Sir Robert.

[At window, in a toneless voice.] Yes?

Hallam.
Can you see the clock of St. Stephen's from there?

Sir Robert.
[Without turning.] No.

Hallam.
When it strikes can you hear it?

Sir Robert.
Yes.

Lord Burnley.
[As before.] It is just as if the whole world were on tip-toe—waiting for the thunder-stroke of fate.

Carfax.
If the telephone rings even now, it may still be peace.

Dundas.
But if not——

Lord Burnley.
[Listening, raising his hand.] Hush!

[Through the awful stillness comes the deep booming of "Big Ben," striking eleven. Boom! Boom! Boom!

[No one moves until the last of the eleven strokes has gone reverberating through the silence of the night.

[Then Sir Robert returns to the head of the table. All rise.