Keith’s eyes met his unflinchingly and held them.  He drew in his breath with a sudden sound, as a man might who has received a slap full in the face.  Beyond this, there was no sound.  Keith sat for a moment in silence.  The blow had dazed him.  In the tumult of his thought, as it returned, it seemed as if the noise of the stricken crowd was once more about him, weeping women and moaning men; and he was descending into the blackness of death.  Once more the roar of that rushing water was in his ears; he was once more plunging through the darkness; once more he was being borne down into its depths; again he was struggling, gasping, floundering toward the light; once more he returned to consciousness, to find himself surrounded by eyes full of sympathy—­of devotion.  The eyes changed suddenly.  The present came back to him.  Hostile eyes were about him.

Keith rose from his chair slowly, and slowly turned from his questioner toward the others.

“Gentlemen, I have nothing further to say to you.  I have the honor to resign my position under you.”

“Resign!” exclaimed the director who had been badgering him.  “Resign your position!” He leaned back in his chair and laughed.

Keith turned on him so quickly that he pushed his chair back as if he were afraid he might spring across the table on him.

“Yes.  Resign!” Keith was leaning forward across the table now, resting his weight on one hand.  “Anything to terminate our association.  I am no longer in your employ, Mr. Kestrel.”  His eyes had suddenly blazed, and held Mr. Kestrel’s eyes unflinchingly.  His voice was calm, but had the coldness of a steel blade.

There was a movement among the directors.  They shifted uneasily in their chairs, and several of them pushed them back.  They did not know what might happen.  Keith was the incarnation of controlled passion.  Mr. Kestrel seemed to shrink up within himself.  Norman broke the silence.

“I do not wonder that Mr. Keith should feel aggrieved,” he said, with feeling.  “I have held off from taking part in this interview up to the present, because I promised to do so, and because I felt that Mr. Keith was abundantly able to take care of himself; but I think that he has been unjustly dealt with and has been roughly handled.”

Keith’s only answer was a slow wave of the arm in protest toward Norman to keep clear of the contest and leave it to him.  He was standing quite straight now, his eyes still resting upon Mr. Kestrel’s face, with a certain watchfulness in them, as if he were expecting him to stir again, and were ready to spring on him should he do so.

Unheeding him, Norman went on.

“I know that much that he says is true.”  Keith looked at him quickly, his form stiffening.  “And I believe that all that he says is true,” continued Norman; “and I am unwilling to stand by longer and see this method of procedure carried on.”

Keith bowed.  There flashed across his mind the picture of a boy rushing up the hill to his rescue as he stood by a rock-pile on a hillside defending himself against overwhelming assailants, and his face softened.