Then he flung up his arms wildly and laughed aloud and strode about
the room in exultation. All he had hoped for and worked for was an
exit of fantastic and barren glory. After which, the Deluge--
anything. He had never dreamed of this sudden blaze of Fortune. Now,
indeed, did the Great Things to which he was born lie to his hand.
Queerly but surely Destiny was guiding him upward. In every way
Chance had worked for him. His poverty had been a cloak of honour;
the thrice-blessed pawn ticket a patent of nobility. His kingdom lay
before him, its purple mountains looming through the mists of dawn.
And he would enter into it as the Awakener of England. He stood
thrilled. The ambition was no longer the wild dream of yesterday.
From the heart of the great affairs in which he would have his being
he could pluck his awakening instrument. The world seemed suddenly
to become real. And in the midst of it was this wonderful,
beautiful, dearest lady with her keen insight, her delicate
sympathy, her warm humanity. With some extravagance he consecrated
himself to her service.

After a while he sat down soberly and took from his pocket the
cornelian heart which his first goddess had given him twelve years
ago. What had become of her? He did not even know her name. But what
happiness, he thought, to meet her in the plenitude of his greatness
and show her the heart, and say, "I owe it all to you!" To her alone
of mortals would he reveal himself.

And then he thought of Barney Bill, who had helped him on his way;
of Rowlatt, good fellow, who was dead; and of Jane, whom he had
lost. He wished he could write to Jane and tell her the wonderful
news. She would understand. . . . Well, well! It was time for bed.
He rose and switched off the lights and went to his room. But as he