"Mr. Foley--Foley--the Prime Minister--sent for him directly he
arrived," Aaron Thurnbrein announced. "He is to see him to-night at his
own house in Downing Street. It makes no difference."

"Who can tell?" the other remarked despondently. "The pages of history
are littered with the bodies of strong men who have opened their lips to
the poisoned spoon."

Aaron Thurnbrein spat upon the floor.

"There is but one Maraton," he cried fervently. "There has been but one
since the world was shaped. He is come, and the first step towards our
deliverance is at hand."

The older man, whose trembling fingers still rested upon the sheets of
paper, looked at his visitor curiously.

"You are a Jew," he muttered. "Why do you worship Maraton? He is not
of your race."

The young man's gesture was almost sublime.

"Jew or Christian--what does it matter?" he demanded. "I am a Jew.
What has my religion done for me? Nothing! I am a free man in my
thoughts. I am one of the oppressed. Men or women, Jews or Christians,
infidels or believers--what does it matter? We are those who have been
broken upon the wheel. Deliverance for us will come too late. We fight
for those who will follow. It is Maraton who points towards the light.
It is Maraton whose hand shall press the levers which shall set the
kingdoms rocking. I tell you that our own country, even, may bite the