Two men proposed to Lilith Wastneys at the same ball and in the same
palm-shaded retreat. She was not surprised, because she had willed that
they should speak, and people had a habit of doing as Lilith willed.
Very early in her life she had discovered that if she said nothing, and
thought hard, that thought had a power to mould others to her will.
It was not often that she put forth her power, for her attitude towards
her fellows was one of lofty detachment. They were commonplace
creatures--weak, vacillating creatures, swayed to and fro by the
emotions of the hour. Lilith had never in her life been swayed; never
for the fraction of a second had she been uncertain of her own mind; all
the temptations in the world could not lure her a step from a
premeditated path, but because Nature had cast her in a fragile mould,
and given her flaxen hair and a baby skin, and minute morsels of hands
and feet, the world adopted protective airs towards her and spoke of her
approvingly as "sweet and gentle."
Francis Manning, the first of the two men to make a declaration of love,
was a big giant of a man with a handsome face, an amiable disposition,
and a supreme concern for his own well-being. He had reached the age
and position when it seemed desirable to marry, and, that being the
case, there was no doubt upon whom his choice would fall.
For years past Lilith Wastneys had stood to Francis as a type of all
that was sweet and desirable in women. In his eyes she was beautiful,
though in reality she had no claim to the title. The love-light in his
eyes transformed her pale locks into gold, her colourless eyes into
deepest blue; her height was to him "just as high as my heart"; her low
voice, her drooping lids, her noiseless movements--each and all appeared
to him the perfection of their kind.
Francis was whole-heartedly in love, but it was not in his nature to be
otherwise than leisurely. While a more impetuous lover would have
hastened to put his fate to the test, he was content to continue the
even tenor of his way, indulge in confident dreams of the future, and
leave it to fate to decide the moment of avowal. Nothing on earth was
farther from his suspicions than the fact that it was Lilith herself,
who, in the ultimate moment, played the part of fate.
She wore a white dress. Lilith invariably wore white in the evening,--
simple, little white satin frocks devoid of ornament, save for a soft
swathing of tulle, from which her shoulders arose, fair and rounded.
Whatever might be the fashion of the day, that soft swathe of tulle was
in its place; however puffed and waved might be the coiffure of the
other women in the room, Lilith's flaxen locks were always smooth and
demure. There was a distinction in such simplicity. People looked at
her and questioned. They watched her with puzzled eyes. Was she
pretty? Certainly not pretty. Did they admire her? They were not at
all sure that they did. _But there was something about her_!
It was Lilith who led the way into the palm-shaded retreat, and chose
the most secluded corner. She and Francis were engaged to dance the
next number together, but she pleaded fatigue, and they sat alone in the
dimness.
"Who was that dissipated-looking fellow who took you in to supper? I
wanted to take you myself, but he was too quick for me. Rather a
striking-looking head, if he were not such a terrible waster!"
"His name is Lowther."
Francis straightened himself, startled into vivid attention.
"_Lowther_! Hereward Lowther--_that's_ how I knew his face! I've seen
it in caricatures. The idea of meeting Lowther here! I should not have
thought dances were in his line."
"He does not dance."
"Then why on earth does he trouble to come?"
Lilith did not answer. She knew; but had no intention of sharing her
knowledge, and Francis was too much engrossed in his own reflections to
pursue the question.
"So that is Lowther! Good heavens, how excited I should have been two
or three years ago at the idea of meeting him in the same room! Sad how
that man has fizzled out! He promised such big things, bigger things
than any other man of his day. I've heard him singled out a score of
times as the man who was going to save England, and now"--he shrugged,
and flicked his large fingers--"it's all over; nothing left but the
wreck of a man. Drugs, they say. Something of the sort evidently; he
carries it in his face. Not the sort of man for you to have anything to
do with, little girl!"
Francis's voice dropped to a tender note as he spoke the last words, and
Lilith lifted her heavy lids and smiled at him with gentle sweetness.
It was seldom that he had obtained more than a glimpse of those downcast
eyes, but now they met his and held them in a lingering look which sent
the blood racing through his veins. Suddenly, imperatively, the
patience of years was broken, and hot words flowed from his lips. He
loved her; she was the sweetest, the dearest of women. For years he had
loved her; he would love her all his life; would live only to serve her.
