LORD OF THE WORLD BY ROBERT HUGH BENSON Dedication CLAVI DOMUS DAVID PREFACE I am perfectly aware that this is a terribly sensational book, and opento innumerable criticisms on that account, as well as on many others. But I did not know how else to express the principles I desired (andwhich I passionately believe to be true) except by producing their linesto a sensational point. I have tried, however, not to scream undulyloud, and to retain, so far as possible, reverence and consideration forthe opinions of other people. Whether I have succeeded in that attemptis quite another matter. Robert Hugh Benson. CAMBRIDGE 1907. CONTENTS PROLOGUE BOOK ITHE ADVENT BOOK IITHE ENCOUNTER BOOK IIITHE VICTORY Persons who do not like tiresome prologues, need not read this one. Itis essential only to the situation, not to the story. PROLOGUE "You must give me a moment, " said the old man, leaning back. Percy resettled himself in his chair and waited, chin on hand. It was a very silent room in which the three men sat, furnished with theextreme common sense of the period. It had neither window nor door; forit was now sixty years since the world, recognising that space is notconfined to the surface of the globe, had begun to burrow in earnest. Old Mr. Templeton's house stood some forty feet below the level of theThames embankment, in what was considered a somewhat commodiousposition, for he had only a hundred yards to walk before he reached thestation of the Second Central Motor-circle, and a quarter of a mile tothe volor-station at Blackfriars. He was over ninety years old, however, and seldom left his house now. The room itself was lined throughout withthe delicate green jade-enamel prescribed by the Board of Health, andwas suffused with the artificial sunlight discovered by the great Reuterforty years before; it had the colour-tone of a spring wood, and waswarmed and ventilated through the classical frieze grating to the exacttemperature of 18 degrees Centigrade. Mr. Templeton was a plain man, content to live as his father had lived before him. The furniture, too, was a little old-fashioned in make and design, constructed howeveraccording to the prevailing system of soft asbestos enamel welded overiron, indestructible, pleasant to the touch, and resembling mahogany. Acouple of book-cases well filled ran on either side of the bronzepedestal electric fire before which sat the three men; and in thefurther corners stood the hydraulic lifts that gave entrance, the one tothe bedroom, the other to the corridor fifty feet up which opened on tothe Embankment. Father Percy Franklin, the elder of the two priests, was rather aremarkable-looking man, not more than thirty-five years old, but withhair that was white throughout; his grey eyes, under black eyebrows, were peculiarly bright and almost passionate; but his prominent nose andchin and the extreme decisiveness of his mouth reassured the observer asto his will. Strangers usually looked twice at him. Father Francis, however, sitting in his upright chair on the other sideof the hearth, brought down the average; for, though his brown eyes werepleasant and pathetic, there was no strength in his face; there was evena tendency to feminine melancholy in the corners of his mouth and themarked droop of his eyelids. Mr. Templeton was just a very old man, with a strong face in folds, clean-shaven like the rest of the world, and was now lying back on hiswater-pillows with the quilt over his feet. * * * * * At last he spoke, glancing first at Percy, on his left. "Well, " he said, "it is a great business to remember exactly; but thisis how I put it to myself. " "In England our party was first seriously alarmed at the LabourParliament of 1917. That showed us how deeply Herveism had impregnatedthe whole social atmosphere. There had been Socialists before, but nonelike Gustave Herve in his old age--at least no one of the same power. He, perhaps you have read, taught absolute Materialism and Socialismdeveloped to their logical issues. Patriotism, he said, was a relic ofbarbarism; and sensual enjoyment was the only certain good. Of course, every one laughed at him. It was said that without religion there couldbe no adequate motive among the masses for even the simplest socialorder. But he was right, it seemed. After the fall of the French Churchat the beginning of the century and the massacres of 1914, thebourgeoisie settled down to organise itself; and that extraordinarymovement began in earnest, pushed through by the middle classes, with nopatriotism, no class distinctions, practically no army. Of course, Freemasonry directed it all. This spread to Germany, where the influenceof Karl Marx had already---" "Yes, sir, " put in Percy smoothly, "but what of England, if you don'tmind---" "Ah, yes; England. Well, in 1917 the Labour party gathered up the reins, and Communism really began. That was long before I can remember, ofcourse, but my father used to date it from then. The only wonder wasthat things did not go forward more quickly; but I suppose there was agood deal of Tory leaven left. Besides, centuries generally run slowerthan is expected, especially after beginning with an impulse. But thenew order began then; and the Communists have never suffered a seriousreverse since, except the little one in '25. Blenkin founded 'The NewPeople' then; and the 'Times' dropped out; but it was not, strangelyenough, till '35 that the House of Lords fell for the last time. TheEstablished Church had gone finally in '29. " "And the religious effect of that?" asked Percy swiftly, as the old manpaused to cough slightly, lifting his inhaler. The priest was anxious tokeep to the point. "It was an effect itself, " said the other, "rather than a cause. Yousee, the Ritualists, as they used to call them, after a desperateattempt to get into the Labour swim, came into the Church after theConvocation of '19, when the Nicene Creed dropped out; and there was noreal enthusiasm except among them. But so far as there was an effectfrom the final Disestablishment, I think it was that what was left ofthe State Church melted into the Free Church, and the Free Church was, after all, nothing more than a little sentiment. The Bible wascompletely given up as an authority after the renewed German attacks inthe twenties; and the Divinity of our Lord, some think, had gone all butin name by the beginning of the century. The Kenotic theory had providedfor that. Then there was that strange little movement among the FreeChurchmen even earlier; when ministers who did no more than follow theswim--who were sensitive to draughts, so to speak--broke off from theirold positions. It is curious to read in the history of the time how theywere hailed as independent thinkers. It was just exactly what they werenot. .. . Where was I? Oh, yes. .. . Well, that cleared the ground for us, and the Church made extraordinary progress for a while--extraordinary, that is, under the circumstances, because you must remember, things werevery different from twenty, or even ten, years before. I mean that, roughly speaking, the severing of the sheep and the goats had begun. Thereligious people were practically all Catholics and Individualists; theirreligious people rejected the supernatural altogether, and were, to aman, Materialists and Communists. But we made progress because we had afew exceptional men--Delaney the philosopher, McArthur and Largent, thephilanthropists, and so on. It really seemed as if Delaney and hisdisciples might carry everything before them. You remember his'Analogy'? Oh, yes, it is all in the text-books. .. . "Well, then, at the close of the Vatican Council, which had been calledin the nineteenth century, and never dissolved, we lost a great numberthrough the final definitions. The 'Exodus of the Intellectuals' theworld called it---" "The Biblical decisions, " put in the younger priest. "That partly; and the whole conflict that began with the rise ofModernism at the beginning of the century but much more the condemnationof Delaney, and of the New Transcendentalism generally, as it was thenunderstood. He died outside the Church, you know. Then there was thecondemnation of Sciotti's book on Comparative Religion. .. . After thatthe Communists went on by strides, although by very slow ones. It seemsextraordinary to you, I dare say, but you cannot imagine the excitementwhen the _Necessary Trades Bill_ became law in '60. People thought thatall enterprise would stop when so many professions were nationalised;but, you know, it didn't. Certainly the nation was behind it. " "What year was the _Two-Thirds Majority Bill_ passed?" asked Percy. "Oh! long before--within a year or two of the fall of the House ofLords. It was necessary, I think, or the Individualists would have goneraving mad. .. . Well, the _Necessary Trades Bill_ was inevitable: peoplehad begun to see that even so far back as the time when the railwayswere municipalised. For a while there was a burst of art; because allthe Individualists who could went in for it (it was then that the Tollerschool was founded); but they soon drifted back into Governmentemployment; after all, the six-per-cent limit for all individualenterprise was not much of a temptation; and Government paid well. " Percy shook his head. "Yes; but I cannot understand the present state of affairs. You saidjust now that things went slowly?" "Yes, " said the old man, "but you must remember the Poor Laws. Thatestablished the Communists for ever. Certainly Braithwaite knew hisbusiness. " The younger priest looked up inquiringly. "The abolition of the old workhouse system, " said Mr. Templeton. "It isall ancient history to you, of course; but I remember as if it wasyesterday. It was that which brought down what was still called theMonarchy and the Universities. " "Ah, " said Percy. "I should like to hear you talk about that, sir. " "Presently, father. .. . Well, this is what Braithwaite did. By the oldsystem all paupers were treated alike, and resented it. By the newsystem there were the three grades that we have now, and theenfranchisement of the two higher grades. Only the absolutely worthlesswere assigned to the third grade, and treated more or less ascriminals--of course after careful examination. Then there was thereorganisation of the Old Age Pensions. Well, don't you see how strongthat made the Communists? The Individualists--they were still calledTories when I was a boy--the Individualists have had no chance since. They are no more than a worn-out drag now. The whole of the workingclasses--and that meant ninety-nine of a hundred--were all againstthem. " Percy looked up; but the other went on. "Then there was the Prison Reform Bill under Macpherson, and theabolition of capital punishment; there was the final Education Act of'59, whereby dogmatic secularism was established; the practicalabolition of inheritance under the reformation of the Death Duties---" "I forget what the old system was, " said Percy. "Why, it seems incredible, but the old system was that all paid alike. First came the Heirloom Act, and then the change by which inheritedwealth paid three times the duty of earned wealth, leading up to theacceptance of Karl Marx's doctrines in '89--but the former came in'77. .. . Well, all these things kept England up to the level of theContinent; she had only been just in time to join in with the finalscheme of Western Free Trade. That was the first effect, you remember, of the Socialists' victory in Germany. " "And how did we keep out of the Eastern War?" asked Percy anxiously. "Oh! that's a long story; but, in a word, America stopped us; so we lostIndia and Australia. I think that was the nearest to the downfall of theCommunists since '25. But Braithwaite got out of it very cleverly bygetting us the protectorate of South Africa once and for all. He was anold man then, too. " Mr. Templeton stopped to cough again. Father Francis sighed and shiftedin his chair. "And America?" asked Percy. "Ah! all that is very complicated. But she knew her strength and annexedCanada the same year. That was when we were at our weakest. " Percy stood up. "Have you a Comparative Atlas, sir?" he asked. The old man pointed to a shelf. "There, " he said. * * * * * Percy looked at the sheets a minute or two in silence, spreading them onhis knees. "It is all much simpler, certainly, " he murmured, glancing first at theold complicated colouring of the beginning of the twentieth century, andthen at the three great washes of the twenty-first. He moved his finger along Asia. The words EASTERN EMPIRE ran across thepale yellow, from the Ural Mountains on the left to the Behring Straitson the right, curling round in giant letters through India, Australia, and New Zealand. He glanced at the red; it was considerably smaller, butstill important enough, considering that it covered not only Europeproper, but all Russia up to the Ural Mountains, and Africa to thesouth. The blue-labelled AMERICAN REPUBLIC swept over the whole of thatcontinent, and disappeared right round to the left of the WesternHemisphere in a shower of blue sparks on the white sea. "Yes, it's simpler, " said the old man drily. Percy shut the book and set it by his chair. "And what next, sir? What will happen?" The old Tory statesman smiled. "God knows, " he said. "If the Eastern Empire chooses to move, we can donothing. I don't know why they have not moved. I suppose it is becauseof religious differences. " "Europe will not split?" asked the priest. "No, no. We know our danger now. And America would certainly help us. But, all the same, God help us--or you, I should rather say--if theEmpire does move! She knows her strength at last. " There was silence for a moment or two. A faint vibration trembledthrough the deep-sunk room as some huge machine went past on the broadboulevard overhead. "Prophesy, sir, " said Percy suddenly. "I mean about religion. " Mr. Templeton inhaled another long breath from his instrument. Thenagain he took up his discourse. "Briefly, " he said, "there are three forces--Catholicism, Humanitarianism, and the Eastern religions. About the third I cannotprophesy, though I think the Sufis will be victorious. Anything mayhappen; Esotericism is making enormous strides--and that meansPantheism; and the blending of the Chinese and Japanese dynasties throwsout all our calculations. But in Europe and America, there is no doubtthat the struggle lies between the other two. We can neglect everythingelse. And, I think, if you wish me to say what I think, that, humanlyspeaking, Catholicism will decrease rapidly now. It is perfectly truethat Protestantism is dead. Men do recognise at last that a supernaturalReligion involves an absolute authority, and that Private Judgment inmatters of faith is nothing else than the beginning of disintegration. And it is also true that since the Catholic Church is the onlyinstitution that even claims supernatural authority, with all itsmerciless logic, she has again the allegiance of practically allChristians who have any supernatural belief left. There are a fewfaddists left, especially in America and here; but they are negligible. That is all very well; but, on the other hand, you must remember thatHumanitarianism, contrary to all persons' expectations, is becoming anactual religion itself, though anti-supernatural. It is Pantheism; it isdeveloping a ritual under Freemasonry; it has a creed, 'God is Man, ' andthe rest. It has therefore a real food of a sort to offer to religiouscravings; it idealises, and yet it makes no demand upon the spiritualfaculties. Then, they have the use of all the churches except ours, andall the Cathedrals; and they are beginning at last to encouragesentiment. Then, they may display their symbols and we may not: I thinkthat they will be established legally in another ten years at thelatest. "Now, we Catholics, remember, are losing; we have lost steadily for morethan fifty years. I suppose that we have, nominally, about one-fortiethof America now--and that is the result of the Catholic movement of theearly twenties. In France and Spain we are nowhere; in Germany we areless. We hold our position in the East, certainly; but even there wehave not more than one in two hundred--so the statistics say--and we arescattered. In Italy? Well, we have Rome again to ourselves, but nothingelse; here, we have Ireland altogether and perhaps one in sixty ofEngland, Wales and Scotland; but we had one in forty seventy years ago. Then there is the enormous progress of psychology--all clean against usfor at least a century. First, you see, there was Materialism, pure andsimple that failed more or less--it was too crude--until psychology cameto the rescue. Now psychology claims all the rest of the ground; and thesupernatural sense seems accounted for. That's the claim. No, father, weare losing; and we shall go on losing, and I think we must even be readyfor a catastrophe at any moment. " "But---" began Percy. "You think that weak for an old man on the edge of the grave. Well, itis what I think. I see no hope. In fact, it seems to me that even nowsomething may come on us quickly. No; I see no hope until---" Percy looked up sharply. "Until our Lord comes back, " said the old statesman. Father Francis sighed once more, and there fell a silence. * * * * * "And the fall of the Universities?" said Percy at last. "My dear father, it was exactly like the fall of the Monasteries underHenry VIII--the same results, the same arguments, the same incidents. They were the strongholds of Individualism, as the Monasteries were thestrongholds of Papalism; and they were regarded with the same kind ofawe and envy. Then the usual sort of remarks began about the amount ofport wine drunk; and suddenly people said that they had done their work, that the inmates were mistaking means for ends; and there was a greatdeal more reason for saying it. After all, granted the supernatural, Religious Houses are an obvious consequence; but the object of seculareducation is presumably the production of something visible--eithercharacter or competence; and it became quite impossible to prove thatthe Universities produced either--which was worth having. Thedistinction between [Greek: ou] and [Greek: me] is not an end in itself;and the kind of person produced by its study was not one which appealedto England in the twentieth century. I am not sure that it appealed evento me much (and I was always a strong Individualist)--except by way ofpathos---" "Yes?" said Percy. "Oh, it was pathetic enough. The Science Schools of Cambridge and theColonial Department of Oxford were the last hope; and then those went. The old dons crept about with their books, but nobody wanted them--theywere too purely theoretical; some drifted into the poorhouses, first orsecond grade; some were taken care of by charitable clergymen; there wasthat attempt to concentrate in Dublin; but it failed, and people soonforgot them. The buildings, as you know, were used for all kinds ofthings. Oxford became an engineering establishment for a while, andCambridge a kind of Government laboratory. I was at King's College, youknow. Of course it was all as horrible as it could be--though I am gladthey kept the chapel open even as a museum. It was not nice to see thechantries filled with anatomical specimens. However, I don't think itwas much worse than keeping stoves and surplices in them. " "What happened to you?" "Oh! I was in Parliament very soon; and I had a little money of my own, too. But it was very hard on some of them; they had little pensions, atleast all who were past work. And yet, I don't know: I suppose it hadto come. They were very little more than picturesque survivals, youknow; and had not even the grace of a religious faith about them. " Percy sighed again, looking at the humorously reminiscent face of theold man. Then he suddenly changed the subject again. "What about this European parliament?" he said. The old man started. "Oh!. .. I think it will pass, " he said, "if a man can be found to pushit. All this last century has been leading up to it, as you see. Patriotism has been dying fast; but it ought to have died, like slaveryand so forth, under the influence of the Catholic Church. As it is, thework has been done without the Church; and the result is that the worldis beginning to range itself against us: it is an organised antagonism--a kind of Catholic anti-Church. Democracy has done what the DivineMonarchy should have done. If the proposal passes I think we may expectsomething like persecution once more. .. . But, again, the Easterninvasion may save us, if it comes off. .. . I do not know. .. . " Percy sat still yet a moment; then he stood up suddenly. "I must go, sir, " he said, relapsing into Esperanto. "It is pastnineteen o'clock. Thank you