quiet height, altered only by the startling coincidence of the
cross fallen awry. All the other thoroughfares on all sides of
that hill were full of the pulsation and the pain of battle, full
of shaking torches and shouting faces. When at length they had
risen high enough to have a bird's-eye view of the whole
campaign, Turnbull was already intoxicated. He had smelt
gunpowder, which was the incense of his own revolutionary
religion.

"Have the people really risen?" he asked, breathlessly. "What are
they fighting about?"

"The programme is rather elaborate," said his entertainer with
some indifference. "I think Dr. Hertz drew it up."

Turnbull wrinkled his forehead. "Are all the poor people with the
Revolution?" he asked.

The other shrugged his shoulders. "All the instructed and
class-conscious part of them without exception," he replied.
"There were certainly a few districts; in fact, we are passing
over them just now----"

Turnbull looked down and saw that the polished car was literally
lit up from underneath by the far-flung fires from below.
Underneath whole squares and solid districts were in flames, like
prairies or forests on fire.

"Dr. Hertz has convinced everybody," said Turnbull's cicerone in
a smooth voice, "that nothing can really be done with the real