CHAPTER XXVIII.

JUPITER AND SEMELE.

THE season was drawing to a close. The path of the comet was nearly traced. Montana now had set his mind on nothing better than an honourable retreat, a brilliant going-out, a departure in something like effulgence, leaving a noble afterglow behind it. He could see plainly enough that the interest and the excitement about him were not to be kept up much longer. By the time the next season came, even if he were in England-and he had determined not to be in England-some new hero of the hour would have been found, some new question in science, or theology, or economics, or

spiritualism would engage the attention of the world. He felt satisfied that he had done the best he could, and all he could. He was not displeased, on the whole, with the part he had played; only, he wanted to leave the stage with the applause of the spectators, and to remain a distinct and gracious memory in their minds. Even this he began to see would require some tact and some courage to accomplish.

Many things were against him. He had done nothing whatever to advance the great enterprise in the name of which he had come from the New World to the Old. He had hardly bestowed a thought upon it during his London season. It had never had shape enough to make it necessary for him to think much about it. It was a cloud floating in cloudland, and seemed to be growing smaller and vaguer, not larger and more compact, as the time went on. Now that he was compelled

to make up his mind and to turn his thoughts to it, and that the hour had come when he must decide whether he would go on or abandon the project, it seemed clear to him that it was unmanageable, for the present at least, and that some means must be found for releasing him from the discredit of having tried and failed. Half-fanatic and half-playactor as he had been from the first, his mind was as much set on keeping up the illusion about himself and leaving fame and credit behind him among those he knew in London, as if that fame and credit were a substance in themselves, or could, under such conditions, be anything better than firework and jugglery.

He was anxious now that the plot, whatever it were, against him should explode at once. He wanted to have the thing out and be done with it. He did not feel much fear of the result. There was no evidence he could think of which could possibly convict him of any

deception. He had only to stand fast and keep composed, as he was pretty sure to do, maintaining that he was what he said he was and nothing else, and it seemed absolutely impossible that anyone could confute him. He knew he would have believers always, even in the teeth of very strong substantial evidence, and did not see how such strong substantial evidence could possibly be obtained.

Once that explosion was over, he would be free to go back to America; and before that came, he could not stir. He was much perplexed at the time by the incessant visits and importunities of poor Matthew Starr. Starr came to him or wrote to him almost every day, entreating to know how the great scheme was going on, where in America they were to pitch their tents, and when they were to start for the new home. Starr was made miserable and impatient by the misery and impatience of his daughter, who was eating her

heart out with querulousness, and was making him eat his heart out too. He watched over the girl with a sickening terror day and night. He was afraid that at last she would cease to believe in Montana and his great new world, and in her despair would fling herself back to her old life, and leave her father.

Sometimes the old man's impatience took the form of vehement doubt, and he came and challenged and questioned Montana as though he were some stern inquisitor endeavouring to extort confession from a prejudged culprit. It took all Montana's composure and patience and temper to be able to bear with the rough old Chartist. There were times when Starr went so far as to threaten Montana that some terrible judgment would come on him if he had deceived poor men and women, and if the great scheme was not to go forward after all.

Look here, Mr. Montana,' he said once, fiercely striking his fist on Montana's table; I