gazed at him, open-mouthed. The light had gone from his visage. He
paused, exhausted, but even then he looked the incarnation of a force no
less terrible, no less grand. She grasped the immensity of his
conception, but her woman's soul rebelled at the horrible injustice to
those whose light is extinguished, as hers had been, to feed an alien
flame. And then, for a moment, she saw the pale face of Ernest staring
at her out of the wine.

"Cruel," she sobbed, "how cruel!"

"What matter?" he asked. "Their strength is taken from them, but the
spirit of humanity, as embodied in us, triumphantly marches on."




XXI