GRAHAM SPEAKS HIS WORD
For a time the Master of the Earth was not master of his own mind. Even his will a will not his own, his own him and were but a part of the of that across his being. These were definite, the were coming, Helen Wotton had the people of their coming, and he was Master of the Earth. Each of these for complete of his thoughts. They from a of halls, passages, rooms with in council, and telephone rooms, and looking out on a sea of men. The men in yellow, and men he were called Ward Leaders, were either him or him obediently; it was hard to tell. Perhaps they were doing a little of both. Perhaps some power and them all. He was aware that he was going to make a to the People of the Earth, aware of phrases in his mind as the thing he meant to say. Many little happened, and then he himself with the man in yellow entering a little room where this of his was to be made.
This room was latter-day in its appointments. In the centre was a by electric lights from above. The was in shadow, and the doors through which he came from the Hall of the Atlas the place very still. The of these as they closed him, the of the in which he had been for hours, the circle of light, the and quick noiseless movements of visible in the shadows, had a upon Graham. The ears of a in a for his words, the black of great his beginning, metal and dimly, and something about with a hum. He walked into the centre of the light, and his together black and to a little at his feet.
The shape of the thing he meant to say was already in his mind. But this silence, this isolation, the from that crowd, this audience of gaping, machines, had not been in his anticipation. All his supports together; he to have into this suddenly, to have himself. In a moment he was changed. He that he now to be inadequate, he to be theatrical, he the quality of his voice, the quality of his wit; astonished, he to the man in yellow with a gesture. "For a moment," he said, "I must wait. I did not think it would be like this. I must think of the thing I have to say."
While he was still there came an messenger with news that the were over Madrid.
"What news of the stages?" he asked.
"The people of the south-west are ready."
"Ready!"
He to the blank circles of the again.
"I it must be a of speech. Would to God I the thing that should be said! Aeroplanes at Madrid! They must have started the main fleet.
"Oh! what can it I speak well or ill?" he said, and the light brighter.
He had some of when him. His in his quality and calling he had its conviction. The picture of a little in a waste of replaced it. Abruptly it was perfectly clear to him that this against Ostrog was premature, to failure, the of against things. He of that of like the of Fate him. He was that he have in any other light. In that final he debated, aside, at all to go through with the thing he had undertaken. And he no word to begin. Even as he stood, awkward, hesitating, with an for his on his lips, came the noise of many people out, the to and of feet. "Wait," someone, and a door opened. Graham turned, and the lights waned.
Through the open he saw a approaching. His leapt. It was Helen Wotton. The man in yellow came out of the nearer into the circle of light.
"This is the girl who told us what Ostrog had done," he said.
She came in very quietly, and still, as if she did not want to Graham's eloquence…. But his and her presence. He the that he had meant to say. He the again and the light about him brighter. He to her.
"You have helped me," he said lamely—"helped me very much…. This is very difficult."
He paused. He himself to the who upon him through those black eyes. At he spoke slowly.
"Men and of the new age," he said; "you have to do for the race!… There is no easy victory us."
He stopped to words. He for the gift of moving speech.
"This night is a beginning," he said. "This that is coming, this that upon us to-night, is only a beginning. All your lives, it may be, you must fight. Take no though I am beaten, though I am overthrown. I think I may be overthrown."
He the thing in his mind too for words. He paused momentarily, and into exhortations, and then a of speech came upon him. Much that he said was but the of a age, but the of his voice touched it to vitality. He the case of the old days to the people of the new age, to the girl at his side.
"I come out of the past to you," he said, "with the memory of an age that hoped. My age was an age of dreams—of beginnings, an age of hopes; the world we had an end of slavery; the world we had spread the and that might cease, that all men and might live nobly, in and peace…. So we in the days that are past. And what of those hopes? How is it with man after two hundred years?
"Great cities, powers, a our dreams. For that we did not work, and that has come. But how is it with the little that make up this life? How is it with the common lives? As it has been—sorrow and labour, and unfulfilled, by power, by wealth, and gone to waste and folly. The old have and changed, the new faith—. Is there a new faith?
"Charity and mercy," he floundered; "beauty and the love of things—effort and devotion! Give yourselves as I would give myself—as Christ gave Himself upon the Cross. It not if you understand. It not if you to fail. You know—in the of your you know. There is no promise, there is no security—nothing to go upon but Faith. There is no but faith—faith which is courage…."
Things that he had long to believe, he that he believed. He spoke gustily, in sentences, but with all his and strength, of this new him. He spoke of the of self-abnegation, of his in an life of Humanity in which we live and move and have our being. His voice rose and fell, and the as he spoke, him out of the shadow….
His of that him his sincerity. For a moments he was away; he no of his quality, no of his words, he had it all and plain. His no longer. And at last he an end to speaking. "Here and now," he cried, "I make my will. All that is mine in the world I give to the people of the world. All that is mine in the world I give to the people of the world. To all of you. I give it to you, and myself I give to you. And as God to-night, I will live for you, or I will die."
He ended. He the light of his present in the of the girl. Their met; her were with of enthusiasm.
"I knew," she whispered. "Oh! Father of the World—Sire! I you would say these things…."
"I have said what I could," he answered and and to her hands.
