I must get into the fresh air."
Edwards got his coat and hat, and followed. He saw that his companion
was strangely excited.
"If all this work--if all we have been looking forward to--were to turn
out to be a delusion," Brand said, hurriedly, when they had got into the
dark clear night outside, "that would be worse than the suicide of
Ferdinand Lind or the disappearance of Beratinsky. If this is to be the
end--if these are our companions--"
"But how can you suggest such a thing?" Edwards protested. "Your
imagination is filled with blackness, Brand. You are disturbed, shocked,
afraid. Why, who are your colleagues? What do you think of--" Here he
mentioned a whole string of names, some of them those of well-known
Englishmen. "Do you accuse them of treachery? Have you not perfect
confidence in them? Have they not perfect confidence in the work we are
all pledged to?"
But he could not shake off this horrible feeling. He wished to be alone,
to fight with it; he did not even think of going to Lord Evelyn; perhaps
it was now too late.
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