"Six days and six nights without stopping to rest, if time down here
were measurable," Anstruther continued raptly. "Working all that time,
searching endlessly, sure that at last they were nearing Stephen
Bryce, yet when again they realized that once more I had failed them,
they sank down to sleep as you saw them do, trusting me, O'Hara, to
lead them past this failure finally to triumph."
"Anstruther, you're mad."
The pale eyes closed. "Is it mad to work against the worst tyranny the
earth has ever known? Then I am mad."
"But you can't win, Anstruther. You can't beat the Father. If he wished
it, he could loose upon you at this instant the Deluge that he turned
into Emporia. And these poor, stupid and deluded Sons would never
awaken from their torpor."
"It is not the loss of his Sons that stays him, O'Hara."
"Nor would it be you or I, were we to endanger him. He is watching you
now, he hears what you are saying, and if he believed--"
"I know all this, O'Hara," said Anstruther wearily, and sat down upon
the cushioned bunk, now cupping his zealot's face within his soft,
small hands. "I know Stephen Bryce and his power. Yes, he'd destroy me
instantly if he believed that I endangered him. But he does not think
that I do. His faith in himself is quite as absolute as my abhorrence
of what he has done to these people. Look at them, O'Hara--they're men!
Or they were men, their fathers were men, before Stephen Bryce stamped
out their souls. And they can be men again."
"If you continue to lead them?"
"Yes, if I--if anyone continues who believes in them."
"Is this the reason for your revolt against the Father?"
"Could there be another reason?"