so much. Are you coming, father?" Father Francis stood up also, in the dark grey suit permitted topriests, and took up his hat. "Well, father, " said the old man again, "come again some day, if Ihaven't been too discursive. I suppose you have to write your letteryet?" Percy nodded. "I did half of it this morning, " he said, "but I felt I wanted anotherbird's-eye view before I could understand properly: I am so grateful toyou for giving it me. It is really a great labour, this daily letter tothe Cardinal-Protector. I am thinking of resigning if I am allowed. " "My dear father, don't do that. If I may say so to your face, I thinkyou have a very shrewd mind; and unless Rome has balanced informationshe can do nothing. I don't suppose your colleagues are as careful asyourself. " Percy smiled, lifting his dark eyebrows deprecatingly. "Come, father, " he said. * * * * * The two priests parted at the steps of the corridor, and Percy stood fora minute or two staring out at the familiar autumn scene, trying tounderstand what it all meant. What he had heard downstairs seemedstrangely to illuminate that vision of splendid prosperity that laybefore him. The air was as bright as day; artificial sunlight had carried all beforeit, and London now knew no difference between dark and light. He stoodin a kind of glazed cloister, heavily floored with a preparation ofrubber on which footsteps made no sound. Beneath him, at the foot of thestairs, poured an endless double line of persons severed by a partition, going to right and left, noiselessly, except for the murmur of Esperantotalking that sounded ceaselessly as they went. Through the clear, hardened glass of the public passage showed a broad sleek black roadway, ribbed from side to side, and puckered in the centre, significantlyempty, but even as he stood there a note sounded far away from OldWestminster, like the hum of a giant hive, rising as it came, and aninstant later a transparent thing shot past, flashing from every angle, and the note died to a hum again and a silence as the great Governmentmotor from the south whirled eastwards with the mails. This was aprivileged roadway; nothing but state-vehicles were allowed to use it, and those at a speed not exceeding one hundred miles an hour. Other noises were subdued in this city of rubber; the passenger-circleswere a hundred yards away, and the subterranean traffic lay too deep foranything but a vibration to make itself felt. It was to remove thisvibration, and silence the hum of the ordinary vehicles, that theGovernment experts had been working for the last twenty years. Once again before he moved there came a long cry from overhead, startlingly beautiful and piercing, and, as he lifted his eyes from theglimpse of the steady river which alone had refused to be transformed, he saw high above him against the heavy illuminated clouds, a longslender object, glowing with soft light, slide northwards and vanish onoutstretched wings. That musical cry, he told himself, was the voice ofone of the European line of volors announcing its arrival in the capitalof Great Britain. "Until our Lord comes back, " he thought to himself; and for an instantthe old misery stabbed at his heart. How difficult it was to hold theeyes focussed on that far horizon when this world lay in the foregroundso compelling in its splendour and its strength! Oh, he had argued withFather Francis an hour ago that size was not the same as greatness, andthat an insistent external could not exclude a subtle internal; and hehad believed what he had then said; but the doubt yet remained till hesilenced it by a fierce effort, crying in his heart to the Poor Man ofNazareth to keep his heart as the heart of a little child. Then he set his lips, wondering how long Father Francis would bear thepressure, and went down the steps. BOOK I-THE ADVENT CHAPTER I I Oliver Brand, the new member for Croydon (4), sat in his study, lookingout of the window over the top of his typewriter. His house stood facing northwards at the extreme end of a spur of theSurrey Hills, now cut and tunnelled out of all recognition; only to aCommunist the view was an inspiriting one. Immediately below the widewindows the embanked ground fell away rapidly for perhaps a hundredfeet, ending in a high wall, and beyond that the world and works of menwere triumphant as far as eye could see. Two vast tracks like streakedrace-courses, each not less than a quarter of a mile in width, and sunktwenty feet below the surface of the ground, swept up to a meeting amile ahead at the huge junction. Of those, that on his left was theFirst Trunk road to Brighton, inscribed in capital letters in theRailroad Guide, that to the right the Second Trunk to the Tunbridge andHastings district. Each was divided length-ways by a cement wall, on oneside of which, on steel rails, ran the electric trams, and on the otherlay the motor-track itself again divided into three, on which ran, firstthe Government coaches at a speed of one hundred and fifty miles anhour, second the private motors at not more than sixty, third the cheapGovernment line at thirty, with stations every five miles. This wasfurther bordered by a road confined to pedestrians, cyclists andordinary cars on which no vehicle was allowed to move at more thantwelve miles an hour. Beyond these great tracks lay an immense plain of house-roofs, withshort towers here and there marking public buildings, from the Caterhamdistrict on the left to Croydon in front, all clear and bright insmokeless air; and far away to the west and north showed the lowsuburban hills against the April sky. There was surprisingly little sound, considering the pressure of thepopulation; and, with the exception of the buzz of the steel rails as atrain fled north or south, and the occasional sweet chord of the greatmotors as they neared or left the junction, there was little to be heardin this study except a smooth, soothing murmur that filled the air likethe murmur of bees in a garden. Oliver loved every hint of human life--all busy sights and sounds--andwas listening now, smiling faintly to himself as he stared out into theclear air. Then he set his lips, laid his fingers on the keys once more, and went on speech-constructing. * * * * * He was very fortunate in the situation of his house. It stood in anangle of one of those huge spider-webs with which the country wascovered, and for his purposes was all that he could expect. It was closeenough to London to be extremely cheap, for all wealthy persons hadretired at least a hundred miles from the throbbing heart of England;and yet it was as quiet as he could wish. He was within ten minutes ofWestminster on the one side, and twenty minutes of the sea on the other, and his constituency lay before him like a raised map. Further, sincethe great London termini were but ten minutes away, there were at hisdisposal the First Trunk lines to every big town in England. For apolitician of no great means, who was asked to speak at Edinburgh on oneevening and in Marseilles on the next, he was as well placed as any manin Europe. He was a pleasant-looking man, not much over thirty years old; blackwire-haired, clean-shaven, thin, virile, magnetic, blue-eyed andwhite-skinned; and he appeared this day extremely content with himselfand the world. His lips moved slightly as he worked, his eyes enlargedand diminished with excitement, and more than once he paused and staredout again, smiling and flushed. Then a door opened; a middle-aged man came nervously in with a bundle ofpapers, laid them down on the table without a word, and turned to goout. Oliver lifted his hand for attention, snapped a lever, and spoke. "Well, Mr. Phillips?" he said. "There is news from the East, sir, " said the secretary. Oliver shot a glance sideways, and laid his hand on the bundle. "Any complete message?" he asked. "No, sir; it is interrupted again. Mr. Felsenburgh's name is mentioned. " Oliver did not seem to hear; he lifted the flimsy printed sheets with asudden movement, and began turning them. "The fourth from the top, Mr. Brand, " said the secretary. Oliver jerked his head impatiently, and the other went out as if at asignal. The fourth sheet from the top, printed in red on green, seemed to absorbOliver's attention altogether, for he read it through two or threetimes, leaning back motionless in his chair. Then he sighed, and staredagain through the window. Then once more the door opened, and a tall girl came in. "Well, my dear?" she observed. Oliver shook his head, with compressed lips. "Nothing definite, " he said. "Even less than usual. Listen. " He took up the green sheet and began to read aloud as the girl sat downin a window-seat on his left. She was a very charming-looking creature, tall and slender, withserious, ardent grey eyes, firm red lips, and a beautiful carriage ofhead and shoulders. She had walked slowly across the room as Oliver tookup the paper, and now sat back in her brown dress in a very graceful andstately attitude. She seemed to listen with a deliberate kind ofpatience; but her eyes flickered with interest. "'Irkutsk--April fourteen--Yesterday--as--usual--But--rumoured--defection--from--Sufi--party--Troops--continue--gathering--Felsenburgh--addressed--Buddhist--crowd--Attempt--on--Llama--last--Friday--work--of--Anarchists--Felsenburgh--leaving--for--Moscow--as--arranged--he. .. . ' There--that is absolutely all, " ended Oliverdispiritedly. "It's interrupted as usual. " The girl began to swing a foot. "I don't understand in the least, " she said. "Who is Felsenburgh, afterall?" "My dear child, that is what all the world is asking. Nothing is knownexcept that he was included in the American deputation at the lastmoment. The _Herald_ published his life last week; but it has beencontradicted. It is certain that he is quite a young man, and that hehas been quite obscure until now. " "Well, he is not obscure now, " observed the girl. "I know; it seems as if he were running the whole thing. One never hearsa word of the others. It's lucky he's on the right side. " "And what do you think?" Oliver turned vacant eyes again out of the window. "I think it is touch and go, " he said. "The only remarkable thing isthat here hardly anybody seems to realise it. It's too big for theimagination, I suppose. There is no doubt that the East has beenpreparing for a descent on Europe for these last five years. They haveonly been checked by America; and this is one last attempt to stop them. But why Felsenburgh should come to the front---" he broke off. "He mustbe a good linguist, at any rate. This is at least the fifth crowd he hasaddressed; perhaps he is just the American interpreter. Christ! I wonderwho he is. " "Has he any other name?" "Julian, I believe. One message said so. " "How did this come through?" Oliver shook his head. "Private enterprise, " he said. "The European agencies have stopped work. Every telegraph station is guarded night and day. There are lines ofvolors strung out on every frontier. The Empire means to settle thisbusiness without us. " "And if it goes wrong?" "My dear Mabel--if hell breaks loose---" he threw out his handsdeprecatingly. "And what is the Government doing?" "Working night and day; so is the rest of Europe. It'll be Armageddonwith a vengeance if it comes to war. " "What chance do you see?" "I see two chances, " said Oliver slowly: "one, that they may be afraidof America, and may hold their hands from sheer fear; the other thatthey may be induced to hold their hands from charity; if only they canbe made to understand that co-operation is the one hope of the world. But those damned religions of theirs---" The girl sighed, and looked out again on to the wide plain ofhouse-roofs below the window. The situation was indeed as serious as it could be. That huge Empire, consisting of a federalism of States under the Son of Heaven (madepossible by the merging of the Japanese and Chinese dynasties and thefall of Russia), had been consolidating its forces and learning its ownpower during the last thirty-five years, ever since, in fact, it hadlaid its lean yellow hands upon Australia and India. While the rest ofthe world had learned the folly of war, ever since the fall of theRussian republic under the combined attack of the yellow races, the lasthad grasped its possibilities. It seemed now as if the civilisation ofthe last century was to be swept back once more into chaos. It was notthat the mob of the East cared very greatly; it was their rulers who hadbegun to stretch themselves after an almost eternal lethargy, and it washard to imagine how they could be checked at this point. There was atouch of grimness too in the rumour that religious fanaticism was behindthe movement, and that the patient East proposed at last to proselytiseby the modern equivalents of fire and sword those who had laid aside forthe most part all religious beliefs except that in Humanity. To Oliverit was simply maddening. As he looked from his window and saw that vastlimit of London laid peaceably before him, as his imagination ran outover Europe and saw everywhere that steady triumph of common sense andfact over the wild fairy-stories of Christianity, it seemed intolerablethat there should be even a possibility that all this should be sweptback again into the barbarous turmoil of sects and dogmas; for no lessthan this would be the result if the East laid hands on Europe. EvenCatholicism would revive, he told himself, that strange faith that hadblazed so often as persecution had been dashed to quench it; and, of allforms of faith, to Oliver's mind Catholicism was the most grotesque andenslaving. And the prospect of all this honestly troubled him, far morethan the thought of the physical catastrophe and bloodshed that wouldfall on Europe with the advent of the East. There was but one hope onthe religious side, as he had told Mabel a dozen times, and that wasthat the Quietistic Pantheism which for the last century had made suchgiant strides in East and West alike, among Mohammedans, Buddhists, Hindus, Confucianists and the rest, should avail to check thesupernatural frenzy that inspired their exoteric brethren. Pantheism, heunderstood, was what he held himself; for him "God" was the developingsum of created life, and impersonal Unity was the essence of His being;competition then was the great heresy that set men one against anotherand delayed all progress; for, to his mind, progress lay in the mergingof the individual in the family, of the family in the commonwealth, ofthe commonwealth in the continent, and of the continent in the world. Finally, the world itself at any moment was no more than the mood ofimpersonal life. It was, in fact, the Catholic idea with thesupernatural left out, a union of earthly fortunes, an abandonment ofindividualism on the one side, and of supernaturalism on the other. Itwas treason to appeal from God Immanent to God Transcendent; there wasno God transcendent; God, so far as He could be known, was man. Yet these two, husband and wife after a fashion--for they had enteredinto that terminable contract now recognised explicitly by theState--these two were very far from sharing in the usual heavy dulnessof mere materialists. The world, for them, beat with one ardent lifeblossoming in flower and beast and man, a torrent of beautiful vigourflowing from a deep source and irrigating all that moved or felt. Itsromance was the more appreciable because it was comprehensible to theminds that sprang from it; there were mysteries in it, but mysteriesthat enticed rather than baffled, for they unfolded new glories withevery discovery that man could make; even inanimate objects, the fossil, the electric current, the far-off stars, these were dust thrown off bythe Spirit of the World--fragrant with His Presence and eloquent of HisNature. For example, the announcement made by Klein, the astronomer, twenty years before, that the inhabitation of certain planets had becomea certified fact--how vastly this had altered men's views of themselves. But the one condition of progress and the building of Jerusalem, on theplanet that happened to be men's dwelling place, was peace, not thesword which Christ brought or that which Mahomet wielded; but peace thatarose from, not passed, understanding; the peace that sprang from aknowledge that man was all and was able to develop himself only bysympathy with his fellows. To Oliver and his wife, then, the lastcentury seemed like a revelation; little by little the old superstitionshad died, and the new light broadened; the Spirit of the World hadroused Himself, the sun had dawned in the west; and now with horror andloathing they had seen the clouds gather once more in the quarter whenceall superstition had had its birth. * * * * * Mabel got up presently and came across to her husband. "My dear, " she said, "you must not be downhearted. It all may pass as itpassed before. It is a great thing that they are listening to America atall. And this Mr. Felsenburgh seems to be on the right side. " Oliver took her hand and kissed it. II Oliver seemed altogether depressed at breakfast, half an hour later. Hismother, an old lady of nearly eighty, who never appeared till noon, seemed to see it at once, for after a look or two at him and a word, shesubsided into silence behind her plate. It was a pleasant little room in which they sat, immediately behindOliver's own, and was furnished, according to universal custom, in lightgreen. Its windows looked out upon a strip of garden at the back, andthe high creeper-grown wall that separated that domain from the next. The furniture, too, was of the usual sort; a sensible round table stoodin the middle, with three tall arm-chairs, with the proper angles andrests, drawn up to it; and the centre of it, resting apparently on abroad round column, held the dishes. It was thirty years now since thepractice of placing the dining-room above the kitchen, and of raisingand lowering the courses by hydraulic power into the centre of thedining-table, had become universal in the houses of the well-to-do. Thefloor consisted entirely of the asbestos cork preparation invented inAmerica, noiseless, clean, and pleasant to both foot and eye. Mabel broke the silence. "And your speech to-morrow?" she asked, taking up her fork. Oliver brightened a little, and began to discourse. It seemed that Birmingham was beginning to fret. They were crying outonce more for free trade with America: European facilities were notenough, and it was Oliver's business to keep them quiet. It was useless, he proposed to tell them, to agitate until the Eastern business wassettled: they must not bother the Government with such details just now. He was to tell them, too, that the Government was wholly on their side;that it was bound to come soon. "They are pig-headed, " he added fiercely; "pig-headed and selfish; theyare like children who cry for food ten minutes before dinner-time: it isbound to come if they will wait a little. " "And you will tell them so?" "That they are pig-headed? Certainly. " Mabel looked at her husband with a pleased twinkle in her eyes. She knewperfectly well that his popularity rested largely on his outspokenness:folks liked to be scolded and abused by a genial bold man who danced andgesticulated in a magnetic fury; she liked it herself. "How shall you go?" she asked. "Volor. I shall catch the eighteen o'clock at Blackfriars; the meetingis at nineteen, and I shall be back at twenty-one. " He addressed himself vigorously to his _entree_, and his mother lookedup with a patient, old-woman smile. Mabel began to drum her fingers softly on the damask. "Please make haste, my dear, " she said; "I have to be at Brighton atthree. " Oliver gulped his last mouthful, pushed his plate over the line, glancedto see if all plates were there, and then put his hand beneath thetable. Instantly, without a sound, the centre-piece vanished, and the threewaited unconcernedly while the clink of dishes came from beneath. Old Mrs. Brand was a hale-looking old lady, rosy and wrinkled, with themantilla head-dress of fifty years ago; but she, too, looked a littledepressed this morning. The _entree_ was not very successful, shethought; the new food-stuff was not up to the old, it was a triflegritty: she would see about it afterwards. There was a clink, a softsound like a push, and the centre-piece snapped into its place, bearingan admirable imitation of a roasted fowl. Oliver and his wife were alone again for a minute or two after breakfastbefore Mabel started down the path to catch the 14-1/2 o'clock 4th gradesub-trunk line to the junction. "What's the matter with mother?" he said. "Oh! it's the food-stuff again: she's never got accustomed to it; shesays it doesn't suit her. " "Nothing else?" "No, my dear, I am sure