It was his own feelings on which he enlarged; his own feelings, which
were obviously of the first importance. In his ardour there was no hint
of anxiety. He was in love, but confidently in love. He had but to
speak, and she would come fluttering to his arms.
But he wooed her well, denying her no tittle of her woman's kingdom. He
held her hands in his, and his big voice softened tenderly as he made
his vows.
"I will take care of you,--such care as was never taken of a woman
before! You are not fit to stand alone; you are too gentle and fragile.
You want a big fellow like me to stand between you and the world. It
shall be my work in life to shield you, and keep you sheltered and safe.
Only trust yourself to me, and you will see. You _will_ trust
yourself, won't you, darling? I'm not rich, but we should be
comfortable enough. You are not the sort of girl to be ambitious, and,
you _do_ love me, Lilith!"
Lilith smiled, but she left her hand in his, and a tinge of colour
showed in the pale cheeks.
"I think I _do_ love you, Francis!" she said slowly.
Francis pressed her hand in acknowledgment. Unbroken confidence had
deprived him of the great thrill which comes to most men at the
knowledge that they are beloved; but one cannot have everything in this
world, and if the choice had been his, he would unhesitatingly have
plumped for the greater ease. He pressed her hand, and bent over her
tenderly.
"My darling girl! You make me very happy. You shall never regret it,
I'll promise you that... Look at your little mite of a hand lying in
mine!--I could crush it to pieces with one clutch from my big paw. They
are a type of the difference between us--those two hands--I so big, and
strong, and you such a little slip of a weak, helpless thing."
Lilith bent her head on one side, and looked down with a smile. She
lifted her tiny fingers and softly stroked the giant hand.
"Why do you love me, Francis?"
"Because I can't help it!" returned Francis promptly. "Good heavens,
Lilith, if you knew how thankful a fellow is to meet a good
old-fashioned girl! I'm fed up with these modern specimens, who set
themselves up to be equal with men, and push and drive to force
themselves to the front, instead of being content with the place which
Nature has given them. I couldn't stick a modern woman. I want a wife
who will let me judge for her, and be thankful to have my protection--
like you, you little darling! You are everything that a woman ought to
be... And why do you love me?"
"Because you are so big, and so handsome, and so"--Lilith laughed, a
tinkling, girlish laugh, which took the sting from the word--"_stupid_!"
She bent nearer to him, with a caressing gesture, and Francis slipped
his arm round her waist, and laughed in sympathy. The dear, wee mite!
What nonsense she did talk!
"I don't care what is your reason, so long as you _do_ love me. And how
soon will you be ready to marry your stupid man?"
"Do people always marry the people they love?" Lilith asked innocently;
and Francis said they did; of course they did. What else was there for
them to do?
He remembered afterwards that though the conversation which followed was
entirely agreeable to his feelings, Lilith had persistently avoided a
definite promise.
The next morning a letter was handed in at the door of his chambers. It
was in Lilith's writing, and ran as follows:
"Dear Francis--
"I want you to know that I am engaged to be married to Hereward
Lowther. He asked me last night, just after you, and I said `Yes.'
Thank you so much for all your kindness. It would have been very
nice, but I feel sure that we should not have suited.
"Yours affectionately,
"Lilith Wastneys."
The engagement of Hereward Lowther caused some excitement in the
political world, across which he had made so meteoric a flight. Of no
one of the younger men in the House had so much been hoped. His first
speech was still quoted as the most brilliant effort of the kind within
the memory of the present generation, while his tact and his charm had
seemed little inferior to his ability. Poor, brilliant, unhappy
Lowther, his was but another name added to the list of the men of genius
who have been their own worst enemies! So rapid had been his downfall,
so flagrant his avoidance of duty, that his friends were convinced that
his constituency would not return him a second time.
And now, with the shock of the unexpected, came the news of his
matrimonial engagement. The chorus of disapproval was loud, but the
Chief frowned thoughtfully, and reserved his opinion.
"If she is the right woman, it may be the saving of him yet. Who is
she? Does anyone know?"
"Her name is Wastneys; daughter of a country squire down in Cornwall.
Good enough family, so far as that goes."
"And the girl herself?"
"Oh, a doll! Insignificant creature, with washed-out colouring. Not
even good looking. Heavy and dull; not a word to say."
The Chief sighed.
"That," he said slowly, "is the end of Lowther! The man is doomed."
