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The minister shook his head and smiled slowly.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. You wouldn’t hit a child?”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Leave the awakening to Time. It will not fail—if you do not.”

****

Now, watching from his hiding-place upon the polished tombstone, Roy saw that Harley had awakened.

He reached out and halted the scared messenger, “Ssh!” he hissed. “I’m not going to hurt you, son. Where was that wire from?”

“New Plymouth,” answered the lad, forgetting the tradition of his great office in his fright. “Let me go.”

Roy let him go. The lad hurried away, glancing fearfully over his shoulder every few yards.

Roy rose to his feet, hitched up his belt with a nautical gesture, and sauntered towards Harley, whose agitation was startling, but welcome.

“Hello, Mr. Harley,” he said, with simulated surprise. “Didn’t expect to find you here. Just thought I’d drop down this way to town.———”

Harley turned, and the other ceased speaking abruptly.

The man had awakened to some purpose. His features were a ghastly white and twitched as with a tic; his eyes glittered with the light of insanity; his lips were drawn back from his teeth, the grinding of which was audible. He seemed possessed of a wild animal ferocity. He panted noisily and his nostrils flared. His emaciated fingers looked like talons as they crushed the telegrams savagely. He crouched as though ready to spring. He was the picture of a madman.

Roy took two hasty steps backwards, tripped and sat heavily upon a flat headstone. Like a practised wrestler he rolled sideways and bounced to his feet, ready for the attack which he expected.