And suddenly it had become impossible. It had become utterly impossible! Why?
The red light in the sky had faded, the sun was now fully risen. Julia looked out of her window and was dimly conscious of the change. The heart which had throbbed for the sorrows of others was to thrill now on its own account. It was something mysterious which had happened to her, something against which she was later on to fight passionately, which was creeping like poison through her veins. With her splendid womanhood, her intense consciousness of life, how was it possible for her to escape?
There was an impatient tap at the door and Aaron came in. She recognised him with a little cry of surprise. He was paler than ever and grim with his night's Vigil. The lines under his eyes were deeper, his skin seemed sallower. He had the dishevelled look of one who is still in his attire of the preceding day.
"You have heard?" he exclaimed. "We stayed at the Clarion till three.
Maraton never even sent us a message. Yet they say that he is in
London. They even declare that he was at Downing Street last night."
"I know that he was there," Julia said quietly.
"You know? You? But they were all sure of it."
He dashed his cap into a corner.
"Maraton is our man," he continued passionately. "No one shall rob us of him. He should have come to us. Downing Street—blast Downing Street!"
"There is no one in this world," she told him gently, "who will move
Maraton from his will. I know. I have seen him."
He stared at her, hollow-eyed, amazed.
"You? You have seen him?"
She nodded.
"I heard by accident of the house he had taken the house where he means to live. I went there and I waited. Later, Richard Graveling came there, too."
The youth struck the table before him. His eyes were filled with tears.
"All night I waited!" he cried. "I could not sit still. I could scarcely breathe. Tell me what he is like, Julia? Tell me what he looks like? Is he strong? Does he look strong enough for the work?"
She smiled at him reassuringly.
"Yes, he looks strong and he looks kind. For the rest—"
"There is something! Tell me what it is—at once?"
"Foolish! Well, he is unlike Richard Graveling and the others, unlike us. Why not? He is cultivated, educated, well-dressed."
The youth, for a moment, was aghast.
"You don't mean—that he is a gentleman?"
"Not in the sense you fear," she assured him. "Remember that his work is more far-reaching than ours. It takes him everywhere; he must be fit for everything. Sit down now, dear Aaron. You are tired. See, my morning tea is ready, and there is bread and butter. You must eat and drink. Maraton you will surely see later in the day. I do not think that he will disappoint you."
Aaron sat down at the table. He ate and drank ravenously. He was, in fact, half starved but barely conscious of it.
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