world... a child like himself--in the hurry of the noise. A sound came
to him in the distant house--people talking--low voices that spoke and
hurried on. The house was awake--quick questions ran through it--doors
sounded and were still. Achilles turned his face toward the opening into
the long wide hall, and waited. Through the vista there was a glimpse
of the stairway and a figure passing up it--a short, square man who
hurried. Then silence again--more bells and running feet. But no one
came to the library--and no one sought the dark figure seated there,
waiting. Strange foreign faces flashed themselves in the great
mirror and out. The outer door opened and closed noiselessly to admit
them--uncouth figures that passed swiftly up the stairway, glancing
curiously about them--and dapper men who did not look up as they went.
The house settled again to quiet, and the long afternoon, while Achilles
waited. The light from the high windows grew dusky under chairs and
tables; it withdrew softly along the gleaming books and hovered in the
air above them--a kind of halo--and the shadows crept up and closed
about him. Through the open door, a light appeared in the hall. A moving
figure advanced to the library, and paused in the doorway, and came
in. There was a minute's fumbling at the electric button, and the soft
lights came, by magic, everywhere in the room. The servant gave a
quick glance about him, and started sternly--and came forward. Then he
recognised the man. It was the Greek. But he looked at him sternly. The
day had been full of suspicion and question--and the house was alive to
it--"What do you want?" he said harshly.

"I wait," said Achilles.

"Who told you to come?" demanded the man.

"I come. I wait," said Achilles.