of it. She hasn't said a word lately. " Oliver watched his wife go down the path, reassured. He had been alittle troubled once or twice lately by an odd word or two that hismother had let fall. She had been brought up a Christian for a fewyears, and it seemed to him sometimes as if it had left a taint. Therewas an old "Garden of the Soul" that she liked to keep by her, thoughshe always protested with an appearance of scorn that it was nothing butnonsense. Still, Oliver would have preferred that she had burned it:superstition was a desperate thing for retaining life, and, as the brainweakened, might conceivably reassert itself. Christianity was both wildand dull, he told himself, wild because of its obvious grotesqueness andimpossibility, and dull because it was so utterly apart from theexhilarating stream of human life; it crept dustily about still, heknew, in little dark churches here and there; it screamed withhysterical sentimentality in Westminster Cathedral which he had onceentered and looked upon with a kind of disgusted fury; it gabbledstrange, false words to the incompetent and the old and the half-witted. But it would be too dreadful if his own mother ever looked upon it againwith favour. Oliver himself, ever since he could remember, had been violently opposedto the concessions to Rome and Ireland. It was intolerable that thesetwo places should be definitely yielded up to this foolish, treacherousnonsense: they were hot-beds of sedition; plague-spots on the face ofhumanity. He had never agreed with those who said that it was betterthat all the poison of the West should be gathered rather thandispersed. But, at any rate, there it was. Rome had been given up whollyto that old man in white in exchange for all the parish churches andcathedrals of Italy, and it was understood that mediaeval darknessreigned there supreme; and Ireland, after receiving Home Rule thirtyyears before, had declared for Catholicism, and opened her arms toIndividualism in its most virulent form. England had laughed andassented, for she was saved from a quantity of agitation by theimmediate departure of half her Catholic population for that island, andhad, consistently with her Communist-colonial policy, granted everyfacility for Individualism to reduce itself there _ad absurdum_. Allkinds of funny things were happening there: Oliver had read with abitter amusement of new appearances there, of a Woman in Blue andshrines raised where her feet had rested; but he was scarcely amused atRome, for the movement to Turin of the Italian Government had deprivedthe Republic of quite a quantity of sentimental prestige, and had haloedthe old religious nonsense with all the meretriciousness of historicalassociation. However, it obviously could not last much longer: the worldwas beginning to understand at last. He stood a moment or two at the door after his wife had gone, drinkingin reassurance from that glorious vision of solid sense that spreaditself before his eyes: the endless house-roofs; the high glass vaultsof the public baths and gymnasiums; the pinnacled schools whereCitizenship was taught each morning; the spider-like cranes andscaffoldings that rose here and there; and even the few pricking spiresdid not disconcert him. There it stretched away into the grey haze ofLondon, really beautiful, this vast hive of men and women who hadlearned at least the primary lesson of the gospel that there was no Godbut man, no priest but the politician, no prophet but the schoolmaster. Then he went back once more to his speech-constructing. * * * * * Mabel, too, was a little thoughtful as she sat with her paper on herlap, spinning down the broad line to Brighton. This Eastern news wasmore disconcerting to her than she allowed her husband to see; yet itseemed incredible that there could be any real danger of invasion. ThisWestern life was so sensible and peaceful; folks had their feet at lastupon the rock, and it was unthinkable that they could ever be forcedback on to the mud-flats: it was contrary to the whole law ofdevelopment. Yet she could not but recognise that catastrophe seemed oneof nature's methods. .. . She sat very quiet, glancing once or twice at the meagre little scrapof news, and read the leading article upon it: that too seemedsignificant of dismay. A couple of men were talking in thehalf-compartment beyond on the same subject; one described theGovernment engineering works that he had visited, the breathless hastethat dominated them; the other put in interrogations and questions. There was not much comfort there. There were no windows through whichshe could look; on the main lines the speed was too great for the eyes;the long compartment flooded with soft light bounded her horizon. Shestared at the moulded white ceiling, the delicious oak-framed paintings, the deep spring-seats, the mellow globes overhead that poured outradiance, at a mother and child diagonally opposite her. Then the greatchord sounded; the faint vibration increased ever so slightly; and aninstant later the automatic doors ran back, and she stepped out on tothe platform of Brighton station. As she went down the steps leading to the station square she noticed apriest going before her. He seemed a very upright and sturdy old man, for though his hair was white he walked steadily and strongly. At thefoot of the steps he stopped and half turned, and then, to her surprise, she saw that his face was that of a young man, fine-featured and strong, with black eyebrows and very bright grey eyes. Then she passed on andbegan to cross the square in the direction of her aunt's house. Then without the slightest warning, except one shrill hoot fromoverhead, a number of things happened. A great shadow whirled across the sunlight at her feet, a sound ofrending tore the air, and a noise like a giant's sigh; and, as shestopped bewildered, with a noise like ten thousand smashed kettles, ahuge thing crashed on the rubber pavement before her, where it lay, filling half the square, writhing long wings on its upper side that beatand whirled like the flappers of some ghastly extinct monster, pouringout human screams, and beginning almost instantly to crawl with brokenlife. Mabel scarcely knew what happened next; but she found herself a momentlater forced forward by some violent pressure from behind, till shestood shaking from head to foot, with some kind of smashed body of a manmoaning and stretching at her feet. There was a sort of articulatelanguage coming from it; she caught distinctly the names of Jesus andMary; then a voice hissed suddenly in her ears: "Let me through. I am a priest. " She stood there a moment longer, dazed by the suddenness of the wholeaffair, and watched almost unintelligently the grey-haired young prieston his knees, with his coat torn open, and a crucifix out; she saw himbend close, wave his hand in a swift sign, and heard a murmur of alanguage she did not know. Then he was up again, holding the crucifixbefore him, and she saw him begin to move forward into the midst of thered-flooded pavement, looking this way and that as if for a signal. Downthe steps of the great hospital on her right came figures running now, hatless, each carrying what looked like an old-fashioned camera. Sheknew what those men were, and her heart leaped in relief. They were theministers of euthanasia. Then she felt herself taken by the shoulder andpulled back, and immediately found herself in the front rank of a crowdthat was swaying and crying out, and behind a line of police andcivilians who had formed themselves into a cordon to keep the pressureback. III Oliver was in a panic of terror as his mother, half an hour later, ranin with the news that one of the Government volors had fallen in thestation square at Brighton just after the 14-1/2 train had dischargedits passengers. He knew quite well what that meant, for be rememberedone such accident ten years before, just after the law forbiddingprivate volors had been passed. It meant that every living creature init was killed and probably many more in the place where it fell--andwhat then? The message was clear enough; she would certainly be in thesquare at that time. He sent a desperate wire to her aunt asking for news; and sat, shakingin his chair, awaiting the answer. His mother sat by him. "Please God---" she sobbed out once, and stopped confounded as he turnedon her. But Fate was merciful, and three minutes before Mr. Phillips toiled upthe path with the answer, Mabel herself came into the room, rather paleand smiling. "Christ!" cried Oliver, and gave one huge sob as he sprang up. She had not a great deal to tell him. There was no explanation of thedisaster published as yet; it seemed that the wings on one side hadsimply ceased to work. She described the shadow, the hiss of sound, and the crash. Then she stopped. "Well, my dear?" said her husband, still rather white beneath the eyesas he sat close to her patting her hand. "There was a priest there, " said Mabel. "I saw him before, at thestation. " Oliver gave a little hysterical snort of laughter. "He was on his knees at once, " she said, "with his crucifix, even beforethe doctors came. My dear, do people really believe all that?" "Why, they think they do, " said her husband. "It was all so--so sudden; and there he was, just as if he had beenexpecting it all. Oliver, how can they?" "Why, people will believe anything if they begin early enough. " "And the man seemed to believe it, too--the dying man, I mean. I saw hiseyes. " She stopped. "Well, my dear?" "Oliver, what do you say to people when they are dying?" "Say! Why, nothing! What can I say? But I don't think I've ever seen anyone die. " "Nor have I till to-day, " said the girl, and shivered a little. "Theeuthanasia people were soon at work. " Oliver took her hand gently. "My darling, it must have been frightful. Why, you're trembling still. " "No; but listen. .. . You know, if I had had anything to say I could havesaid it too. They were all just in front of me: I wondered; then I knewI hadn't. I couldn't possibly have talked about Humanity. " "My dear, it's all very sad; but you know it doesn't really matter. It'sall over. " "And--and they've just stopped?" "Why, yes. " Mabel compressed her lips a little; then she sighed. She had an agitatedsort of meditation in the train. She knew perfectly that it was sheernerves; but she could not just yet shake them off. As she had said, itwas the first time she had seen death. "And that priest--that priest doesn't think so?" "My dear, I'll tell you what he believes. He believes that that man whomhe showed the crucifix to, and said those words over, is alivesomewhere, in spite of his brain being dead: he is not quite sure where;but he is either in a kind of smelting works being slowly burned; or, ifhe is very lucky, and that piece of wood took effect, he is somewherebeyond the clouds, before Three Persons who are only One although Theyare Three; that there are quantities of other people there, a Woman inBlue, a great many others in white with their heads under their arms, and still more with their heads on one side; and that they've all gotharps and go on singing for ever and ever, and walking about on theclouds, and liking it very much indeed. He thinks, too, that all thesenice people are perpetually looking down upon the aforesaidsmelting-works, and praising the Three Great Persons for making them. That's what the priest believes. Now you know it's not likely; that kindof thing may be very nice, but it isn't true. " Mabel smiled pleasantly. She had never heard it put so well. "No, my dear, you're quite right. That sort of thing isn't true. How canhe believe it? He looked quite intelligent!" "My dear girl, if I had told you in your cradle that the moon was greencheese, and had hammered at you ever since, every day and all day, thatit was, you'd very nearly believe it by now. Why, you know in your heartthat the euthanatisers are the real priests. Of course you do. " Mabel sighed with satisfaction and stood up. "Oliver, you're a most comforting person. I do like you! There! I mustgo to my room: I'm all shaky still. " Half across the room she stopped and put out a shoe. "Why---" she began faintly. There was a curious rusty-looking splash upon it; and her husband sawher turn white. He rose abruptly. "My dear, " he said, "don't be foolish. " She looked at him, smiled bravely, and went out. * * * * * When she was gone, he still sat on a moment where she bad left him. Dearme! how pleased he was! He did not like to think of what life would havebeen without her. He had known her since she was twelve--that was sevenyears ago-and last year they had gone together to the district officialto make their contract. She had really become very necessary to him. Ofcourse the world could get on without her, and he supposed that he couldtoo; but he did not want to have to try. He knew perfectly well, for itwas his creed of human love, that there was between them a doubleaffection, of mind as well as body; and there was absolutely nothingelse: but he loved her quick intuitions, and to hear his own thoughtechoed so perfectly. It was like two flames added together to make athird taller than either: of course one flame could burn without theother--in fact, one would have to, one day--but meantime the warmth andlight were exhilarating. Yes, he was delighted that she happened to beclear of the falling volor. He gave no more thought to his exposition of the Christian creed; it wasa mere commonplace to him that Catholics believed that kind of thing; itwas no more blasphemous to his mind so to describe it, than it would beto laugh at a Fijian idol with mother-of-pearl eyes, and a horse-hairwig; it was simply impossible to treat it seriously. He, too, hadwondered once or twice in his life how human beings could believe suchrubbish; but psychology had helped him, and he knew now well enough thatsuggestion will do almost anything. And it was this hateful thing thathad so long restrained the euthanasia movement with all its splendidmercy. His brows wrinkled a little as he remembered his mother's exclamation, "Please God"; then he smiled at the poor old thing and her patheticchildishness, and turned once more to his table, thinking in spite ofhimself of his wife's hesitation as she had seen the splash of blood onher shoe. Blood! Yes; that was as much a fact as anything else. How wasit to be dealt with? Why, by the glorious creed of Humanity--thatsplendid God who died and rose again ten thousand times a day, who haddied daily like the old cracked fanatic Saul of Tarsus, ever since theworld began, and who rose again, not once like the Carpenter's Son, butwith every child that came into the world. That was the answer; and wasit not overwhelmingly sufficient? Mr. Phillips came in an hour later with another bundle of papers. "No more news from the East, sir, " he said. CHAPTER II I Percy Franklin's correspondence with the Cardinal-Protector of Englandoccupied him directly for at least two hours every day, and for nearlyeight hours indirectly. For the past eight years the methods of the Holy See had once more beenrevised with a view to modern needs, and now every important provincethroughout the world possessed not only an administrative metropolitanbut a representative in Rome whose business it was to be in touch withthe Pope on the one side and the people he represented on the other. Inother words, centralisation had gone forward rapidly, in accordance withthe laws of life; and, with centralisation, freedom of method andexpansion of power. England's Cardinal-Protector was one Abbot Martin, aBenedictine, and it was Percy's business, as of a dozen more bishops, priests and laymen (with whom, by the way, he was forbidden to hold anyformal consultation), to write a long daily letter to him on affairsthat came under his notice. It was a curious life, therefore, that Percy led. He had a couple ofrooms assigned to him in Archbishop's House at Westminster, and wasattached loosely to the Cathedral staff, although with considerableliberty. He rose early, and went to meditation for an hour, after whichhe said his mass. He took his coffee soon after, said a little office, and then settled down to map out his letter. At ten o'clock he was readyto receive callers, and till noon he was generally busy with both thosewho came to see him on their own responsibility and his staff ofhalf-a-dozen reporters whose business it was to bring him markedparagraphs in the newspapers and their own comments. He then breakfastedwith the other priests in the house, and set out soon after to call onpeople whose opinion was necessary, returning for a cup of tea soonafter sixteen o'clock. Then he settled down, after the rest of hisoffice and a visit to the Blessed Sacrament, to compose his letter, which though short, needed a great deal of care and sifting. Afterdinner he made a few notes for next day, received visitors again, andwent to bed soon after twenty-two o'clock. Twice a week it was hisbusiness to assist at Vespers in the afternoon, and he usually sang highmass on Saturdays. It was, therefore, a curiously distracting life, with peculiar dangers. It was one day, a week or two after his visit to Brighton, that he wasjust finishing his letter, when his servant looked in to tell him thatFather Francis was below. "In ten minutes, " said Percy, without looking up. He snapped off his last lines, drew out the sheet, and settled down toread it over, translating it unconsciously from Latin to English. "WESTMINSTER, May 14th. "EMINENCE: Since yesterday I have a little more information. It appearscertain that the Bill establishing Esperanto for all State purposes willbe brought in in June. I have had this from Johnson. This, as I havepointed out before, is the very last stone in our consolidation with thecontinent, which, at present, is to be regretted. .. . A great access ofJews to Freemasonry is to be expected; hitherto they have held aloof tosome extent, but the 'abolition of the Idea of God' is tending to drawin those Jews, now greatly on the increase once more, who repudiate allnotion of a personal Messiah. It is 'Humanity' here, too, that is atwork. To-day I heard the Rabbi Simeon speak to this effect in the City, and was impressed by the applause he received. .. . Yet among others anexpectation is growing that a man will presently be found to lead theCommunist movement and unite their forces more closely. I enclose averbose cutting from the _New People_ to that effect; and it is echoedeverywhere. They say that the cause must give birth to one such soon;that they have had prophets and precursors for a hundred years past, andlately a cessation of them. It is strange how this coincidessuperficially with Christian ideas. Your Eminence will observe that asimile of the 'ninth wave' is used with some eloquence. .. . I hear to-dayof the secession of an old Catholic family, the Wargraves of Norfolk, with their chaplain Micklem, who it seems has been busy in thisdirection for some while. The _Epoch_ announces it with satisfaction, owing to the peculiar circumstances; but unhappily such events are notuncommon now. .. . There is much distrust among the laity. Seven priestsin Westminster diocese have left us within the last three months; on theother hand, I have pleasure in telling your Eminence that his Gracereceived into Catholic Communion this morning the ex-Anglican Bishop ofCarlisle, with half-a-dozen of his clergy. This has been expected forsome weeks past. I append also cuttings from the _Tribune_, the _LondonTrumpet_, and the _Observer_, with my comments upon them. Your Eminencewill see how great the excitement is with regard to the last. "_Recommendation. _ That formal excommunication of the Wargraves andthese eight priests should be issued in Norfolk and Westminsterrespectively, and no further notice taken. " Percy laid down the sheet, gathered up the half dozen other papers thatcontained his extracts and running commentary, signed the last, andslipped the whole into the printed envelope that lay ready. Then he took up his biretta and went to the lift. * * * * * The moment he came into the glass-doored parlour he saw that the crisiswas come, if not passed already. Father Francis looked miserably ill, but there was a curious hardness, too, about his eyes and mouth, as hestood waiting. He shook his head abruptly. "I have come to say good-bye, father. I can bear it no more. " Percy was careful to show no emotion at all. He made a little sign to achair, and himself sat down too. "It is an end of everything, " said theother again in a perfectly steady voice. "I believe nothing. I havebelieved nothing for a year now. " "You have felt nothing, you mean, " said Percy. "That won't do, father, " went on the other. "I