During the weeks of the honeymoon Hereward Lowther's thoughts were
exercised with a problem which, it is to be hoped, presents no
difficulty to the average bridegroom.
"_Why had he married his wife_?"
During the few months which had elapsed since his introduction to Lilith
Wastneys, Lowther had been conscious of a reluctant admiration, which
was strangely akin to antipathy. There had been occasions when he had
definitely decided that he disliked the girl, yet the decision had no
mitigating effect on his desire to see her again at the earliest
possible moment. But he was certain, looking back over the time from
the first meeting on the golf links, to that last evening in the
palm-shaded retreat at the ball, he was definitely, absolutely, certain
that the idea of marriage had never entered his head.
How, then, had he become engaged? How had it happened that he left that
ball pledged to live side by side with this strange, silent girl, till
death did them part? Honestly, Hereward did not know. There had been a
flirtation, of course, if such a demure, well-conducted affair could be
called a flirtation. The girl had looked unusually feminine and
attractive in the dim light, and, this was the crux!--_she had seemed to
expect it_. Some power of expectancy had driven him on until he had
spoken the fateful words, for in these days of languor and depression,
Lowther had lost the power of resistance, and the easiest course seemed
invariably the best. He was conscious of his own demoralisation, but
the misery of the consciousness had no vivifying effect; it rather drove
him back to his drugs. So in this instance he had drifted on, and in a
moment's weakness had sacrificed his freedom.
Yes! that was what it came to; that was the disgraceful fact. He had
married this girl because she had desired it, and he was too lazy to
resist. Lowther acknowledged the fact with a shrug, but immediately
afterwards arose a second problem, hardly less incomprehensible than the
first.
_Why had Lilith married him_?
She did not love him. The man had soon recognised that fact, and it had
brought an unexpected stab of pain. If she had loved him, as some women
can love, she might have--helped! But she was cold as ice. Even his
own lukewarm endearments had proved unacceptable; there was evidently no
personal attraction to explain the mystery of her marriage with a man
who was an historic failure.
They had been married a week, and were sitting in the garden of a
foreign hotel, discussing a possible excursion, when Lilith startled her
husband by a sudden question. Her voice, as she spoke, was low and
unperturbed; her face showed a gentle smile, nevertheless that question
smote upon Lowther's ears like the crack of a whip.
"At what time," asked Lilith calmly, "do you next take your morphia?"
He turned upon her, furious, ashamed, stammering the inevitable pitiful
denial.
"Wh-at do you mean? Morphia--I! Who says I take morphia?"
"Everybody says it. Everybody knows. Don't distress yourself,
Hereward. I only wished to know your hours. It is better, isn't it,
that we should plan our expeditions for the times when you are most--
most--"
"_Most what_?"
"Normal! The morphia naturally is soothing, but while it is working
would it not be better if you were--alone?"
"You are talking nonsense. You don't know what you are talking about.
If you understood anything about the working of morphia, you would
realise that after a dose one feels stimulated, refreshed. I am never
so well as immediately after--"
"I'm sorry. I am ignorant, as you say. Then we had better start our
excursion immediately after an injection. That is, if we can manage to
do it in the time. How long is it before the--er--other stage comes
on?"
"_What_ other stage?"
"The--drunken stage!" Lilith answered.
He hated her at that moment. A fury of anger rushed through his veins.
He leaped from his seat and paced the path with impetuous steps. With
the cane in his hand he smote fiercely at the encircling shrubs. All
the lethargy of the past months disappeared; he was alive again,
smartingly alive, face to face with his shame.
"Who dares to say that I am drunk? It is a lie! When have you seen me
drunk?"
"Should I have said `drugged'? I'm sorry. I'm so ignorant, you see. I
didn't know. Of course, if you say so, there _is_ a difference."
He swung away from her, and entering the hotel mounted the stairs to his
own room. In his present condition of mind he dared not--literally
dared not--trust himself within sight of his fellows. Up and down the
quiet room he paced, like a wild animal in its cage, his mind seething
with rage and indignation against his wife, against the world, against
himself. It was as though a bandage had fallen, and his sleep-ridden
eyes were suddenly galvanised into life. He looked back along the
sloping path and perceived how far he had fallen...
