course, but might we come in and wait?"

"Mr. Maraton is in his study, madam," the man answered.

He disappeared and beckoned them, a moment or so later, to follow him.
They were shown into a much smaller apartment at the rear of the house.
Maraton was sitting before a desk covered with papers, with a breakfast
tray by his side. He looked up at their entrance, but his face was
inexpressive. He did not even smile. The sunlight died out of Julia's
face, and her heart sank.

"I am sorry," she began haltingly. "I ought not to have come again, I
know. But it is my brother. Night and day he has thought of nothing
else but your coming."

Aaron seemed to have forgotten his timidity. He crossed the room and
stood before Maraton's desk. His face seemed to have caught some of the
freshness of the early morning. He was no longer the sallow, pinched
starveling. He was like a young prophet whose eyes are burning with
enthusiasm.

"You have come to help us," he asserted. "You are Maraton!"

"I have come to help you," Maraton replied. "I have come to do what I
can. It isn't an easy task in this country, you know, to do anything,
but I think in the end we shall succeed. If you are Julia Thurnbrein's
brother, you should know something of the work."

"I am only one of the multitude," Aaron sighed. "I haven't the brains
to organise. I talk sometimes but I get too excited. There are