tell you there is nothingleft. I can't even argue now. It is just good-bye. " Percy had nothing to say. He had talked to this man during a period ofover eight months, ever since Father Francis had first confided in himthat his faith was going. He understood perfectly what a strain it hadbeen; he felt bitterly compassionate towards this poor creature who hadbecome caught up somehow into the dizzy triumphant whirl of the NewHumanity. External facts were horribly strong just now; and faith, except to one who had learned that Will and Grace were all and emotionnothing, was as a child crawling about in the midst of some hugemachinery: it might survive or it might not; but it required nerves ofsteel to keep steady. It was hard to know where blame could be assigned;yet Percy's faith told him that there was blame due. In the ages offaith a very inadequate grasp of religion would pass muster; in thesesearching days none but the humble and the pure could stand the test forlong, unless indeed they were protected by a miracle of ignorance. Thealliance of Psychology and Materialism did indeed seem, looked at fromone angle, to account for everything; it needed a robust supernaturalperception to understand their practical inadequacy. And as regardsFather Francis's personal responsibility, he could not help feeling thatthe other had allowed ceremonial to play too great a part in hisreligion, and prayer too little. In him the external had absorbed theinternal. So he did not allow his sympathy to show itself in his bright eyes. "You think it my fault, of course, " said the other sharply. "My dear father, " said Percy, motionless in his chair, "I know it isyour fault. Listen to me. You say Christianity is absurd and impossible. Now, you know, it cannot be that! It may be untrue--I am not speaking ofthat now, even though I am perfectly certain that it is absolutelytrue--but it cannot be absurd so long as educated and virtuous peoplecontinue to hold it. To say that it is absurd is simple pride; it is todismiss all who believe in it as not merely mistaken, but unintelligentas well---" "Very well, then, " interrupted the other; "then suppose I withdraw that, and simply say that I do not believe it to be true. " "You do not withdraw it, " continued Percy serenely; "you still reallybelieve it to be absurd: you have told me so a dozen times. Well, Irepeat, that is pride, and quite sufficient to account for it all. It isthe moral attitude that matters. There may be other things too---" Father Francis looked up sharply. "Oh! the old story!" he said sneeringly. "If you tell me on your word of honour that there is no woman in thecase, or no particular programme of sin you propose to work out, I shallbelieve you. But it is an old story, as you say. " "I swear to you there is not, " cried the other. "Thank God then!" said Percy. "There are fewer obstacles to a return offaith. " There was silence for a moment after that. Percy had really no more tosay. He had talked to him of the inner life again and again, in whichverities are seen to be true, and acts of faith are ratified; he hadurged prayer and humility till he was almost weary of the names; and hadbeen met by the retort that this was to advise sheer self-hypnotism; andhe had despaired of making clear to one who did not see it for himselfthat while Love and Faith may be called self-hypnotism from one angle, yet from another they are as much realities as, for example, artisticfaculties, and need similar cultivation; that they produce a convictionthat they are convictions, that they handle and taste things which whenhandled and tasted are overwhelmingly more real and objective than thethings of sense. Evidences seemed to mean nothing to this man. So he was silent now, chilled himself by the presence of this crisis, looking unseeingly out upon the plain, little old-world parlour, itstall window, its strip of matting, conscious chiefly of the drearyhopelessness of this human brother of his who had eyes but did not see, ears and was deaf. He wished he would say good-bye, and go. There was nomore to be done. Father Francis, who had been sitting in a lax kind of huddle, seemed toknow his thoughts, and sat up suddenly. "You are tired of me, " he said. "I will go. " "I am not tired of you, my dear father, " said Percy simply. "I am onlyterribly sorry. You see I know that it is all true. " The other looked at him heavily. "And I know that it is not, " he said. "It is very beautiful; I wish Icould believe it. I don't think I shall be ever happy again--but--butthere it is. " Percy sighed. He had told him so often that the heart is as divine agift as the mind, and that to neglect it in the search for God is toseek ruin, but this priest had scarcely seen the application to himself. He had answered with the old psychological arguments that thesuggestions of education accounted for everything. "I suppose you will cast me off, " said the other. "It is you who are leaving me, " said Percy. "I cannot follow, if youmean that. " "But--but cannot we be friends?" A sudden heat touched the elder priest's heart. "Friends?" he said. "Is sentimentality all you mean by friendship? Whatkind of friends can we be?" The other's face became suddenly heavy. "I thought so. " "John!" cried Percy. "You see that, do you not? How can we pretendanything when you do not believe in God? For I do you the honour ofthinking that you do not. " Francis sprang up. "Well---" he snapped. "I could not have believed--I am going. " He wheeled towards the door. "John!" said Percy again. "Are you going like this? Can you not shakehands?" The other wheeled again, with heavy anger in his face. "Why, you said you could not be friends with me!" Percy's mouth opened. Then he understood, and smiled. "Oh! that is allyou mean by friendship, is it?--I beg your pardon. Oh! we can be politeto one another, if you like. " He still stood holding out his hand. Father Francis looked at it amoment, his lips shook: then once more he turned, and went out without aword. II Percy stood motionless until he heard the automatic bell outside tellhim that Father Francis was really gone, then he went out himself andturned towards the long passage leading to the Cathedral. As he passedout through the sacristy he heard far in front the murmur of an organ, and on coming through into the chapel used as a parish church heperceived that Vespers were not yet over in the great choir. He camestraight down the aisle, turned to the right, crossed the centre andknelt down. It was drawing on towards sunset, and the huge dark place was lightedhere and there by patches of ruddy London light that lay on the gorgeousmarble and gildings finished at last by a wealthy convert. In front ofhim rose up the choir, with a line of white surpliced and furred canonson either side, and the vast baldachino in the midst, beneath whichburned the six lights as they had burned day by day for more than acentury; behind that again lay the high line of the apse-choir with thedim, window-pierced vault above where Christ reigned in majesty. He lethis eyes wander round for a few moments before beginning his deliberateprayer, drinking in the glory of the place, listening to the thunderouschorus, the peal of the organ, and the thin mellow voice of the priest. There on the left shone the refracted glow of the lamps that burnedbefore the Lord in the Sacrament, on the right a dozen candles winkedhere and there at the foot of the gaunt images, high overhead hung thegigantic cross with that lean, emaciated Poor Man Who called all wholooked on Him to the embraces of a God. Then he hid his face in his hands, drew a couple of long breaths, andset to work. He began, as his custom was in mental prayer, by a deliberate act ofself-exclusion from the world of sense. Under the image of sinkingbeneath a surface he forced himself downwards and inwards, till the pealof the organ, the shuffle of footsteps, the rigidity of the chair-backbeneath his wrists--all seemed apart and external, and he was left asingle person with a beating heart, an intellect that suggested imageafter image, and emotions that were too languid to stir themselves. Thenhe made his second descent, renounced all that he possessed and was, andbecame conscious that even the body was left behind, and that his mindand heart, awed by the Presence in which they found themselves, clungclose and obedient to the will which was their lord and protector. Hedrew another long breath, or two, as he felt that Presence surge abouthim; he repeated a few mechanical words, and sank to that peace whichfollows the relinquishment of thought. There he rested for a while. Far above him sounded the ecstatic music, the cry of trumpets and the shrilling of the flutes; but they were asinsignificant street-noises to one who was falling asleep. He was withinthe veil of things now, beyond the barriers of sense and reflection, inthat secret place to which he had learned the road by endless effort, inthat strange region where realities are evident, where perceptions go toand fro with the swiftness of light, where the swaying will catches nowthis, now that act, moulds it and speeds it; where all things meet, where truth is known and handled and tasted, where God Immanent is onewith God Transcendent, where the meaning of the external world isevident through its inner side, and the Church and its mysteries areseen from within a haze of glory. So he lay a few moments, absorbing and resting. Then he aroused himself to consciousness and began to speak. "Lord, I am here, and Thou art here. I know Thee. There is nothing elsebut Thou and I. .. . I lay this all in Thy hands--Thy apostate priest, Thypeople, the world, and myself. I spread it before Thee--I spread itbefore Thee. " He paused, poised in the act, till all of which he thought lay like aplain before a peak. . .. "Myself, Lord--there but for Thy grace should I be going, indarkness and misery. It is Thou Who dost preserve me. Maintain andfinish Thy work within my soul. Let me not falter for one instant. IfThou withdraw Thy hand I fall into utter nothingness. " So his soul stood a moment, with outstretched appealing hands, helplessand confident. Then the will flickered in self-consciousness, and herepeated acts of faith, hope and love to steady it. Then he drew anotherlong breath, feeling the Presence tingle and shake about him, and beganagain. "Lord; look on Thy people. Many are falling from Thee. _Ne in aeternumirascaris nobis. Ne in aeternum irascaris nobis_. .. . I unite myself withall saints and angels and Mary Queen of Heaven; look on them and me, andhear us. _Emitte lucem tuam et veritatem tuam. _ Thy light and Thy truth!Lay not on us heavier burdens than we can bear. Lord, why dost Thou notspeak!" He writhed himself forward in a passion of expectant desire, hearing hismuscles crack in the effort. Once more he relaxed himself; and the swiftplay of wordless acts began which he knew to be the very heart ofprayer. The eyes of his soul flew hither and thither, from Calvary toheaven and back again to the tossing troubled earth. He saw Christ dyingof desolation while the earth rocked and groaned; Christ reigning as apriest upon His Throne in robes of light, Christ patient and inexorablysilent within the Sacramental species; and to each in turn he directedthe eyes of the Eternal Father. .. . Then he waited for communications, and they came, so soft and delicate, passing like shadows, that his will sweated blood and tears in theeffort to catch and fix them and correspond. .. . He saw the Body Mystical in its agony, strained over the world as on across, silent with pain; he saw this and that nerve wrenched andtwisted, till pain presented it to himself as under the guise of flashesof colour; he saw the life-blood drop by drop run down from His head andhands and feet. The world was gathered mocking and good-humouredbeneath. "_He saved others: Himself He cannot save. .. . Let Christ comedozen from the Cross and we will believe. _" Far away behind bushes andin holes of the ground the friends of Jesus peeped and sobbed; Maryherself was silent, pierced by seven swords; the disciple whom He lovedhad no words of comfort. He saw, too, how no word would be spoken from heaven; the angelsthemselves were bidden to put sword into sheath, and wait on the eternalpatience of God, for the agony was hardly yet begun; there were athousand horrors yet before the end could come, that final sum ofcrucifixion. .. . He must wait and watch, content to stand there and donothing; and the Resurrection must seem to him no more than a dreamed-ofhope. There was the Sabbath yet to come, while the Body Mystical mustlie in its sepulchre cut off from light, and even the dignity of theCross must be withdrawn and the knowledge that Jesus lived. That innerworld, to which by long effort he had learned the way, was all alightwith agony; it was bitter as brine, it was of that pale luminosity thatis the utmost product of pain, it hummed in his ears with a note thatrose to a scream . .. It pressed upon him, penetrated him, stretched himas on a rack. .. . And with that his will grew sick and nerveless. "Lord! I cannot bear it!" he moaned. .. . In an instant he was back again, drawing long breaths of misery. Hepassed his tongue over his lips, and opened his eyes on the darkeningapse before him. The organ was silent now, and the choir was gone, andthe lights out. The sunset colour, too, had faded from the walls, andgrim cold faces looked down on him from wall and vault. He was backagain on the surface of life; the vision had melted; he scarcely knewwhat it was that he had seen. But he must gather up the threads, and by sheer effort absorb them. Hemust pay his duty, too, to the Lord that gave Himself to the senses aswell as to the inner spirit. So he rose, stiff and constrained, andpassed across to the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament. As he came out from the block of chairs, very upright and tall, with hisbiretta once more on his white hair, he saw an old woman watching himvery closely. He hesitated an instant, wondering whether she were apenitent, and as he hesitated she made a movement towards him. "I beg your pardon, sir, " she began. She was not a Catholic then. He lifted his biretta. "Can I do anything for you?" he asked. "I beg your pardon, sir, but were you at Brighton, at the accident twomonths ago?" "I was. " "Ah! I thought so: my daughter-in-law saw you then. " Percy had a spasm of impatience: he was a little tired of beingidentified by his white hair and young face. "Were you there, madam?" She looked at him doubtfully and curiously, moving her old, eyes up anddown his figure. Then she recollected herself. "No, sir; it was my daughter-in-law--I beg your pardon, sir, but---" "Well?" asked Percy, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "Are you the Archbishop, sir?" The priest smiled, showing his white teeth. "No, madam; I am just a poor priest. Dr. Cholmondeley is Archbishop. Iam Father Percy Franklin. " She said nothing, but still looking at him made a little old-worldmovement of a bow; and Percy passed on to the dim, splendid chapel topay his devotions. III There was great talk that night at dinner among the priests as to theextraordinary spread of Freemasonry. It had been going on for many yearsnow, and Catholics perfectly recognised its dangers, for the professionof Masonry had been for some centuries rendered incompatible withreligion through the Church's unswerving condemnation of it. A man mustchoose between that and his faith. Things had developed extraordinarilyduring the last century. First there had been the organised assault uponthe Church in France; and what Catholics had always suspected thenbecame a certainty in the revelations of 1918, when P. Gerome, theDominican and ex-Mason, had made his disclosures with regard to theMark-Masons. It had become evident then that Catholics had been right, and that Masonry, in its higher grades at least, had been responsiblethroughout the world for the strange movement against religion. But hehad died in his bed, and the public had been impressed by that fact. Then came the splendid donations in France and Italy--to hospitals, orphanages, and the like; and once more suspicion began to disappear. After all, it seemed--and continued to seem--for seventy years and morethat Masonry was nothing more than a vast philanthropical society. Nowonce more men had their doubts. "I hear that Felsenburgh is a Mason, " observed Monsignor Macintosh, theCathedral Administrator. "A Grand-Master or something. " "But who is Felsenburgh?" put in a young priest. Monsignor pursed his lips and shook his head. He was one of those humblepersons as proud of ignorance as others of knowledge. He boasted that henever read the papers nor any book except those that had received the_imprimatur_; it was a priest's business, he often remarked, to preservethe faith, not to acquire worldly knowledge. Percy had occasionallyrather envied his point of view. "He's a mystery, " said another priest, Father Blackmore; "but he seemsto be causing great excitement. They were selling his 'Life' to-day onthe Embankment. " "I met an American senator, " put in Percy, "three days ago, who told methat even there they know nothing of him, except his extraordinaryeloquence. He only appeared last year, and seems to have carriedeverything before him by quite unusual methods. He is a great linguist, too. That is why they took him to Irkutsk. " "Well, the Masons---" went on Monsignor. "It is very serious. In thelast month four of my penitents have left me because of it. " "Their inclusion of women was their master-stroke, " growled FatherBlackmore, helping himself to claret. "It is extraordinary that they hesitated so long about that, " observedPercy. A couple of the others added their evidence. It appeared that they, too, had lost penitents lately through the spread of Masonry. It was rumouredthat a Pastoral was a-preparing upstairs on the subject. Monsignor shook his head ominously. "More is wanted than that, " he said. Percy pointed out that the Church had said her last word severalcenturies ago. She had laid her excommunication on all members of secretsocieties, and there was really no more that she could do. "Except bring it before her children again and again, " put in Monsignor. "I shall preach on it next Sunday. " * * * * * Percy dotted down a note when he reached his room, determining to sayanother word or two on the subject to the Cardinal-Protector. He hadmentioned Freemasonry often before, but it seemed time for anotherremark. Then he opened his letters, first turning to one which herecognised as from the Cardinal. It seemed a curious coincidence, as he read a series of questions thatCardinal Martin's letter contained, that one of them should be on thisvery subject. It ran as follows: "What of Masonry? Felsenburgh is said to be one. Gather all the gossipyou can about him. Send any English or American biographies of him. Areyou still losing Catholics through Masonry?" He ran his eyes down the rest of the questions. They chiefly referred toprevious remarks of his own, but twice, even in them, Felsenburgh's nameappeared. He laid the paper down and considered a little. It was very curious, he thought, how this man's name was in every one'smouth, in spite of the fact that so little was known about him. He hadbought in the streets, out of curiosity, three photographs thatprofessed to represent this strange person, and though one of them mightbe genuine they all three could not be. He drew them out of apigeon-hole, and spread them before him. One represented a fierce, bearded creature like a Cossack, with roundstaring eyes. No; intrinsic evidence condemned this: it was exactly howa coarse imagination would have pictured a man who seemed to be having agreat influence in the East. The second showed a fat face with little eyes and a chin-beard. Thatmight conceivably be genuine: he turned it over and saw the name of aNew York firm on the back. Then he turned to the third. This presented along, clean-shaven face with pince-nez, undeniably clever, but scarcelystrong: and Felsenburgh was obviously a strong man. Percy inclined to think the second was the most probable; but they wereall unconvincing; and he shuffled them carelessly together and replacedthem. Then he put his elbows on the table, and began to think. He tried to remember what Mr. Varhaus, the American senator, had toldhim of Felsenburgh; yet it did not seem sufficient to account for thefacts. Felsenburgh, it seemed, had employed none of those methods commonin modern politics. He controlled no newspapers, vituperated nobody, championed nobody: he had no picked underlings; he used no bribes; therewere no monstrous crimes alleged against him. It seemed rather as if hisoriginality lay in his clean hands and his stainless past--that, and hismagnetic character. He was the kind of figure that belonged rather tothe age of chivalry: a pure, clean, compelling personality, like aradiant child. He had taken people by surprise, then, rising out of theheaving dun-coloured waters of American socialism like a vision--fromthose waters so fiercely restrained from breaking into storm over sincethe extraordinary social revolution under Mr. Hearst's disciples, acentury ago. That had been the end of plutocracy; the famous old laws of1914 had burst some of the stinking bubbles of the time; and theenactments of 1916 and 1917 had prevented their forming again in anything like their previous force. It had been the salvation of America, undoubtedly, even if that salvation were of a dreary and uninspiringdescription; and now out of the flat socialistic level had arisen thisromantic figure utterly unlike any that had preceded it. .. . So thesenator had hinted. .. . It was too complicated for Percy just now, and hegave it up. It was a weary world, he told himself, turning his eyes homewards. Everything seemed so hopeless and ineffective. He tried not to reflecton his fellow-priests, but for the fiftieth time he could not helpseeing that they were not the men for the present situation. It was notthat he preferred himself; he knew perfectly well that he, too, wasfully as incompetent: had he not proved to be so with poor FatherFrancis, and scores of others who had clutched at him in their agonyduring the last ten years? Even the Archbishop, holy man as he was, withall his childlike faith--was that the man to lead English Catholics andconfound their enemies? There seemed no giants on the earth in thesedays. What in the world was to be done? He buried his face in hishands. .. . Yes; what was wanted was a new Order in the Church; the old ones wererule-bound through no fault of their own. An Order was wanted withouthabit or tonsure, without traditions or customs, an Order with nothingbut entire and whole-hearted devotion, without pride even in their mostsacred privileges, without a past history in which they might takecomplacent refuge. They must be _franc-tireurs_ of Christ's Army; likethe Jesuits, but without their fatal reputation, which, again, was nofault of their own. . .. But there must be a Founder--Who, in God's Name?