have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;They have builded Him an altar in the evening's dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on!
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer them, be jubilant my feet!
Our God is marching on!"
The crowd burst again into triumphant song, and Norman looked at their faces with increasing amazement. The immense vitality of their faith, the rush of its forward movement, the grandeur and audacity of their programme struck him as a revelation. They proposed no half-way measures. They meant to uproot the foundations of modern society and build a new world on its ruins. Their leaders were fanatics – yes. But fanatics were the only kind of people who would dare such things and do them. Here was a movement, which at least meant something – something big, heroic, daring. His face suddenly flushed and his heart leaped with an impulse.
"In heaven's name, Norman, what's the matter?" Elena asked.
The young poet-athlete looked at her in a dazed sort of way and stammered:
"Did you ever see anything like it?"
"No, and I don't want to again," she replied with a frown. "Let's go home."
"Wait, they are taking up a collection. At least we must pay for our seats."
When the usher passed he emptied the contents of his pocket in the collection-box.
As the meeting broke up, the boy who placed their seats touched Norman on the arm.
"Let me introduce ye to her. I wants ter tell 'er ye er my friend – I've yelled my head off for ye many a day on de football ground. Jest er minute. I'll fetch 'er right down."
The boy darted up on the platform, and Norman turned to Elena:
"Shall we please the boy?"
"You mean yourself," she replied. "I decline the honour."
She turned away into the crowd as the boy returned leading Barbara.
Norman hastened to meet them at the foot of the platform steps.
"Dis is me friend, Worth, de captain of de football team, Miss Barbara," proudly exclaimed the boy.
Barbara extended her soft hand with a warm, friendly smile, and Norman clasped it while his heart throbbed.
"I congratulate you," he said, "on your wonderful triumph to-night."
"You were interested?" she asked, quietly.
"More than I can tell you," was the quick response.
"Then join our club and help me in my work among the poor," she urged, with frank eagerness. "We meet to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock. Won't you come?"
A long, deep look into her brown eyes – his face flushed and his heart leaped with sudden resolution.
"Thank you, I will," he slowly answered.
He joined Elena at the door and they walked home in brooding silence.
CHAPTER III
THE BIRTH OF A MAN
Norman stood silent and thoughtful before the fire in the dining-room, the morning after the meeting of the Socialists. His sleep had been feverish and a hundred half-formed dreams had haunted the moments in which he had lost consciousness with always the shining face of Barbara smiling and beckoning him on.
Elena silently entered and watched him a moment before he saw her.
"Still dreaming of the New Joan of Arc, Norman?" she asked with playful banter.
"I'm going to do it, Elena," he said, with slow, thoughtful emphasis.
"What? Marry her without even giving me the usual two weeks' notice?" Elena laughed.
"Now, isn't that like a woman! I wasn't even thinking of the girl – "
"Of course not."
Norman laughed. "By Jove, you're jealous at last, Elena."
"You flatter yourself."
"Honestly, I wasn't thinking of the girl – "
"Well, I've been thinking of her. She haunts me. I like her and I hate her. I feel that she's charming and vicious, of the spirit and flesh, and yet I can't help believing that she's good. The woman who introduced her is a she-devil, and the man who presided over that meeting is a brute. It's a pity she's mixed up with them. What are you going to do – play the hero and rescue her from their clutches?"
"Nonsense. The girl is nothing to me, except as the symbol of a great idea. It stirs my blood. I'm going to join the Socialist Club."
"Of which the fair Barbara is secretary."
"Come with me, and join too. We'll go together to every meeting."
"Have you gone mad?" Elena asked, with deep seriousness.
"I'm in dead earnest."
"And you think your father will stand for it?"
"That remains to be seen. I'm going to tackle him as soon as he comes down to breakfast."
"Well, if I never see you again, good-bye, old pal." She extended her hand in mock gravity.
"I'm not afraid of him."
"No, of course not!"
"You're a coward, or you'd stand by me. Wait, Elena, he's coming now."
"Why stand by? You're not afraid? I'll return in time for the inquest. Brace up! Remember Barbara. Be a hero!"
With a ripple of laughter she disappeared as the Colonel's footsteps were heard at the door.
Norman braced himself for the ordeal. He had never before dared to test his father's iron will. He had grown accustomed to see strong men bow and cringe before him, and felt a secret contempt for them all. They were bowing to his millions. And yet the boy knew with intuitive certainty that beneath the mask of quiet dignity and polished military bearing of the man he facetiously called "the Governor" there slumbered a will unique, powerful, and overbearing. More than once he had resented the silent pressure of his positive and aggressive personality. His own budding manhood had begun instinctively to bristle at its approach.
The Colonel started on seeing Norman, and looked at him with a quizzical expression.
"Was there an earthquake this morning, Norman?"
"I didn't feel it, sir – why?"
"You're downstairs rather early."
Norman smiled. "I've been a little lazy, I'm afraid, Governor. But you know I wasn't consulted as to whether I wished to be born. You assumed a fearful responsibility. You see the results."
