would sigh heavily and murmur,—"Alas, I am but a novice; it was a failure," and withdraw, humbled and weary, to ponder upon how he could improve his system. He was an enthusiast and poet in the art of murder and destruction. To be able to annihilate Europe—nay, the entire globe—with a single touch, leaving his own sympathisers unhurt as spectators, would be an achievement worthy of his brain if accomplished at the precise instant of his calculations; these other isolated outrages were merely trifles.
Adela Austin had been a woman of mind, and seemed at one time almost worthy to be the sharer of his proud destiny. But Adela had insular prejudices, and these prejudices had ran counter with his designs—therefore he had doomed Adela, and now she was removed from his path, mercifully, for he had no hatred towards her. She was English, without a single sense about her of the new humour, yet she was honest and pure as far as she could comprehend these ethics, only she could not go far enough.
Captain Anatole was a boastful fool, yet he was doubtless a good seaman and could steer the ship. When a better man could be found. Captain Anatole would take his departure easily and painlessly.
His other companions were necessary, meanwhile, in their different ways. The burly, brutal, Americanised Hibernian, who broke down with his strength, physical obstacles. The others according to their different temperaments. They were all useful to him, and he humoured them accordingly.
The women were useful also, for some men will not work without women. They are fashioned so. The colony he was about to found would not require replenishing. If it did, they could imitate the old