--a Founder _nudus sequens Christum nudum_. .. . Yes--_Franc-tireurs_--priests, bishops, laymen and women--with the three vows of course, anda special clause forbidding utterly and for ever their ownership ofcorporate wealth. --Every gift received must be handed to the bishop ofthe diocese in which it was given, who must provide them himself withnecessaries of life and travel. Oh!--what could they not do?. .. He wasoff in a rhapsody. Presently he recovered, and called himself a fool. Was not that schemeas old as the eternal hills, and as useless for practical purposes? Why, it had been the dream of every zealous man since the First Year ofSalvation that such an Order should be founded!. .. He was a fool. .. . Then once more he began to think of it all over again. Surely it was this which was wanted against the Masons; and women, too. --Had not scheme after scheme broken down because men had forgottenthe power of women? It was that lack that had ruined Napoleon: he hadtrusted Josephine, and she had failed him; so he had trusted no otherwoman. In the Catholic Church, too, woman had been given no active workbut either menial or connected with education: and was there not roomfor other activities than those? Well, it was useless to think of it. Itwas not his affair. If _Papa Angelicus_ who now reigned in Rome had notthought of it, why should a foolish, conceited priest in Westminster sethimself up to do so? So he beat himself on the breast once more, and took up his office-book. He finished in half an hour, and again sat thinking; but this time itwas of poor Father Francis. He wondered what he was doing now; whetherhe had taken off the Roman collar of Christ's familiar slaves? The poordevil! And how far was he, Percy Franklin, responsible? When a tap came at his door presently, and Father Blackmore looked infor a talk before going to bed, Percy told him what had happened. Father Blackmore removed his pipe and sighed deliberately. "I knew it was coming, " he said. "Well, well. " "He has been honest enough, " explained Percy. "He told me eight monthsago he was in trouble. " Father Blackmore drew upon his pipe thoughtfully. "Father Franklin, " he said, "things are really very serious. There isthe same story everywhere. What in the world is happening?" Percy paused before answering. "I think these things go in waves, " he said. "Waves, do you think?" said the other. "What else?" Father Blackmore looked at him intently. "It is more like a dead calm, it seems to me, " he said. "Have you everbeen in a typhoon?" Percy shook his head. "Well, " went on the other, "the most ominous thing is the calm. The seais like oil; you feel half-dead: you can do nothing. Then comes thestorm. " Percy looked at him, interested. He had not seen this mood in the priestbefore. "Before every great crash there comes this calm. It is always so inhistory. It was so before the Eastern War; it was so before the FrenchRevolution. It was so before the Reformation. There is a kind of oilyheaving; and everything is languid. So everything has been in America, too, for over eighty years. .. . Father Franklin, I think something isgoing to happen. " "Tell me, " said Percy, leaning forward. "Well, I saw Templeton a week before he died, and he put the idea in myhead. .. . Look here, father. It may be this Eastern affair that is comingon us; but somehow I don't think it is. It is in religion that somethingis going to happen. At least, so I think. .. . Father, who in God's nameis Felsenburgh?" Percy was so startled at the sudden introduction of this name again, that he stared a moment without speaking. Outside, the summer night was very still. There was a faint vibrationnow and again from the underground track that ran twenty yards from thehouse where they sat; but the streets were quiet enough round theCathedral. Once a hoot rang far away, as if some ominous bird of passagewere crossing between London and the stars, and once the cry of a womansounded thin and shrill from the direction of the river. For the restthere was no more than the solemn, subdued hum that never ceased nownight or day. "Yes; Felsenburgh, " said Father Blackmore once more. "I cannot get thatman out of my head. And yet, what do I know of him? What does any oneknow of him?" Percy licked his lips to answer, and drew a breath to still the beatingof his heart. He could not imagine why he felt excited. After all, whowas old Blackmore to frighten him? But old Blackmore went on before hecould speak. "See how people are leaving the Church! The Wargraves, the Hendersons, Sir James Bartlet, Lady Magnier, and then all the priests. Now they'renot all knaves--I wish they were; it would be so much easier to talk ofit. But Sir James Bartlet, last month! Now, there's a man who has spenthalf his fortune on the Church, and he doesn't resent it even now. Hesays that any religion is better than none, but that, for himself, hejust can't believe any longer. Now what does all that mean?. .. I tellyou something is going to happen. God knows what! And I can't getFelsenburgh out of my head. .. . Father Franklin---" "Yes?" "Have you noticed how few great men we've got? It's not like fifty yearsago, or even thirty. Then there were Mason, Selborne, Sherbrook, andhalf-a-dozen others. There was Brightman, too, as Archbishop: and now!Then the Communists, too. Braithwaite is dead fifteen years. Certainlyhe was big enough; but he was always speaking of the future, not of thepresent; and tell me what big man they have had since then! And nowthere's this new man, whom no one knows, who came forward in America afew months ago, and whose name is in every one's mouth. Very well, then!" Percy knitted his forehead. "I am not sure that I understand, " he said. Father Blackmore knocked his pipe out before answering. "Well, this, " he said, standing up. "I can't help thinking Felsenburghis going to do something. I don't know what; it may be for us or againstus. But he is a Mason, remember that. .. . Well, well; I dare say I'm anold fool. Good-night. " "One moment, father, " said Percy slowly. "Do you mean--? Good Lord! Whatdo you mean?" He stopped, looking at the other. The old priest stared back under his bushy eyebrows; it seemed to Percyas if he, too, were afraid of something in spite of his easy talk; buthe made no sign. * * * * * Percy stood perfectly still a moment when the door was shut. Then hemoved across to his _prie-dieu_. CHAPTER III I Old Mrs. Brand and Mabel were seated at a window of the new AdmiraltyOffices in Trafalgar Square to see Oliver deliver his speech on thefiftieth anniversary of the passing of the Poor Laws Reform. It was an inspiriting sight, this bright June morning, to see the crowdsgathering round Braithwaite's statue. That politician, dead fifteenyears before, was represented in his famous attitude, with armsoutstretched and down dropped, his head up and one foot slightlyadvanced, and to-day was decked, as was becoming more and more usual onsuch occasions, in his Masonic insignia. It was he who had givenimmense impetus to that secret movement by his declaration in the Housethat the key of future progress and brotherhood of nations was in thehands of the Order. It was through this alone that the false unity ofthe Church with its fantastic spiritual fraternity could becounteracted. St. Paul had been right, he declared, in his desire tobreak down the partition-walls between nations, and wrong only in hisexaltation of Jesus Christ. Thus he had preluded his speech on the PoorLaw question, pointing to the true charity that existed among Masonsapart from religious motive, and appealing to the famous benefactions onthe Continent; and in the enthusiasm of the Bill's success the Order hadreceived a great accession of members. Old Mrs. Brand was in her best to-day, and looked out with considerableexcitement at the huge throng gathered to hear her son speak. A platformwas erected round the bronze statue at such a height that the statesmanappeared to be one of the speakers, though at a slightly higherelevation, and this platform was hung with roses, surmounted by asounding-board, and set with a chair and table. The whole square round about was paved with heads and resonant withsound, the murmurs of thousands of voices, overpowered now and again bythe crash of brass and thunder of drums as the Benefit Societies anddemocratic Guilds, each headed by a banner, deployed from North, South, East and West, and converged towards the wide railed space about theplatform where room was reserved for them. The windows on every sidewere packed with faces; tall stands were erected along the front of theNational Gallery and St. Martin's Church, garden-beds of colour behindthe mute, white statues that faced outwards round the square; fromBraithwaite in front, past the Victorians--John Davidson, John Burns, and the rest--round to Hampden and de Montfort towards the north. Theold column was gone, with its lions. Nelson had not been foundadvantageous to the _Entente Cordiale_, nor the lions to the new art;and in their place stretched a wide pavement broken by slopes of stepsthat led up to the National Gallery. Overhead the roofs showed crowded friezes of heads against the bluesummer sky. Not less than one hundred thousand persons, it was estimatedin the evening papers, were collected within sight and sound of theplatform by noon. As the clocks began to tell the hour, two figures appeared from behindthe statue and came forward, and, in an instant, the murmurs of talkrose into cheering. Old Lord Pemberton came first, a grey-haired, upright man, whose fatherhad been active in denouncing the House of which he was a member on theoccasion of its fall over seventy years ago, and his son had succeededhim worthily. This man was now a member of the Government, and sat forManchester (3); and it was he who was to be chairman on this auspiciousoccasion. Behind him came Oliver, bareheaded and spruce, and even atthat distance his mother and wife could see his brisk movement, hissudden smile and nod as his name emerged from the storm of sound thatsurged round the platform. Lord Pemberton came forward, lifted his handand made a signal; and in a moment the thin cheering died under thesudden roll of drums beneath that preluded the Masonic Hymn. There was no doubt that these Londoners could sing. It was as if a giantvoice hummed the sonorous melody, rising to enthusiasm till the music ofmassed bands followed it as a flag follows a flag-stick. The hymn wasone composed ten years before, and all England was familiar with it. Old Mrs. Bland lifted the printed paper mechanically to her eyes, andsaw the words that she knew so well: "_The Lord that dwells in earth and sea. _" . .. She glanced down the verses, that from the Humanitarian point of viewhad been composed with both skill and ardour. They had a religious ring;the unintelligent Christian could sing them without a qualm; yet theirsense was plain enough--the old human creed that man was all. EvenChrist's, words themselves were quoted. The kingdom of God, it was said, lay within the human heart, and the greatest of all graces was Charity. She glanced at Mabel, and saw that the girl was singing with all hermight, with her eyes fixed on her husband's dark figure a hundred yardsaway, and her soul pouring through them. So the mother, too, began tomove her lips in chorus with that vast volume of sound. As the hymn died away, and before the cheering could begin again, oldLord Pemberton was standing forward on the edge of the platform, and histhin, metallic voice piped a sentence or two across the tinkling splashof the fountains behind him. Then he stepped back, and Oliver cameforward. * * * * * It was too far for the two to hear what was said, but Mabel slipped apaper, smiling tremulously, into the old lady's hand, and herself bentforward to listen. Old Mrs. Brand looked at that, too, knowing that it was an analysis ofher son's speech, and aware that she would not be able to hear hiswords. There was an exordium first, congratulating all who were present to dohonour to the great man who presided from his pedestal on the occasionof this great anniversary. Then there came a retrospect, comparing theold state of England with the present. Fifty years ago, the speakersaid, poverty was still a disgrace, now it was so no longer. It was inthe causes that led to poverty that the disgrace or the merit lay. Whowould not honour a man worn out in the service of his country, orovercome at last by circumstances against which his efforts could notprevail?. .. He enumerated the reforms passed fifty years before on thisvery day, by which the nation once and for all declared the glory ofpoverty and man's sympathy with the unfortunate. So he had told them he was to sing the praise of patient poverty and itsreward, and that, he supposed, together with a few periods on the reformof the prison laws, would form the first half of his speech. The second part was to be a panegyric of Braithwaite, treating him asthe Precursor of a movement that even now had begun. Old Mrs. Brand leaned back in her seat, and looked about her. The window where they sat had been reserved for them; two arm-chairsfilled the space, but immediately behind there were others, standingvery silent now, craning forward, watching, too, with parted lips: acouple of women with an old man directly behind, and other faces visibleagain behind them. Their obvious absorption made the old lady a littleashamed of her distraction, and she turned resolutely once more to thesquare. Ah! he was working up now to his panegyric! The tiny dark figure wasback, a yard nearer the statue, and as she looked, his hand went up andhe wheeled, pointing, as a murmur of applause drowned for an instant theminute, resonant voice. Then again he was forward, half crouching--forhe was a born actor--and a storm of laughter rippled round the throng ofheads. She heard an indrawn hiss behind her chair, and the next instantan exclamation from Mabel. .. . What was that? There was a sharp crack, and the tiny gesticulating figure staggeredback a step. The old man at the table was up in a moment, andsimultaneously a violent commotion bubbled and heaved like water about arock at a point in the crowd immediately outside the railed space wherethe bands were massed, and directly opposite the front of the platform. Mrs. Brand, bewildered and dazed, found herself standing up, clutchingthe window rail, while the girl gripped her, crying out something shecould not understand. A great roaring filled the square, the headstossed this way and that, like corn under a squall of wind. Then Oliverwas forward again, pointing and crying out, for she could see hisgestures; and she sank back quickly, the blood racing through her oldveins, and her heart hammering at the base of her throat. "My dear, my dear, what is it?" she sobbed. But Mabel was up, too, staring out at her husband; and a quick babble oftalk and exclamations from behind made itself audible in spite of theroaring tumult of the square. II Oliver told them the explanation of the whole affair that evening athome, leaning back in his chair, with one arm bandaged and in a sling. They had not been able to get near him at the time; the excitement inthe square had been too fierce; but a messenger had come to his wifewith the news that her husband was only slightly wounded, and was in thehands of the doctors. "He was a Catholic, " explained the drawn-faced Oliver. "He must havecome ready, for his repeater was found loaded. Well, there was no chancefor a priest this time. " Mabel nodded slowly: she had read of the man's fate on the placards. "He was killed--trampled and strangled instantly, " said Oliver. "I didwhat I could: you saw me. But--well, I dare say it was more merciful. " "But you did what you could, my dear?" said the old lady, anxiously, from her corner. "I called out to them, mother, but they wouldn't hear me. " Mabel leaned forward--- "Oliver, I know this sounds stupid of me; but--but I wish they had notkilled him. " Oliver smiled at her. He knew this tender trait in her. "It would have been more perfect if they had not, " she said. Then shebroke off and sat back. "Why did he shoot just then?" she asked. Oliver turned his eyes for an instant towards his mother, but she wasknitting tranquilly. Then he answered with a curious deliberateness. "I said that Braithwaite had done more for the world by one speech thanJesus and all His saints put together. " He was aware that theknitting-needles stopped for a second; then they went on again asbefore. "But he must have meant to do it anyhow, " continued Oliver. "How do they know he was a Catholic?" asked the girl again. "There was a rosary on him; and then he just had time to call on hisGod. " "And nothing more is known?" "Nothing more. He was well dressed, though. " Oliver leaned back a little wearily and closed his eyes; his arm stillthrobbed intolerably. But he was very happy at heart. It was true thathe had been wounded by a fanatic, but he was not sorry to bear pain insuch a cause, and it was obvious that the sympathy of England was withhim. Mr. Phillips even now was busy in the next room, answering thetelegrams that poured in every moment. Caldecott, the Prime Minister, Maxwell, Snowford and a dozen others had wired instantly theircongratulations, and from every part of England streamed in messageafter message. It was an immense stroke for the Communists; theirspokesman had been assaulted during the discharge of his duty, speakingin defence of his principles; it was an incalculable gain for them, andloss for the Individualists, that confessors were not all on one sideafter all. The huge electric placards over London had winked out thefacts in Esperanto as Oliver stepped into the train at twilight. "_Oliver Brand wounded. .. . Catholic assailant. .. . Indignation of thecountry. .. . Well-deserved fate of assassin_. " He was pleased, too, that he honestly had done his best to save the man. Even in that moment of sudden and acute pain he had cried out for a fairtrial; but he had been too late. He had seen the starting eyes roll upin the crimson face, and the horrid grin come and go as the hands hadclutched and torn at his throat. Then the face had vanished and a heavytrampling began where it had disappeared. Oh! there was some passion andloyalty left in England! His mother got up