mere impressions of a tremendous convulsion. They became unreal even to themselves, miniatures of personality, indescribably small, and the two antagonistic realities, the only realities in being were first the city, that throbbed and roared yonder in a belated frenzy of defence, and secondly the aeroplanes hurling inexorably towards them over the round shoulder of the world.
There came a sudden stir outside, a running to and fro, and cries. The girl stood up, speechless, incredulous.
Metallic voices were shouting "Victory!" Yes, it was "Victory!"
Bursting through the curtains appeared the man in yellow, startled and dishevelled with excitement. "Victory," he cried, "victory! The people are winning. Ostrog's people have collapsed."
She rose. "Victory?"
"What do you mean?" asked Graham. "Tell me! What?"
"We have driven them out of the under galleries at Norwood, Streatham is afire and burning wildly, and Roehampton is ours. Ours!———and we have taken the monoplane that lay thereon."
A shrill bell rang. An agitated grey-headed man appeared from the room of the Ward Leaders. "It is all over," he cried.
"What matters it now that we have Roehampton? The aeroplanes have been sighted at Boulogne!"
"The Channel!" said the man in yellow. He calculated swiftly. "Half an hour."
"They still have three of the flying stages," said the old man.
"Those guns?" cried Graham.
"We cannot mount them in half an hour."
"Do you mean they are found?"
"Too late," said the old man.