It was nearing the time for his next injection. Automatically he took
the tabloids from the bottle, and carried them across the room to
dissolve them in a glass of water. As he did so, he passed the window
and caught sight of his wife's figure seated in the same position as
that in which he had left her ten minutes before. How young she looked!
Almost a child in her simple white frock. The sun shone down on her
flaxen locks, on one tiny hand extended on the seat by her side.
Something gripped at the man's heart at the sight of that hand; it
looked so small, so helpless, so appealing. The poor girl! _On her
honeymoon_! What a bitter disillusionment must be hers! With a sudden
sweeping movement his hand flew outward, and the tabloids hurled through
the air and buried themselves in the grass below. The next moment
Lowther himself descended to the garden, and seated himself by his
wife's side.
"Lilith," he said humbly, "I'm sorry! I was a beast to speak to you as
I did, but you know a man doesn't like interference. Forgive me, like a
good girl, and--I'll tell you something in return! It _was_ time for my
morphia, but I've not taken it. I'm going out with you instead...
Shall we start?"
She lifted her eyes and looked at him. It seemed to him that he looked
upon a new woman. Her eyes were no longer light, but dark and shining.
They were bent upon him with an expression which sent the blood rushing
through his veins. There was triumph in that look, and an immense,
unutterable relief, but there was tenderness also, the tenderness of a
mother towards a struggling child. The remembrance of that look
remained with Lowther and helped him through the inevitable discomforts
of the next hours. Lilith spoke but little; he was thankful to her for
her silence, but once and again when his restlessness grew acute, she
slipped her hand through his arm and pushed it forward, so that her
fingers clasped his wrist. The little hand was warm to the touch. It
was as though some vital force passed from her veins to his, calming,
invigorating.
Only once did Lilith touch on the subject of politics. She asked her
husband what was likely to be the predominant question of the next
session. He told her that it would be the Land Bill, long deferred, but
inevitable: a Bill on which the House was sharply divided, which would
call forth a heat of argument. He answered curtly, with an evident
distaste, and she never renewed the subject. Lowther thanked Providence
for a wife with tact.
They roamed about, from one country to another--Belgium, Holland,
France, Germany, Italy, the Tyrol, taking by preference untrodden paths,
putting up at quiet country inns, enjoying the study of peasant life.
Lilith declared that she was tired of cities, had seen enough show
places to last her life; now she needed a rest. How badly Lowther
himself had needed a rest was proved by his altered appearance after a
few weeks of a leisurely life passed in fresh, pure air. Never again
had the subject of morphia been mentioned between himself and his wife,
but the doses were steadily diminishing. There had been one whole day
when he had taken no injection at all! He wondered at the coincidence
which had made Lilith so tender on that day! If it had not been for her
tenderness, for the clasp of that small, warm hand, he doubted if he
could have lasted out. He was no longer so sure that he did not love
his wife. He was grateful to her for her tact and forbearance. He was
beginning to look forward to her rare tenderness; as a reward for which
it were worth while to endure.
Both Lowther and his wife were clever linguists, and he was amused to
discover that, quiet as was her nature, she possessed the rare gift of
making friends with the humble folk of the different countries through
which they passed, and of drawing forth their confidence. Many an
evening was spent in conversation with "mine host" as he enjoyed his
leisurely smoke at the end of the day's work, and "mine host" was an
interesting talker, with his tales of the country side, from the lordly
baron in his rock-bound castle, to the humblest tenant upon his land.
Many talks were held also during the day-time, with the labourers in the
fields, with the farmers who supplied milk and bread, and who beamed in
appreciation of the largesse bestowed by the English milord and his
wife. There were charming stories to be told--stories of affection and
kindliness between the tenants and the lord of the soil, of a simple,
feudal loyalty which sounded like a page from a fairytale of old, but
there were tragedies also--stories of injustice and tyranny, of
suffering and want. They were simple people, and they told their tales
simply and well, delivering themselves in conclusion, of a pathetic
apology. "It was a pity... Things were not as bad as they had been.
In England, of course, it was different. The peasants in England had no
such trials to endure!"
Lilith sat listening while her husband explained that England had her
own land troubles. Her sleepy eyes expressed but little interest; but
now and again she would put a searching question which cut to the very
heart of the matter, and set him talking afresh. Wherever they went the
same subject recurred, and fresh differences were discussed; but these
conversations were but incidents in the day's doings. From private
conversation politics were banished.
