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Updated: June 11, 2025
Only here and there the sky was reddened as though with conflagration. Maraton's head sunk upon his arms. These, indeed, were the days when he would need all his courage. He threw open the window. There was a curious silence without. The roar of traffic had ceased entirely. The only sound was the footfall of the people upon the pavement.
"When you faced death in Chicago," Julia went on, her voice quivering with the effort she was making to keep it low, "when you offered your body to the law and preached fire and murder with your lips, you did it for the sake of the people. There was nothing in life so glorious to you, then, as the one great cause. That was the man we hoped to see. Are you that man?" Maraton's thoughts came back.
Revolutionary measures they would have been called, a thousand years ago. Every industry in the country will have its day. In the next ten years Capital will have earned many millions less, and those many millions will have gone to the labouring classes." "Is it you who speak," Maxendorf asked grimly, "or is this another man a sophist living in the shadow of Maraton's fame?
There is no man breathing to-day who is developing a more potent, a more wide-reaching influence upon the destinies of our country." Maraton's first address had been delivered to a great multitude, but there was no building whose roof could cover the hordes of men who had made up their minds to hear his last words at Sheffield. From far and wide, the people came that night in countless streams.
The young man distinctly scowled. "So Foley's been getting at you, has he?" Maraton's face was inscrutable but there was, for a moment, a dangerous flash in his eyes. "I had some conversation with him this evening. "What did he want?" Graveling asked bluntly. Maraton raised his eyebrows. He turned to the girl. "Do you know Mr. Graveling?" The young man scowled.
Julia sat telling herself passionately that all was well, that nothing more than this was to have been hoped for, that indeed the liberator had come. More than once she felt Aaron's hands gripping her arm, as Maraton's words seemed to cleave a way towards the splendid truth. Ross, on her other side, was like a man carried into another s world.
In the roar of applause which followed Maraton's brilliant but wholly unprepared peroration, a roar which broke and swelled like the waves of the sea, different people upon the platform heard different things. Peter Dale and his little band of coadjutors were men enough to know that a new force had come amongst them.
They had flung open the top of the cab, and Maraton's eyes were fixed far ahead at the dull glow which hung over the city, the haze of smoke and heat, stretching like a sulphurous pall southwards. The roar of voices was always in his ears, but for a moment his thoughts seemed to have passed away, his eyes seemed to be seeking for some message beyond the clouds.
"They say that Maraton's speech was wonderful," he announced. "He declared war, but a man's war. Cotton first, and cotton alone." She gave a little sobbing breath. Her hands were locked together. "England will never know," Mr. Foley added, in a voice still trembling with emotion, "what she has escaped!"
"Richard Graveling," she exclaimed, "I am ashamed to think that I ever let you call yourself my friend! If you do not leave the room and the house at once, I swear that I will never speak to you again as long as I live!" He pushed her aside roughly. "I'll talk to you presently," he declared. "It's him that my business is with now." Maraton's eyes flashed a little dangerously.
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