Something had woke in him which shivered the fabric of a lifetime.

The three faces, worn, anxious, yet of a noble hardihood, stirred in him a strange emotion.

Hopes and dreams, long forgotten, flitted like spectres across his memory.

He had something to say, something which demanded utterance, and his voice grew bold.
"What do you know of my straits ?" he cried.

"Men of fortune like you! My race is old, but I never had the benefit of it.