He heaved a sigh of relief, therefore, when the signal 'Line clear, go ahead' showed close at hand and far off. But at the same moment he heard a step behind him, and turned hastily to see Chris Davenant. Chris, still in his frock-coat and with a flower in his buttonhole; with his wife's diploma of membership in the 'Guild for Encouraging Intercourse between the Rulers and the Ruled,' also, in his pocket. For he had not been home since he left the 'memorable occasion'; neither to the home in Shark Lane, nor the home in the city, nor that betwixt-and-between home in the garden of plantains. In a way they all claimed him, and yet they were all alike insufferable, impossible to the man himself. Looking round his world, there was but one thing which brought no sense of revolt with it; and that was his work. He felt that if he could leave, not one thing, but all things behind him save this, life might still be endurable. And so, when the foundations of flowers (freshened for the time into a promise of stability by the romance of moonlight) were deserted alike by the Rulers and the Ruled, he had, almost mechanically, wandered off to the scene of that work, and had ever since been strolling up and down among the general litter and order of his new goods station. It soothed him. The sight of the piles of brick that would fall into line after his plan, the whole paraphernalia brought together to give form to his idea--an idea which would take shape bit by bit according to _his_ will as surely as the sun would rise--comforted him. And yet it brought no strength for the moment that was coming, as surely. Half-past eight! And at nine the Circling would begin. Half an hour left--for it would not take him a minute to reach the temples--they were close enough---- Close! God in heaven! they were too close! Was it possible to escape from them? was there foothold for an honest man between them and the Palace of Lies in which he had lived so long? Was there? Only half an hour left for decision, and he had not argued out the matter with himself at all. He had only felt. He _must_ think; and that seemed impossible out here with the moonlight showing each rib of the skeleton roof, each tier of bricks waiting for the next. And above those black girders--so strong, so tense--were the faint stars. And among them--what?--kites!