door and pointed eastwards through the darkness.

"Think of the morning. Think of the human beings who wake in a few
hours, only to bend their bodies once more to the yoke. The other
things are but trifles."

She looked back at him from the corner of the Square, a straight,
impassive figure in a little halo of soft light. There was a catch in
her heart. Her companion's words were surely spoken in some foreign
tongue.

"We have got to have this out, Julia," he was saying. "If anybody or
anything has come between us, there's going to be trouble. If that's
the great Maraton, with his swagger evening clothes and big house, well,
he's not the man for our job, and I shan't mind being the first to tell
him so."

She glanced at him, for a moment, almost in wonder. Was he indeed so
small, so insignificant?

"There are many paths," she said softly, "which lead to the light. Ours
may be best suited to ourselves but it may not be the only one. It is
not for you or for me to judge."

Richard Graveling talked on, doing his cause harm with every word he
uttered. Julia relapsed into silence; soon she did not even hear his
words. They rode for some distance on an omnibus through the city, now
shrouded and silent. At the corner of the street where she had her
humble lodgings, he left her.