For a moment, in the joy of anticipation, a strange light illuminated his face, his lips parted as in a foretasted wonder, and he forgot even to drop the hand he had just withdrawn.  The boy held his breath unconsciously till he was nearly dizzy.

Then a despairing cry burst from the wretched man’s lips, he threw up his hands as if he had been shot through the heart, and stumbled backwards.

The Motor stood still, motionless as ever, and gleaming under the brightly shining lamps.

“Oh, Helen!  God forgive me!”

With the words he fell heavily to the floor, and lay there, a nerveless, breathless heap.  Newton was kneeling beside him in an instant.

“Father!” cried the boy in agony, bending over the still white face.  “Father!  Speak to me!  You can’t be dead—­you can’t—­”

In his mortal terror the lad held each breath till it seemed as if his head must burst, then breathed once and shut his lips again with all his strength.  Some instinct made him lay his ear to the man’s chest to listen for the beatings of his heart, but he could hear nothing.

Half-suffocated with sudden mingled grief and fright, he straightened himself on his knees and looked up at the cursed machine that had wrought such awful destruction.

Then he in turn uttered a cry, but it was low and full of wonder, long drawn out and trembling as the call of a frightened young wild animal.

The thing was moving, steadily, noiselessly moving in the bright light; the double levers worked like iron jaws opening and shutting regularly, the little valve-rods rose and sank, and the heavy wheel whirled round and round.  The boy was paralysed with amazement, and for ten seconds he forgot that he was kneeling beside his father’s fallen body on the floor; then he felt it against him and it was no longer quite still.

Overholt groaned and turned upon his side as his senses slowly came back and his agony tortured him to life again.  Instantly the boy bent over him.

“Father!  It’s going!  Wake up, father!  The wheel’s going round at last!”

IX

HOW THE KING OF HEARTS MADE A FEAST IN THE CITY OF HOPE

When Overholt understood what he heard, he opened his eyes and looked up into his son’s face, moving his head mournfully from side to side as it lay on the boards.  But suddenly he caught sight of the engine.  He gasped for breath, his jaw dropped, and his eyes were starting from their sockets as he struggled to get up with the boy’s help.

His voice came with a sort of rasping scream that did not sound human, and then broke into wild laughter, interrupted by broken words.

“Mad!” he cried.  “I knew it—­it had to come—­my boy—­help me to get away from that thing—­I’m raving mad—­I see it moving—­”

“But it really is moving, father!  Wake up!  Look at it!  The wheel is going round and round!”