“It is a strange irony,” he said. “But they have a right to exist. How far they have a right to share in the government is another matter. That will come before us, I think, in a week or two.” “Tell me more about Him.” “There is really nothing to tell; we know nothing, except that He is the supreme force in the world. France is in a ferment, and has offered him Dictatorship. That, too, He has refused. Germany has made the same proposal as ourselves; Italy, the same as France, with the title of Perpetual Tribune. America has done nothing yet, and Spain is divided.” “And the East?” “The Emperor thanked Him; no more than that.” Mabel drew a long breath, and stood looking out across the heat haze that was beginning to rise from the town beneath. These were matters so vast that she could not take them in. But to her imagination Europe lay like a busy hive, moving to and fro in the sunshine. She saw the blue distance of France, the towns of Germany, the Alps, and beyond them the Pyrenees and sun-baked Spain; and all were intent on the same business, to capture if they could this astonishing figure that had risen over the world. Sober England, too, was alight with zeal. Each country desired nothing better than that this man should rule over them; and He had refused them all. “He has refused them all!” she repeated breathlessly. “Yes, all. We think He may be waiting to hear from America. He still holds office there, you know.” “How old is He?” “Not more than thirty-two or three. He has only been in office a few months. Before that He lived alone in Vermont. Then He stood for the Senate; then He made a speech or two; then He was appointed delegate, though no one seems to have realised His power. And the rest we know.” Mabel shook her head meditatively. “We know nothing,” she said. “Nothing; nothing! Where did He learn His languages?” “It is supposed that He travelled for many years. But no one knows. He has said nothing.” She turned swiftly to her husband. “But what does it all mean? What is His power? Tell me, Oliver?” He smiled back, shaking his head. “Well, Markham said that it was his incorruption--that and his oratory; but that explains nothing.” “No, it explains nothing,” said the girl. “It is just personality,” went on Oliver, “at least, that’s the label to use. But that, too, is only a label.” “Yes, just a label. But it is that. They all felt it in Paul’s House, and in the streets afterwards. Did you not feel it?” “Feel it!” cried the man, with shining eyes. “Why, I would die for Him!” * * * * * They went back to the house presently, and it was not till they reached the door that either said a word about the dead old woman who lay upstairs. “They are with her now,” said Mabel softly. “I will communicate with the people.” He nodded gravely.