presently and went out, still without a word; andMabel turned to him, laying a hand on his knee. "Are you too tired to talk, my dear?" He opened his eyes. "Of course not, my darling. What is it?" "What do you think will be the effect?" He raised himself a little, looking out as usual through the darkeningwindows on to that astonishing view. Everywhere now lights wereglowing, a sea of mellow moons just above the houses, and above themysterious heavy blue of a summer evening. "The effect?" he said. "It can be nothing but good. It was time thatsomething happened. My dear, I feel very downcast sometimes, as youknow. Well, I do not think I shall be again. I have been afraidsometimes that we were losing all our spirit, and that the old Torieswere partly right when they prophesied what Communism would do. Butafter this---" "Well?" "Well; we have shown that we can shed our blood too. It is in the nickof time, too, just at the crisis. I don't want to exaggerate; it is onlya scratch--but it was so deliberate, and--and so dramatic. The poordevil could not have chosen a worse moment. People won't forget it. " Mabel's eyes shone with pleasure. "You poor dear!" she said. "Are you in pain?" "Not much. Besides, Christ! what do I care? If only this infernalEastern affair would end!" He knew he was feverish and irritable, and made a great effort to driveit down. "Oh, my dear!" he went on, flushed a little. "If they would not be suchheavy fools: they don't understand; they don't understand. " "Yes, Oliver?" "They don't understand what a glorious thing it all is Humanity, Life, Truth at last, and the death of Folly! But haven't I told them a hundredtimes?" She looked at him with kindling eyes. She loved to see him like this, his confident, flushed face, the enthusiasm in his blue eyes; and theknowledge of his pain pricked her feeling with passion. She bent forwardand kissed him suddenly. "My dear, I am so proud of you. Oh, Oliver!" He said nothing; but she could see what she loved to see, that responseto her own heart; and so they sat in silence while the sky darkened yetmore, and the click of the writer in the next room told them that theworld was alive and that they had a share in its affairs. Oliver stirred presently. "Did you notice anything just now, sweetheart--when I said that aboutJesus Christ?" "She stopped knitting for a moment, " said the girl. He nodded. "You saw that too, then. .. . Mabel, do you think she is falling back?" "Oh! she is getting old, " said the girl lightly. "Of course she looksback a little. " "But you don't think--it would be too awful!" She shook her head. "No, no, my dear; you're excited and tired. It's just a littlesentiment. .. . Oliver, I don't think I would say that kind of thingbefore her. " "But she hears it everywhere now. " "No, she doesn't. Remember she hardly ever goes out. Besides, she hatesit. After all, she was brought up a Catholic. " Oliver nodded, and lay back again, looking dreamily out. "Isn't it astonishing the way in which suggestion lasts? She can't getit out of her head, even after fifty years. Well, watch her, won'tyou?. .. By the way . .. " "Yes?" "There's a little more news from the East. They say Felsenburgh'srunning the whole thing now. The Empire is sending him everywhere--Tobolsk, Benares, Yakutsk--everywhere; and he's been to Australia. " Mabel sat up briskly. "Isn't that very hopeful?" "I suppose so. There's no doubt that the Sufis are winning; but for howlong is another question. Besides, the troops don't disperse. " "And Europe?" "Europe is arming as fast as possible. I hear we are to meet the Powersnext week at Paris. I must go. " "Your arm, my dear?" "My arm must get well. It will have to go with me, anyhow. " "Tell me some more. " "There is no more. But it is just as certain as it can be that this isthe crisis. If the East can be persuaded to hold its hand now, it willnever be likely to raise it again. It will mean free trade all over theworld, I suppose, and all that kind of thing. But if not---" "Well?" "If not, there will be a catastrophe such as never has been evenimagined. The whole human race will be at war, and either East or Westwill be simply wiped out. These new Benninschein explosives will makecertain of that. " "But is it absolutely certain that the East has got them?" "Absolutely. Benninschein sold them simultaneously to East and West;then he died, luckily for him. " Mabel had heard this kind of talk before, but her imagination simplyrefused to grasp it. A duel of East and West under these new conditionswas an unthinkable thing. There had been no European war within livingmemory, and the Eastern wars of the last century had been under the oldconditions. Now, if tales were true, entire towns would be destroyedwith a single shell. The new conditions were unimaginable. Militaryexperts prophesied extravagantly, contradicting one another on vitalpoints; the whole procedure of war was a matter of theory; there were noprecedents with which to compare it. It was as if archers disputed as tothe results of cordite. Only one thing was certain--that the East hadevery modern engine, and, as regards male population, half as muchagain as the rest of the world put together; and the conclusion to bedrawn from these premisses was not reassuring to England. But imagination simply refused to speak. The daily papers had a short, careful leading article every day, founded upon the scraps of news thatstole out from the conferences on the other side of the world;Felsenburgh's name appeared more frequently than ever: otherwise thereseemed to be a kind of hush. Nothing suffered very much; trade went on;European stocks were not appreciably lower than usual; men still builthouses, married wives, begat sons and daughters, did their business andwent to the theatre, for the mere reason that there was no good inanything else. They could neither save nor precipitate the situation; itwas on too large a scale. Occasionally people went mad--people who hadsucceeded in goading their imagination to a height whence a glimpse ofreality could be obtained; and there was a diffused atmosphere oftenseness. But that was all. Not many speeches were made on the subject;it had been found inadvisable. After all, there was nothing to do but towait. III Mabel remembered her husband's advice to watch, and for a few days didher best. But there was nothing that alarmed her. The old lady was alittle quiet, perhaps, but went about her minute affairs as usual. Sheasked the girl to read to her sometimes, and listened unblenching towhatever was offered her; she attended in the kitchen daily, organisedvarieties of food, and appeared interested in all that concerned herson. She packed his bag with her own hands, set out his furs for theswift flight to Paris, and waved to him from the window as he went downthe little path towards the junction. He would be gone three days, hesaid. It was on the evening of the second day that she fell ill; and Mabel, running upstairs, in alarm at the message of the servant, found herrather flushed and agitated in her chair. "It is nothing, my dear, " said the old lady tremulously; and she addedthe description of a symptom or two. Mabel got her to bed, sent for the doctor, and sat down to wait. She was sincerely fond of the old lady, and had always found herpresence in the house a quiet sort of delight. The effect of her uponthe mind was as that of an easy-chair upon the body. The old lady was sotranquil and human, so absorbed in small external matters, soreminiscent now and then of the days of her youth, so utterly withoutresentment or peevishness. It seemed curiously pathetic to the girl towatch that quiet old spirit approach its extinction, or rather, as Mabelbelieved, its loss of personality in the reabsorption into the Spirit ofLife which informed the world. She found less difficulty incontemplating the end of a vigorous soul, for in that case she imagineda kind of energetic rush of force back into the origin of things; but inthis peaceful old lady there was so little energy; her whole point, soto speak, lay in the delicate little fabric of personality, built out offragile things into an entity far more significant than the sum of itscomponent parts: the death of a flower, reflected Mabel, is sadder thanthe death of a lion; the breaking of a piece of china more irreparablethan the ruin of a palace. "It is syncope, " said the doctor when he came in. "She may die at anytime; she may live ten years. " "There is no need to telegraph for Mr. Brand?" He made a little deprecating movement with his hands. "It is not certain that she will die--it is not imminent?" she asked. "No, no; she may live ten years, I said. " He added a word or two of advice as to the use of the oxygen injector, and went away. * * * * * The old lady was lying quietly in bed, when the girl went up, and putout a wrinkled hand. "Well, my dear?" she asked. "It is just a little weakness, mother. You must lie quiet and donothing. Shall I read to you?" "No, my dear; I will think a little. " It was no part of Mabel's idea to duty to tell her that she was indanger, for there was no past to set straight, no Judge to beconfronted. Death was an ending, not a beginning. It was a peacefulGospel; at least, it became peaceful as soon as the end had come. So the girl went downstairs once more, with a quiet little ache at herheart that refused to be still. What a strange and beautiful thing death was, she told herself--thisresolution of a chord that had hung suspended for thirty, fifty orseventy years--back again into the stillness of the huge Instrument thatwas all in all to itself. Those same notes would be struck again, werebeing struck again even now all over the world, though with an infinitedelicacy of difference in the touch; but that particular emotion wasgone: it was foolish to think that it was sounding eternally elsewhere, for there was no elsewhere. She, too, herself would cease one day, lether see to it that the tone was pure and lovely. * * * * * Mr. Phillips arrived the next morning as usual, just as Mabel had leftthe old lady's room, and asked news of her. "She is a little better, I think, " said Mabel. "She must be very quietall day. " The secretary bowed and turned aside into Oliver's room, where a heap ofletters lay to be answered. A couple of hours later, as Mabel went upstairs once more, she met Mr. Phillips coming down. He looked a little flushed under his sallow skin. "Mrs. Brand sent for me, " he said. "She wished to know whether Mr. Oliver would be back to-night. " "He will, will he not? You have not heard?" "Mr. Brand said he would be here for a late dinner. He will reach Londonat nineteen. " "And is there any other news?" He compressed his lips. "There are rumours, " he said. "Mr. Brand wired to me an hour ago. " He seemed moved at something, and Mabel looked at him in astonishment. "It is not Eastern news?" she asked. His eyebrows wrinkled a little. "You must forgive me, Mrs. Brand, " he said. "I am not at liberty to sayanything. " She was not offended, for she trusted her husband too well; but she wenton into the sick-room with her heart beating. The old lady, too, seemed excited. She lay in bed with a clear flush inher white cheeks, and hardly smiled at all to the girl's greeting. "Well, you have seen Mr. Phillips, then?" said Mabel. Old Mrs. Brand looked at her sharply an instant, but said nothing. "Don't excite yourself, mother. Oliver will be back to-night. " The old lady drew a long breath. "Don't trouble about me, my dear, " she said. "I shall do very well now. He will be back to dinner, will he not?" "If the volor is not late. Now, mother, are you ready for breakfast?" * * * * * Mabel passed an afternoon of considerable agitation. It was certain thatsomething had happened. The secretary, who breakfasted with her in theparlour looking on to the garden, had appeared strangely excited. He hadtold her that he would be away the rest of the day: Mr. Oliver had givenhim his instructions. He had refrained from all discussion of theEastern question, and he had given her no news of the Paris Convention;he only repeated that Mr. Oliver would be back that night. Then he hadgone of in a hurry half-an-hour later. The old lady seemed asleep when the girl went up afterwards, and Mabeldid not like to disturb her. Neither did she like to leave the house; soshe walked by herself in the garden, thinking and hoping and fearing, till the long shadow lay across the path, and the tumbled platform ofroofs was bathed in a dusty green haze from the west. As she came in she took up the evening paper, but there was no newsthere except to the effect that the Convention would close thatafternoon. * * * * * Twenty o'clock came, but there was no sign of Oliver. The Paris volorshould have arrived an hour before, but Mabel, staring out into thedarkening heavens had seen the stars come out like jewels one by one, but no slender winged fish pass overhead. Of course she might havemissed it; there was no depending on its exact course; but she had seenit a hundred times before, and wondered unreasonably why she had notseen it now. But she would not sit down to dinner, and paced up anddown in her white dress, turning again and again to the window, listening to the soft rush of the trains, the faint hoots from thetrack, and the musical chords from the junction a mile away. The lightswere up by now, and the vast sweep of the towns looked like fairylandbetween the earthly light and the heavenly darkness. Why did not Olivercome, or at least let her know why he did not? Once she went upstairs, miserably anxious herself, to reassure the oldlady, and found her again very drowsy. "He is not come, " she said. "I dare say he may be kept in Paris. " The old face on the pillow nodded and murmured, and Mabel went downagain. It was now an hour after dinner-time. Oh! there were a hundred things that might have kept him. He had oftenbeen later than this: he might have missed the volor he meant to catch;the Convention might have been prolonged; he might be exhausted, andthink it better to sleep in Paris after all, and have forgotten to wire. He might even have wired to Mr. Phillips, and the secretary haveforgotten to pass on the message. She went at last, hopelessly, to the telephone, and looked at it. Thereit was, that round silent month, that little row of labelled buttons. She half decided to touch them one by one, and inquire whether anythinghad been heard of her husband: there was his club, his office inWhitehall, Mr. Phillips's house, Parliament-house, and the rest. But shehesitated, telling herself to be patient. Oliver hated interference, andhe would surely soon remember and relieve her anxiety. Then, even as she turned away, the bell rang sharply, and a white labelflashed into sight. --WHITEHALL. She pressed the corresponding button, and, her hand shaking so much thatshe could scarcely hold the receiver to her ear, she listened. "Who is there?" Her heart leaped at the sound of her husband's voice, tiny and minuteacross the miles of wire. "I--Mabel, " she said. "Alone here. " "Oh! Mabel. Very well. I am back: all is well. Now listen. Can youhear?" "Yes, yes. " "The best has happened. It is all over in the East. Felsenburgh has doneit. Now listen. I cannot come home to-night. It will be announced inPaul's House in two hours from now. We are communicating with the Press. Come up here to me at once. You must be present. .. . Can you hear?" "Oh, yes. " "Come then at once. It will be the greatest thing in history. Tell noone. Come before the rush begins. In half-an-hour the way will bestopped. " "Oliver. " "Yes? Quick. " "Mother is ill. Shall I leave her?" "How ill?" "Oh, no immediate danger. The doctor has seen her. " There was silence for a moment. "Yes; come then. We will go back to-night anyhow, then. Tell her weshall be late. " "Very well. " " . .. Yes, you must come. Felsenburgh will be there. " CHAPTER IV I On the same afternoon Percy received a visitor. There was nothing exceptional about him; and Percy, as he camedownstairs in his walking-dress and looked at him in the light from thetall parlour-window, came to no conclusion at all as to his business andperson, except that he was not a Catholic. "You wished to see me, " said the priest, indicating a chair. "I fear I must not stop long. " "I shall not keep you long, " said the stranger eagerly. "My business isdone in five minutes. " Percy waited with his eyes cast down. "A--a certain person has sent me to you. She was a Catholic once; shewishes to return to the Church. " Percy made a little movement with his head. It was a message he did notvery often receive in these days. "You will come, sir, will you not? You will promise me?" The man seemed greatly agitated; his sallow face showed a little shiningwith sweat, and his eyes were piteous. "Of course I will come, " said Percy, smiling. "Yes, sir; but you do not know who she is. It--it would make a greatstir, sir, if it was known. It must not be known, sir; you will promiseme that, too?" "I must not make any promise of that kind, " said the priest gently. "Ido not know the circumstances yet. " The stranger licked his lips nervously. "Well, sir, " he said hastily, "you will say nothing till you have seenher? You can promise me that. " "Oh! certainly, " said the priest. "Well, sir, you had better not know my name. It--it may make it easierfor you and for me. And--and, if you please, sir, the lady is ill; youmust come to-day, if you please, but not until the evening. Willtwenty-two o'clock be convenient, sir?" "Where is it?" asked Percy abruptly. "It--it is near Croydon junction. I will write down the addresspresently. And you will not come until twenty-two o'clock, sir?" "Why not now?" "Because the--the others may be there. They will be away then; I knowthat. " This was rather suspicious, Percy thought: discreditable plots had beenknown before. But he could not refuse outright. "Why does she not send for her parish-priest?" he asked. "She she does not know who he is, sir; she saw you once in theCathedral, sir, and asked you for your name. Do you remember, sir?