"Young man," he said, "every word which you have spoken has been in my brain while I have lain here waiting for the end. A few hours ago I slept and had a dream. When I awoke, I was weak. See here." He drew from his pocket two sheets of closely-written foolscap. "The story of Ruth's life is here," he declared. "I wrote it with a stump of pencil on the back of this table. I wrote it, but I have changed my mind, and I am going to tear it up." Arnold was light on his feet, with a great reach, and Isaac was unprepared. In a moment the latter was on his back, and the soiled sheets of foolscap were in Arnold's pocket. Isaac's fingers seemed to hover upon the trigger of his pistol as he lay there, crouched against the wall. "Don't be a fool!" Arnold cried, roughly. "You'll do no good by killing me. The girl has a right to her chance." There were several seconds of breathless silence, during which it seemed to Arnold that Isaac had made up and changed his mind more than once. Then at last he lowered his pistol. "We'll call it chance," he muttered. "I never meant to write the rubbish. Since you have got it, though, it is the truth. Do with it what you will. There is one thing more. You know this man Sabatini?" "If you mean the Count Sabatini, it was he who gave me your address," Arnold reminded him. Isaac smiled grimly. "Citizen Sabatini is all we know him by here. He knows well that to a man with his aspirations, a man who desires to use as his tools such as myself and my comrades, a title is an evil recommendation. He came to us first, as a man and a brother,--he, Count Sabatini, Marquis de Lossa, Chevalier de St. Jerome, Knight of the Holy Roman Empire,--an aristocrat, you perceive, and one of the worst. Yet we have trusted him." "I do not believe," Arnold exclaimed, "that Sabatini would betray any one!" "I am not accusing him," Isaac said solemnly. "I simply hold that he is not the man to lead a great revolutionary movement. It is for that reason, among others, that I have rejected his advances. Sabatini as president would mean very much the same thing as a king. Will you give him a message from me?" "Yes," Arnold answered, "I will do that." "Tell him, if indeed he has the courage which fame has bestowed upon him, to come here and bid me farewell. I have certain things to say to him." "I will give him your message," Arnold promised, "but I shall not advise him to come." A look of anger flashed in Isaac's face. The pistol which had never left his grip was slowly raised, only to be lowered again. "Do as I say," he repeated. "Tell him to come. Perhaps I may have more to say to him about that other matter than I choose to say to you." "About Ruth?" "About Ruth," Isaac repeated, sternly. "You would trust a stranger," Arnold exclaimed, "with information which you deny me--her friend?" Isaac waved him away.