At the end of the honeymoon Mr and Mrs Hereward Lowther returned to
town and took up their abode in a small flat in Westminster. The choice
was made by Lilith, as indeed was every choice in those days of
Lowther's weakness. She confessed to an affection for Westminster, for
the quaint, old-fashioned nooks and corners which still remain, tucked
behind the busy thoroughfares; for the picturesque precincts of the
Abbey. Westminster was at once central, convenient, and old-world. She
was eloquent on the subject of its advantages as a dwelling-place, but
she never alluded to the vicinity of Saint Stephen's.
After his return to town Lowther passed through a somewhat severe
relapse. Pace to face with the old conditions he grew nervous and
despondent, and had more frequent recourse to his drug, but there was
this great difference between his present condition and the past, that
whereas he had been indifferent, now he was penitent, remorseful,
utterly ashamed. Lilith never reproached him for his lapses, she nursed
him assiduously through the subsequent weakness; she checked him when he
would have made faltering apologies.
"We won't talk about it. It is not worth while. It will pass!" she
said quietly, and as she spoke, her strange, expressionless eyes gazed
into his, and he found himself murmuring in agreement. "Yes, it will
pass!" Never once, so far as he could discover, did any doubt
concerning the future enter his wife's head. She must certainly have
heard that when a man takes to drugs it is almost a miracle if he is
enabled to break the habit, yet her confidence remained unshaken.
Throughout the darkest day, throughout the bitterest disappointment, she
remained serenely unmoved. Always, in speaking of the future, she
envisaged Lowther as strong, confident, successful, until by degrees the
image printed itself on his own brain, and the old distrust began to
disappear.
The House opened, a week passed by, and Lowther made no sign of taking
his seat. Lilith remained silent; it seemed the result of accident that
engagements lessened more and more, so that he found himself unoccupied,
sitting in the little flat, listening to the chimes of Big Ben,
following in imagination the doings within the Second Chamber, while
hour by hour, day by day, a mysterious power seemed forcing him onward,
urging him to arouse himself from his stupor, and go forth once more
into the arena.
One evening husband and wife sat alone together in the little
drawing-room of the flat. Lowther was smoking, and making a pretence of
reading a review, Lilith sat by the open window, her hands folded on her
lap. She had none of the nervous, fidgety movements to which most women
are subject in moments of idleness, but could remain motionless as a
statue for half an hour on end, her lids drooped over her quiet eyes.
It was no interruption on his wife's part which caused Lowther's
increasing restlessness; even when the book was thrown down, and he took
to pacing hurriedly up and down, she remained passive and immovable.
Suddenly Lowther drew up by her side, laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Lilith! I'm going... To the House. Would you come? I think it would
help me if you would come too."
It was the first time that he had acknowledged in words the mysterious
truth that in his wife's presence he felt stronger, freer from
temptation. His hand lingered on her shoulder with a caressing touch,
and Lilith turned her head so that for a fleeting moment her cheek
rested against his fingers. Her assent was a matter of course; she
wasted no breath on that, but, as she rose to her feet, she spoke a few
words, which to Lowther's bruised spirit, were as water to a fainting
man: "I am so _proud_ of you, Hereward!"
The session had begun, and the Land Bill was occupying the attention of
the House. The two leaders had delivered themselves of strong opposing
speeches, and the Bill was open for discussion. One member after
another rose from the crowded benches. A few of the number spoke well
and to the point, and were acclaimed with applause; but the greater
number repeated old arguments, and failed to throw fresh light on the
vexed problem. The House listened with resigned impatience.
In a corner of the Ladies' Gallery sat a small figure with an aureole of
flaxen hair. She leaned forward on her seat, her hands clasped
together, her eyes fixed in a deep, unblinking gaze at a man on the
opposite benches. He was a striking-looking man, still young, yet with
an air of delicacy and strain. An onlooker observing him at this moment
would have noticed that from time to time he stirred uneasily, and cast
a glance upwards at the grille of the Ladies' Gallery. As each speaker
in succession finished his speech and sat down, this man stirred more
forcibly, as though combating an impulse which increased in violence,
and eventually he was on his feet; had caught the Speaker's eyes.