--anold lady?" Percy did dimly remember something of the kind a month or two before;but he could not be certain, and said so. "Well, sir, you will come, will you not?" "I must communicate with Father Dolan, " said the priest. "If he gives mepermission---" "If you please, sir, Father--Father Dolan must not know her name. Youwill not tell him?" "I do not know it myself yet, " said the priest, smiling. The stranger sat back abruptly at that, and his face worked. "Well, sir, let me tell you this first. This old lady's son is myemployer, and a very prominent Communist. She lives with him and hiswife. The other two will be away to-night. That is why I am asking youall this. And now, you till come, sir?" Percy looked at him steadily for a moment or two. Certainly, if this wasa conspiracy, the conspirators were feeble folk. Then he answered: "I will come, sir; I promise. Now the name. " The stranger again licked his lips nervously, and glanced timidly fromside to side. Then he seemed to gather his resolution; he leaned forwardand whispered sharply. "The old lady's name is Brand, sir--the mother of Mr. Oliver Brand. " For a moment Percy was bewildered. It was too extraordinary to be true. He knew Mr. Oliver Brand's name only too well; it was he who, by God'spermission, was doing more in England at this moment against theCatholic cause than any other man alive; and it was he whom theTrafalgar Square incident had raised into such eminent popularity. Andnow, here was his mother--- He turned fiercely upon the man. "I do not know what you are, sir--whether you believe in God or not; butwill you swear to me on your religion and your honour that all this istrue?" The timid eyes met his, and wavered; but it was the wavering ofweakness, not of treachery. "I--I swear it, sir; by God Almighty. " "Are you a Catholic?" The man shook his head. "But I believe in God, " he said. "At least, I think so. " Percy leaned back, trying to realise exactly what it all meant. Therewas no triumph in his mind--that kind of emotion was not his weakness;there was fear of a kind, excitement, bewilderment, and under all asatisfaction that God's grace was so sovereign. If it could reach thiswoman, who could be too far removed for it to take effect? Presently henoticed the other looking at him anxiously. "You are afraid, sir? You are not going back from your promise?" That dispersed the cloud a little, and Percy smiled. "Oh! no, " he said. "I will be there at twenty-two o'clock. . .. Is deathimminent?" "No, sir; it is syncope. She is recovered a little this morning. " The priest passed his hand over his eyes and stood up. "Well, I will be there, " he said. "Shall you be there, sir?" The other shook his head, standing up too. "I must be with Mr. Brand, sir; there is to be a meeting to-night; but Imust not speak of that. .. . No, sir; ask for Mrs. Brand, and say that sheis expecting you. They will take you upstairs at once. " "I must not say I am a priest, I suppose?" "No, sir; if you please. " He drew out a pocket-book, scribbled in it a moment, tore out the sheet, and handed it to the priest. "The address, sir. Will you kindly destroy that when you have copied it?I--I do not wish to lose my place, sir, if it can be helped. " Percy stood twisting the paper in his fingers a moment. "Why are you not a Catholic yourself?" he asked. The man shook his head mutely. Then he took up his hat, and went towardsthe door. * * * * * Percy passed a very emotional afternoon. For the last month or two little had happened to encourage him. He hadbeen obliged to report half-a-dozen more significant secessions, andhardly a conversion of any kind. There was no doubt at all that the tidewas setting steadily against the Church. The mad act in TrafalgarSquare, too, had done incalculable harm last week: men were saying morethan ever, and the papers storming, that the Church's reliance on thesupernatural was belied by every one of her public acts. "Scratch aCatholic and find an assassin" had been the text of a leading article inthe _New People_, and Percy himself was dismayed at the folly of theattempt. It was true that the Archbishop had formally repudiated boththe act and the motive from the Cathedral pulpit, but that too had onlyserved as an opportunity hastily taken up by the principal papers, torecall the continual policy of the Church to avail herself of violencewhile she repudiated the violent. The horrible death of the man had inno way appeased popular indignation; there were not even wantingsuggestions that the man had been seen coming out of Archbishop's Housean hour before the attempt at assassination had taken place. And now here, with dramatic swiftness, had come a message that thehero's own mother desired reconciliation with the Church that hadattempted to murder her son. * * * * * Again and again that afternoon, as Percy sped northwards on his visit toa priest in Worcester, and southwards once more as the lights began toshine towards evening, he wondered whether this were not a plot afterall--some kind of retaliation, an attempt to trap him. Yet he hadpromised to say nothing, and to go. He finished his daily letter after dinner as usual, with a curious senseof fatality; addressed and stamped it. Then he went downstairs, in hiswalking-dress, to Father Blackmore's room. "Will you hear my confession, father?" he said abruptly. II Victoria Station, still named after the great nineteenth-century Queen, was neither more nor less busy than usual as he came into ithalf-an-hour later. The vast platform, sunk now nearly two hundred feetbelow the ground level, showed the double crowd of passengers enteringand leaving town. Those on the extreme left, towards whom Percy began todescend in the open glazed lift, were by far the most numerous, and thestream at the lift-entrance made it necessary for him to move slowly. He arrived at last, walking in the soft light on the noiseless ribbedrubber, and stood by the door of the long car that ran straight throughto the Junction. It was the last of a series of a dozen or more, each ofwhich slid off minute by minute. Then, still watching the endlessmovement of the lifts ascending and descending between the entrances ofthe upper end of the station, he stepped in and sat down. He felt quiet now that he had actually started. He had made hisconfession, just in order to make certain of his own soul, thoughscarcely expecting any definite danger, and sat now, his grey suit andstraw hat in no way distinguishing him as a priest (for a general leavewas given by the authorities to dress so for any adequate reason). Sincethe case was not imminent, he had not brought stocks or pyx--FatherDolan had wired to him that he might fetch them if he wished from St. Joseph's, near the Junction. He had only the violet thread in hispocket, such as was customary for sick calls. He was sliding along peaceably enough, fixing his eyes on the empty seatopposite, and trying to preserve complete collectedness when the carabruptly stopped. He looked out, astonished, and saw by the whiteenamelled walks twenty feet from the window that they were already inthe tunnel. The stoppage might arise from many causes, and he was notgreatly excited, nor did it seem that others in the carriage took itvery seriously; he could hear, after a moment's silence, the talkingrecommence beyond the partition. Then there came, echoed by the walls, the sound of shouting from faraway, mingled with hoots and chords; it grew louder. The talking in thecarriage stopped. He heard a window thrown up, and the next instant acar tore past, going back to the station although on the down line. Thismust be looked into, thought Percy: something certainly was happening;so he got up and went across the empty compartment to the furtherwindow. Again came the crying of voices, again the signals, and oncemore a car whirled past, followed almost immediately by another. Therewas a jerk--a smooth movement. Percy staggered and fell into a seat, asthe carriage in which he was seated itself began to move backwards. There was a clamour now in the next compartment, and Percy made his waythere through the door, only to find half-a-dozen men with their headsthrust from the windows, who paid absolutely no attention to hisinquiries. So he stood there, aware that they knew no more than himself, waiting for an explanation from some one. It was disgraceful, he toldhimself, that any misadventure should so disorganise the line. Twice the car stopped; each time it moved on again after a hoot or two, and at last drew up at the platform whence it had started, although ahundred yards further out. Ah! there was no doubt that something had happened! The instant heopened the door a great roar met his ears, and as he sprang on to theplatform and looked up at the end of the station, he began tounderstand. * * * * * From right to left of the huge interior, across the platforms, swellingevery instant, surged an enormous swaying, roaring crowd. The flight ofsteps, twenty yards broad, used only in cases of emergency, resembled agigantic black cataract nearly two hundred feet in height. Each car asit drew up discharged more and more men and women, who ran like antstowards the assembly of their fellows. The noise was indescribable, theshouting of men, the screaming of women, the clang and hoot of the hugemachines, and three or four times the brazen cry of a trumpet, as anemergency door was flung open overhead, and a small swirl of crowdpoured through it towards the streets beyond. But after one look Percylooked no more at the people; for there, high up beneath the clock, onthe Government signal board, flared out monstrous letters of fire, telling in Esperanto and English, the message for which England hadgrown sick. He read it a dozen times before he moved, staring, as at asupernatural sight which might denote the triumph of either heaven orhell. "EASTERN CONVENTION DISPERSED. PEACE, NOT WAR. UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD ESTABLISHED. FELSENBURGH IN LONDON TO-NIGHT. " * * * * * III It was not until nearly two hours later that Percy was standing at thehouse beyond the Junction. He bad argued, expostulated, threatened, but the officials were likemen possessed. Half of them had disappeared in the rush to the City, forit had leaked out, in spite of the Government's precautions, that Paul'sHouse, known once as St. Paul's Cathedral, was to be the scene ofFelsenburgh's reception. The others seemed demented; one man on theplatform had dropped dead from nervous exhaustion, but no one appearedto care; and the body lay huddled beneath a seat. Again and again Percyhad been swept away by a rush, as he struggled from platform to platformin his search for a car that would take him to Croydon. It seemed thatthere was none to be had, and the useless carriages collected likedrift-wood between the platforms, as others whirled up from the countrybringing loads of frantic, delirious men, who vanished like smoke fromthe white rubber-boards. The platforms were continually crowded, and ascontinually emptied, and it was not until half-an-hour before midnightthat the block began to move outwards again. Well, he was here at last, dishevelled, hatless and exhausted, lookingup at the dark windows. He scarcely knew what he thought of the whole matter. War, of course, was terrible. And such a war as this would have been too terrible forthe imagination to visualise; but to the priest's mind there were otherthings even worse. What of universal peace--peace, that is to say, established by others than Christ's method? Or was God behind even this?The questions were hopeless. Felsenburgh--it was he then who had done this thing--this thingundoubtedly greater than any secular event hitherto known incivilisation. What manner of man was he? What was his character, hismotive, his method? How would he use his success?. .. So the points flewbefore him like a stream of sparks, each, it might be, harmless; each, equally, capable of setting a world on fire. Meanwhile here was an oldwoman who desired to be reconciled with God before she died. .. . * * * * * He touched the button again, three or four times, and waited. Then alight sprang out overhead, and he knew that he was heard. "I was sent for, " he exclaimed to the bewildered maid. "I should havebeen here at twenty-two: I was prevented by the rush. " She babbled out a question at him. "Yes, it is true, I believe, " he said. "It is peace, not war. Kindlytake me upstairs. " He went through the hall with a curious sense of guilt. This was Brand'shouse then--that vivid orator, so bitterly eloquent against God; andhere was he, a priest, slinking in under cover of night. Well, well, itwas not of his appointment. At the door of an upstairs room the maid turned to him. "A doctor, sir?" she said. "That is my affair, " said Percy briefly, and opened the door. * * * * * A little wailing cry broke from the corner, before he had time to closethe door again. "Oh! thank God! I thought He had forgotten me. You are a priest, father?" "I am a priest. Do you not remember seeing me in the Cathedral?" "Yes, yes, sir; I saw you praying, father. Oh! thank God, thank God!" Percy stood looking down at her a moment, seeing her flushed old face inthe nightcap, her bright sunken eyes and her tremulous hands. Yes; thiswas genuine enough. "Now, my child, " he said, "tell me. " "My confession, father. " Percy drew out the purple thread, slipped it over his shoulders, and satdown by the bed. * * * * * But she would not let him go for a while after that. "Tell me, father. When will you bring me Holy Communion?" He hesitated. "I understand that Mr. Brand and his wife know nothing of all this?" "No, father. " "Tell me, are you very ill?" "I don't know, father. They will not tell me. I thought I was gone lastnight. " "When would you wish me to bring you Holy Communion? I will do as yousay. " "Shall I send to you in a day or two? Father, ought I to tell him?" "You are not obliged. " "I will if I ought. " "Well, think about it, and let me know. .. . You have heard what hashappened?" She nodded, but almost uninterestedly; and Percy was conscious of a tinyprick of compunction at his own heart. After all, the reconciling of asoul to God was a greater thing than the reconciling of East to West. "It may make a difference to Mr. Brand, " he said. "He will be a greatman, now, you know. " She still looked at him in silence, smiling a little. Percy wasastonished at the youthfulness of that old face. Then her face changed. "Father, I must not keep you; but tell me this--Who is this man?" "Felsenburgh?" "Yes. " "No one knows. We shall know more to-morrow. He is in town to-night. " She looked so strange that Percy for an instant thought it was aseizure. Her face seemed to fall away in a kind of emotion, halfcunning, half fear. "Well, my child?" "Father, I am a little afraid when I think of that man. He cannot harmme, can he? I am safe now? I am a Catholic--?" "My child, of course you are safe. What is the matter? How can this maninjure you?" But the look of terror was still there, and Percy came a step nearer. "You must not give way to fancies, " he said. "Just commit yourself toour Blessed Lord. This man can do you no harm. " He was speaking now as to a child; but it was of no use. Her old mouthwas still sucked in, and her eyes wandered past him into the gloom ofthe room behind. "My child, tell me what is the matter. What do you know of Felsenburgh?You have been dreaming. " She nodded suddenly and energetically, and Percy for the first time felthis heart give a little leap of apprehension. Was this old woman out ofher mind, then? Or why was it that that name seemed to him sinister?Then he remembered that Father Blackmore had once talked like this. Hemade an effort, and sat down once more. "Now tell me plainly, " he said. "You have been dreaming. What have youdreamt?" She raised herself a little in bed, again glancing round the room; thenshe put out her old ringed hand for one of his, and he gave it, wondering. "The door is shut, father? There is no one listening?" "No, no, my child. Why are you trembling? You must not besuperstitious. " "Father, I will tell you. Dreams are nonsense, are they not? Well, atleast, this is what I dreamt. "I was somewhere in a great house; I do not know where it was. It was ahouse I have never seen. It was one of the old houses, and it was verydark. I was a child, I thought, and I was . .. I was afraid of something. The passages were all dark, and I went crying in the dark, looking for alight, and there was none. Then I heard a voice talking, a great wayoff. Father---" Her hand gripped his more tightly, and again her eyes went round theroom. With great difficulty Percy repressed a sigh. Yet he dared not leave herjust now. The house was very still; only from outside now and againsounded the clang of the cars, as they sped countrywards again from thecongested town, and once the sound of great shouting. He wondered whattime it was. "Had you better tell me now?" he asked, still talking with a patientsimplicity. "What time will they be back?" "Not yet, " she whispered. "Mabel said not till two o'clock. What timeis it now, father?" He pulled out his watch with his disengaged hand. "It is not yet one, " he said. "Very well, listen, father. .. . I was in this house; and I heard thattalking; and I ran along the passages, till I saw light below a door;and then I stopped. .. . Nearer, father. " Percy was a little awed in spite of himself. Her voice had suddenlydropped to a whisper, and her old eyes seemed to hold him strangely. "I stopped, father; I dared not go in. I could hear the talking, and Icould see the light; and I dared not go in. Father, it was Felsenburghin that room. " From beneath came the sudden snap of a door; then the sound offootsteps. Percy turned his head abruptly, and at the same moment hearda swift indrawn breath from the old woman. "Hush!" he said. "Who is that?" Two voices were talking in the hall below now, and at the sound the oldwoman relaxed her hold. "I--I thought it to be him, " she murmured. Percy stood up; he could see that she did not understand the situation. "Yes, my child, " he said quietly, "but who is it?" "My son and his wife, " she said; then her face changed once more. "Why--why, father---" Her voice died in her throat, as a step vibrated outside. For a momentthere was complete silence; then a whisper, plainly audible, in a girl'svoice. "Why, her light is burning. Come in, Oliver, but softly. " Then the handle turned. CHAPTER V I There was an exclamation, then silence, as a tall, beautiful girl withflushed face and shining grey eyes came forward and stopped, followed bya man whom Percy knew at once from his pictures. A little whimperingsounded from the bed, and the priest lifted his hand instinctively tosilence it. "Why, " said Mabel; and then stared at the man with the young face andthe white hair. Oliver opened his lips and closed them again. He, too, had a strangeexcitement in his face. Then he spoke. "Who is this?" he said deliberately. "Oliver, " cried the girl, turning to him abruptly, "this is the priest Isaw---" "A priest!" said the other, and came forward a step. "Why, I thought---" Percy drew a breath to steady that maddening vibration in his throat. "Yes, I am a priest, " he said. Again the whimpering broke out from the bed; and Percy, half turningagain to silence it, saw the girl mechanically loosen the clasp of thethin dust cloak over her white dress. "You sent for him, mother?" snapped the man, with a tremble in hisvoice, and with a sudden jerk forward of his whole body. But the girlput out her hand. "Quietly, my dear, " she said. "Now, sir---" "Yes, I am a priest, " said Percy again, strung up now to a desperateresistance of will, hardly knowing what he said. "And you come to my house!" exclaimed the man. He came a step nearer, and half recoiled. "You swear you are a priest?" he said. "You have beenhere all this evening?" "Since midnight. " "And you are not---" he stopped again. Mabel stepped straight between them. "Oliver, " she said, still with that air of suppressed excitement, "wemust not have a scene here. The poor dear is too ill. Will you comedownstairs, sir?" Percy took a step towards the door, and Oliver moved slightly aside. Then the priest stopped, turned and lifted his hand. "God bless you!" he said simply, to the muttering figure in the bed. Then he went out, and waited outside the door. He could hear a low talking within; then a compassionate murmur from thegirl's voice; then Oliver was beside him, trembling all over, as whiteas ashes, and made a silent gesture as he went past him down the stairs. * * * * * The whole thing seemed to Percy like some incredible dream; it was allso unexpected, so untrue to life. He felt conscious of an enormous shameat the sordidness of the affair, and at the same time of a kind ofhopeless recklessness. The worst had happened and the best--that was hissole comfort. Oliver pushed a door open, touched a button, and went through into thesuddenly lit room, followed by Percy. Still in silence, he pointed to achair, Percy sat down, and Oliver stood before the fireplace, his handsdeep in the pockets of his jacket, slightly turned away. Percy's concentrated senses became aware of every detail of theroom--the deep springy green carpet, smooth under his feet, the straighthanging thin silk curtains, the half-dozen low tables with a wealth offlowers upon them, and the books that lined the walls. The whole roomwas heavy with the scent of roses, although the windows were wide, andthe night-breeze stirred the curtains continually. It was a woman'sroom, he told himself. Then he looked at the man's figure, lithe, tense, upright; the dark grey suit not unlike his own, the beautiful curve ofthe jaw, the clear pale complexion, the thin nose, the protruding curveof idealism over the eyes, and the dark hair. It was a poet's face, hetold himself, and the whole personality was a living and vivid one. Thenhe turned a little and rose as the door opened, and Mabel came in, closing it behind her. She came straight across to her husband, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sit down, my dear, " she said. "We must talk a little. Please sit down, sir. " The three sat down, Percy on one side, and the husband and wife on astraight-backed settle opposite. The girl began again. "This must be arranged at once, " she said, "but we must have no tragedy. Oliver, do you understand? You must not make a scene. Leave this to me. " She spoke with a curious gaiety; and Percy to his astonishment saw thatshe was quite sincere: there was not the hint of cynicism. "Oliver, my dear, " she said again, "don't mouth like that! It is allperfectly right. I am going to manage this. " Percy saw a venomous look directed at him by the man; the girl saw ittoo, moving her strong humorous eyes from one to the other. She put herhand on his knee. "Oliver, attend! Don't look at this gentleman so bitterly. He has doneno harm. " "No harm!" whispered the other. "No--no harm in the world. What does it matter what that poor dearupstairs thinks? Now, sir, would you mind telling us why you came here?" Percy drew another breath. He had not expected this line. "I came here to receive Mrs. Brand back into the Church, " he said. "And you have done so?" "I have done so. " "Would you mind telling us your name? It makes it so much moreconvenient. " Percy hesitated. Then he determined to meet her on her own ground. "Certainly. My name is Franklin. " "Father Franklin?" asked the girl, with just the faintest tinge ofmocking emphasis on the first word. "Yes. Father Percy Franklin, from Archbishop's House, Westminster, " saidthe priest steadily. "Well, then, Father Percy Franklin; can you tell us why you came here? Imean, who sent for you?" "Mrs. Brand sent for me. " "Yes, but by what means?" "That I must not say. " "Oh, very good. .. . May we know what good comes of being 'received intothe Church?'" "By being received into the Church, the soul is reconciled to God. " "Oh! (Oliver, be quiet. ) And how do you do it, Father Franklin?" Percy stood up abruptly. "This is no good, madam, " he said. "What is the use of these questions?" The girl looked at him in open-eyed astonishment, still with her hand onher husband's knee. "The use, Father Franklin! Why, we want to know. There is no church lawagainst your telling us, is there?" Percy hesitated again. He did not understand in the least what she wasafter. Then he saw that he would give them an advantage if he lost hishead at all: so he sat down again. "Certainly not. I will tell you if you wish to know. I heard Mrs. Brand's confession, and gave her absolution. " "Oh! yes; and that does it, then? And what next?" "She ought to receive Holy Communion, and anointing, if she is in dangerof death. " Oliver twitched suddenly. "Christ!" he said softly. "Oliver!" cried the girl entreatingly. "Please leave this to me. It ismuch better so. --And then, I suppose, Father Franklin, you want to givethose other things to my mother, too?" "They are not absolutely necessary, " said the priest, feeling, he didnot know why, that he was somehow playing a losing game. "Oh! they are not necessary? But you would like to?" "I shall do so if possible. But I have done what is necessary. " It required all his will to keep quiet. He was as a man who had armedhimself in steel, only to find that his enemy was in the form of asubtle vapour. He simply had not an idea what to do next. He would havegiven anything for the man to have risen and flown at his throat, forthis girl was too much for them both. "Yes, " she said softly. "Well, it is hardly to be expected that myhusband should give you leave to come here again. But I am very gladthat you have done what you think necessary. No doubt it will be asatisfaction to you, Father Franklin, and to the poor old thingupstairs, too. While we--- _we_--" she pressed her husband's knee--"wedo not mind at all. Oh!