"It is none too soon," said Ostrog. "They have been getting out of hand more and more, since the revolt. I under-estimated———"
"Do you mean that these infernal negroes are on the way?"
"On the way. As it is, you have seen the people—outside?"
"No wonder! But—after what was said. You have taken too much on yourself, Ostrog."
Ostrog said nothing, but drew nearer.
"These negroes must not come to London," said Graham. "I am Master and they shall not come."
Ostrog glanced at Lincoln, who at once came towards them with his two attendants close behind him.
"Why not?" asked Ostrog.
"White men must be mastered by white men. Besides———"
"The negroes are only an instrument."
"But that is not the question. I am the Master. I mean to be the Master. And I tell you these negroes shall not come."
"The people———"
"I believe in the people."
"Because you are an anachronism. You are a man out of the Past—an accident. You are Owner perhaps of the world. Nominally—legally. But you are not Master. You do not know enough to be Master."
He glanced at Lincoln again. "I know now what you think—I can guess something of what you mean to do. Even now it is not too late to warn you. You dream of human equality—of some sort of socialistic order—you have all those worn-out dreams of the
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