There was a momentary silence throughout the House. _Lowther_! How
long was it, how many years since Lowther had essayed a speech? What
had happened to spur him to such an effort? This was his first
appearance since the beginning of the session, and though he was
obviously improved in health he had avoided private conversation, and
kept shrinkingly to himself. And now--a speech! With characteristic
loyalty to a man who has done good work in past days, the House prayed
that Lowther knew what he was about, and was not going to make an
exhibition of himself.
But now he was speaking, and the old charm was at work. The members
listened with surprise to the old well-turned sentences, the old
masterly style; felt again the charm of the old ingenuous manner. And
he was speaking to the point, with an expert's width of knowledge which
held the House. "On this point of tenure might it not be well to take a
hint from Italy?--In Italy, etc., etc."
"In Holland there was a special exemption which was worthy of note..."
"In the province of Lombardy the tenants retained the right..." The
land problems of Europe seemed at his finger-ends; he handled them not
as a politician informed by dry, written statements, but as living
things, seen through living eyes. He had apt illustrations to present
with the readiness of first-hand knowledge; he had, as a sum total, one
illuminating suggestion, and the House cheered him with a ringing cheer.
That cheer sounded in Lowther's ears like the opening of a great gate, a
gate which his own hands had closed. Through its portals he beheld once
more the castles of his dreams, and took heart to walk forward.
Lilith greeted him with a smile of congratulation, but the drive home
was accomplished in silence. It was late when they arrived at their
modest flat. The servants had retired to bed, leaving a table of
refreshments drawn up before the drawing-room fire. Lilith took off her
cloak and sat down, but Lowther went straight to his own room. A few
minutes later he returned, and, closing the door behind him, stood
silently behind her chair. She could hear the quick intake of his
breath, but she waited motionless until he should speak.
At last it came.
"Lilith! I have something I want to give you. Something for you--to
keep! Put out your hand."
Still silent, still with eyes averted, she held out her hand towards
him. Something cold clicked against the palm, something long and thin.
She opened her fingers, and beheld a morphia syringe.
"I--I shan't need it any more," stammered the voice. A hand, Lowther's
hand, came over her shoulder, mutely making appeal. Lilith dropped the
syringe, and caught the hand to her breast.
The next minute he was kneeling at her feet, and the two were gazing
deep into each other's eyes.
"Lilith," cried Lowther brokenly, "it--it will be hard... I shall have
a hard fight. Do you think you could _love_ me a little, Lilith?"
"I must love you," answered Lilith deeply, "a great deal, or it will be
no use!"
It was five years later when the Opposition came into power, and it
surprised nobody when Hereward Lowther was given a seat in the Cabinet.
During those five years husband and wife had lived quietly in their
little flat, going but little into society, affecting few of the
amusements of the day. When Parliament was sitting, Lilith was a
constant visitor to the Ladies' Gallery, and it was noted that her
husband never spoke when she was absent. In holiday time her chief
interest lay in the study of the problems of modern life; but, as on
that first tour abroad, she studied first-hand, and not through the
medium of books. Lowther felt it an extraordinary coincidence that her
inquiries so often proved of value to himself, and always, under every
circumstance, Lilith's immovable serenity was as a rock, against which
his weaker, more excitable nature found support. Lowther questioned
himself sometimes as to the explanation of his wife's unshaken calm, and
came to the conclusion that it sprang from a certain obtuseness or
stupidity of brain, but he smiled as he mentally voiced the thought, and
his smile was tender. He loved his wife; she was a dear girl, tactful,
unassuming. He was thankful that she was not clever.
Five years spread a kindly veil over the public memory, and there were
few people who troubled to recall Lowther's temporary lapse. That was
an affair of the past. What mattered now was that he was one of the
most brilliant and valuable men in the House, and that the country
needed his services. As a politician he was able and statesmanlike, but
he was a politician second and a patriot first. The glory of office
counted for nothing with him in comparison with the glory of his native
land, and the country recognised his honesty and loved him for it. He
was a member of the Cabinet now, but as certainly as he lived he would
be Prime Minister another day. As he walked through the streets the
people pointed him out to each other.
"That's Lowther. Our best man. He'll be Prime Minister before he's
done. The sooner the better. A straight, fair man. The man we want.
What a position for a man to gain by sheer personal force--the virtual
ruler over a fifth part of the world! What power, my dear fellow--what
power!"
"You may say so, indeed; extraordinary power!"