--but there is one thing more. " "If you please, " said Percy, wondering what on earth was coming. "You Christians--forgive me if I say anything rude--but, you know, youChristians have a reputation for counting heads, and making the most ofconverts. We shall be so much obliged, Father Franklin, if you willgive us your word not to advertise this--this incident. It woulddistress my husband, and give him a great deal of trouble. " "Mrs. Brand---" began the priest. "One moment. .. . You see, we have not treated you badly. There has beenno violence. We will promise not to make scenes with my mother. Will youpromise us that?" Percy had had time to consider, and he answered instantly. "Certainly, I will promise that. " Mabel sighed contentedly. "Well, that is all right. We are so much obliged. .. . And I think we maysay this, that perhaps after consideration my husband may see his way toletting you come here again to do Communion and--and the other thing---" Again that spasm shook the man beside her. "Well, we will see about that. At any rate, we know your address, andcan let you know. .. . By the way, Father Franklin, are you going back toWestminster to-night?" He bowed. "Ah! I hope you will get through. You will find London very muchexcited. Perhaps you heard---" "Felsenburgh?" said Percy. "Yes. Julian Felsenburgh, " said the girl softly, again with that strangeexcitement suddenly alight in her eyes. "Julian Felsenburgh, " sherepeated. "He is there, you know. He will stay in England for thepresent. " Again Percy was conscious of that slight touch of fear at the mention ofthat name. "I understand there is to be peace, " he said. The girl rose and her husband with her. "Yes, " she said, almost compassionately, "there is to be peace. Peace atlast. " (She moved half a step towards him, and her face glowed like arose of fire. Her hand rose a little. ) "Go back to London, FatherFranklin, and use your eyes. You will see him, I dare say, and you willsee more besides. " (Her voice began to vibrate. ) "And you willunderstand, perhaps, why we have treated you like this--why we are nolonger afraid of you--why we are willing that my mother should do itsshe pleases. Oh! you will understand, Father Franklin if not to-night, to-morrow; or if not to-morrow, at least in a very short time. " "Mabel!" cried her husband. The girl wheeled, and threw her arms round him, and kissed him on themouth. "Oh! I am not ashamed, Oliver, my dear. Let him go and see for himself. Good-night, Father Franklin. " As he went towards the door, hearing the ping of the bell that some onetouched in the room behind him, he turned once more, dazed andbewildered; and there were the two, husband and wife, standing in thesoft, sunny light, as if transfigured. The girl had her arm round theman's shoulder, and stood upright and radiant as a pillar of fire; andeven on the man's face there was no anger now--nothing but an almostsupernatural pride and confidence. They were both smiling. Then Percy passed out into the soft, summer night. II Percy understood nothing except that he was afraid, as he sat in thecrowded car that whirled him up to London. He scarcely even heard thetalk round him, although it was loud and continuous; and what he heardmeant little to him. He understood only that there had been strangescenes, that London was said to have gone suddenly mad, that Felsenburghhad spoken that night in Paul's House. He was afraid at the way in which be had been treated, and he askedhimself dully again and again what it was that had inspired thattreatment; it seemed that he bad been in the presence of thesupernatural; he was conscious of shivering a little, and of thesymptoms of an intolerable sleepiness. It was scarcely strange to himthat he should be sitting in a crowded car at two o'clock of a summerdawn. Thrice the car stopped, and he stared out at the signs of confusion thatwere everywhere; at the figures that ran in the twilight between thetracks, at a couple of wrecked carriages, a tumble of tarpaulins; helistened mechanically to the hoots and cries that sounded everywhere. As he stepped out at last on to the platform, he found it very much ashe had left it two hours before. There was the same desperate rush asthe car discharged its load, the same dead body beneath the seat; andabove all, as he ran helplessly behind the crowd, scarcely knowingwhither he ran or why, above him burned the same stupendous messagebeneath the clock. Then he found himself in the lift, and a minute laterhe was out on the steps behind the station. There, too, was an astonishing sight. The lamps still burned overhead, but beyond them lay the first pale streaks of the false dawn. The streetthat ran now straight to the old royal palace, uniting there, as at thecentre of a web, with those that came from Westminster, the Mall andHyde Park, was one solid pavement of heads. On this side and that roseup the hotels and "Houses of Joy, " the windows all ablaze with light, solemn and triumphant as if to welcome a king; while far ahead againstthe sky stood the monstrous palace outlined in fire, and alight fromwithin like all other houses within view. The noise was bewildering. Itwas impossible to distinguish one sound from another. Voices, horns, drums, the tramp of a thousand footsteps on the rubber pavements, thesombre roll of wheels from the station behind--all united in oneoverwhelmingly solemn booming, overscored by shriller notes. It was impossible to move. He found himself standing in a position of extraordinary advantage, atthe very top of the broad flight of steps that led down into the oldstation yard, now a wide space that united, on the left the broad roadto the palace, and on the right Victoria Street, that showed like allelse one vivid perspective of lights and heads. Against the sky on hisright rose up the illuminated head of the Cathedral Campanile. Itappeared to him as if he had known that in some previous existence. He edged himself mechanically a foot or two to his left, till he claspeda pillar; then he waited, trying not to analyse his emotions, but toabsorb them. Gradually he became aware that this crowd was as no other that he hadever seen. To his psychical sense it seemed to him that it possessed aunity unlike any other. There was magnetism in the air. There was asensation as if a creative act were in process, whereby thousands ofindividual cells were being welded more and more perfectly every instantinto one huge sentient being with one will, one emotion, and one head. The crying of voices seemed significant only as the stirrings of thiscreative power which so expressed itself. Here rested this gianthumanity, stretching to his sight in living limbs so far as he could seeon every side, waiting, waiting for some consummation--stretching, too, as his tired brain began to guess, down every thoroughfare of the vastcity. He did not even ask himself for what they waited. He knew, yet he didnot know. He knew it was for a revelation--for something that shouldcrown their aspirations, and fix them so for ever. He had a sense that he had seen all this before; and, like a child, hebegan to ask himself where it could have happened, until he rememberedthat it was so that he had once dreamt of the Judgment Day--of humanitygathered to meet Jesus Christ--Jesus Christ! Ah! how tiny that Figureseemed to him now--how far away--real indeed, but insignificant tohimself--how hopelessly apart from this tremendous life! He glanced upat the Campanile. Yes; there was a piece of the True Cross there, wasthere not?--a little piece of the wood on which a Poor Man had diedtwenty centuries ago. .. . Well, well. It was a long way off. .. . He did not quite understand what was happening to him. "Sweet Jesus, beto me not a Judge but a Saviour, " he whispered beneath his breath, gripping the granite of the pillar; and a moment later knew how futilewas that prayer. It was gone like a breath in this vast, vividatmosphere of man. He had said mass, had he not? this morning--in whitevestments. --Yes; he had believed it all then--desperately, but truly;and now. .. . To look into the future was as useless as to look into the past. Therewas no future, and no past: it was all one eternal instant, present andfinal. .. . Then he let go of effort, and again began to see with his bodily eyes. * * * * * The dawn was coming up the sky now, a steady soft brightening thatappeared in spite of its sovereignty to be as nothing compared with thebrilliant light of the streets. "We need no sun, " he whispered, smilingpiteously; "no sun or light of a candle. We have our light on earth--thelight that lighteneth every man. .. . " The Campanile seemed further away than ever now, in that ghostly glimmerof dawn--more and more helpless every moment, compared with thebeautiful vivid shining of the streets. Then he listened to the sounds, and it seemed to him as if somewhere, far down eastwards, there was a silence beginning. He jerked his headimpatiently, as a man behind him began to talk rapidly and confusedly. Why would he not be silent, and let silence be heard?. .. The man stoppedpresently, and out of the distance there swelled up a roar, as soft asthe roll of a summer tide; it passed up towards him from the right; itwas about him, dinning in his ears. There was no longer any individualvoice: it was the breathing of the giant that had been born; he wascrying out too; he did not know what he said, but he could not besilent. His veins and nerves seemed alight with wine; and as he stareddown the long street, hearing the huge cry ebb from him and move towardthe palace, he knew why he had cried, and why he was now silent. A slender, fish-shaped thing, as white as milk, as ghostly as a shadow, and as beautiful as the dawn, slid into sight half-a-mile away, turnedand came towards him, floating, as it seemed, on the very wave ofsilence that it created, up, up the long curving street on outstretchedwings, not twenty feet above the heads of the crowd. There was one greatsigh, and then silence once more. * * * * * When Percy could think consciously again--for his will was only capableof efforts as a clock of ticks--the strange white thing was nearer. Hetold himself that he had seen a hundred such before; and at the sameinstant that this was different from all others. Then it was nearer still, floating slowly, slowly, like a gull over thesea; he could make out its smooth nose, its low parapet beyond, thesteersman's head motionless; he could even hear now the soft winnowingof the screw--and then he saw that for which he had waited. High on the central deck there stood a chair, draped, too, in white, with some insignia visible above its back; and in the chair sat thefigure of a man, motionless and lonely. He made no sign as he came; hisdark dress showed vividedly against the whiteness; his head was raised, and he turned it gently now and again from side to side. It came nearer still, in the profound stillness; the head turned, andfor an instant the face was plainly visible in the soft, radiant light. It was a pale face, strongly marked, as of a young man, with arched, black eyebrows, thin lips, and white hair. Then the face turned once more, the steersman shifted his head, and thebeautiful shape, wheeling a little, passed the corner, and moved uptowards the palace. There was an hysterical yelp somewhere, a cry, and again the tempestuousgroan broke out. BOOK II-THE ENCOUNTER CHAPTER I I Oliver Brand was seated at his desk, on the evening of the next day, reading the leading article of the _New People_, evening edition. * * * * * "We have had time, " he read, "to recover ourselves a little from theintoxication of last night. Before embarking on prophecy, it will be aswell to recall the facts. Up to yesterday evening our anxiety withregard to the Eastern crisis continued; and when twenty-one o'clockstruck there were not more than forty persons in London--the Englishdelegates, that is to say--who knew positively that the danger was over. Between that moment and half-an-hour later the Government took a fewdiscreet steps: a select number of persons were informed; the policewere called out, with half-a-dozen regiments, to preserve order; Paul'sHouse was cleared; the railroad companies were warned; and at the halfhour precisely the announcement was made by means of the electricplacards in every quarter of London, as well as in all large provincialtowns. We have not space now to adequately describe the admirable mannerin which the public authorities did their duty; it is enough to say thatnot more than seventy fatalities took place in the whole of London; noris it our business to criticise the action of the Government, inchoosing this mode of making the announcement. "By twenty-two o'clock Paul's House was filled in every corner, the OldChoir was reserved for members of Parliament and public officials, thequarter-dome galleries were filled with ladies, and to the rest of thefloor the public was freely admitted. The volor-police also inform usnow that for about the distance of one mile in every direction roundthis centre every thoroughfare was blocked with pedestrians, and, twohours later, as we all know, practically all the main streets of thewhole of London were in the same condition. "It was an excellent choice by which Mr. OLIVER BRAND was selected asthe first speaker. His arm was still in bandages; and the appeal of hisfigure as well as his passionate words struck the first explicit note ofthe evening. A report of his words will be found in another column. Intheir turns, the PRIME MINISTER, Mr. SNOWFORD, the FIRST MINISTER OF THEADMIRALTY, THE SECRETARY FOR EASTERN AFFAIRS, and LORD PEMBERTON, allspoke a few words, corroborating the extraordinary news. At a quarterbefore twenty-three, the noise of cheering outside announced the arrivalof the American delegates from Paris, and one by one these ascended theplatform by the south gates of the Old Choir. Each spoke in turn. It isimpossible to appreciate words spoken at such a moment as this; butperhaps it is not invidious to name Mr. MARKHAM as the orator who aboveall others appealed to those who were privileged to hear him. It was he, too, who told us explicitly what others had merely mentioned, to theeffect that the success of the American efforts was entirely due to Mr. JULIAN FELSENBURGH. As yet Mr. FELSENBURGH had not arrived; but inanswer to a roar of inquiry, Mr. MARKHAM announced that this gentlemanwould be amongst them in a few minutes. He then proceeded to describe tous, so far as was possible in a few sentences, the methods by which Mr. FELSENBURGH had accomplished what is probably the most astonishing taskknown to history. It seems from his words that Mr. FELSENBURGH (whosebiography, so far as it is known, we give in another column) is probablythe greatest orator that the world has ever known--we use these wordsdeliberately. All languages seem the same to him; he delivered speechesduring the eight months through which the Eastern Convention lasted, inno less than fifteen tongues. Of his manner in speaking we shall have afew remarks to make presently. He showed also, Mr. MARKHAM told us, themost astonishing knowledge, not only of human nature, but of every traitunder which that divine thing manifests itself. He appeared acquaintedwith the history, the prejudices, the fears, the hopes, the expectationsof all the innumerable sects and castes of the East to whom it was hisbusiness to speak. In fact, as Mr. MARKHAM said, he is probably thefirst perfect product of that new cosmopolitan creation to which theworld has laboured throughout its history. In no less than nineplaces--Damascus, Irkutsk, Constantinople, Calcutta, Benares, Nanking, among them--he was hailed as Messiah by a Mohammedan mob. Finally, inAmerica, where this extraordinary figure has arisen, all speak well ofhim. He has been guilty of none of those crimes--there is not one thatconvicts him of sin--those crimes of the Yellow Press, of corruption, ofcommercial or political bullying which have so stained the past of allthose old politicians who made the sister continent what she has become. Mr. FELSENBURGH has not even formed a party. He, and not his underlings, have conquered. Those who were present in Paul's House on this occasionwill understand us when we say that the effect of those words wasindescribable. "When Mr. MARKHAM sat down, there was a silence; then, in order to quietthe rising excitement, the organist struck the first chords of theMasonic Hymn; the words were taken up, and presently not only the wholeinterior of the building rang with it, but outside, too, the peopleresponded, and the city of London for a few moments became indeed atemple of the Lord. "Now indeed we come to the most difficult part of our task, and it isbetter to confess at once that anything resembling journalisticdescriptiveness must be resolutely laid aside. The greatest things arebest told in the simplest words. "Towards the close of the fourth verse, a figure in a plain dark suitwas observed ascending the steps of the platform. For a moment thisattracted no attention, but when it was seen that a sudden movement hadbroken out among the delegates, the singing began to falter; and itceased altogether as the figure, after a slight inclination to right andleft, passed up the further steps that led to the rostrum. Then occurreda curious incident. The organist aloft at first did not seem tounderstand, and continued playing, but a sound broke out from the crowdresembling a kind of groan, and instantly he ceased. But no cheeringfollowed. Instead a profound silence dominated in an instant the hugethrong; this, by some strange magnetism, communicated itself to thosewithout the building, and when Mr. FELSENBURGH uttered his first words, it was in a stillness that was like a living thing. We leave theexplanation of this phenomenon to the expert in psychology. "Of his actual words we have nothing to say. So far as we are aware noreporter made notes at the moment; but the speech, delivered inEsperanto, was a very simple one, and very short. It consisted of abrief announcement of the great fact of Universal Brotherhood, acongratulation to all who were yet alive to witness this consummation ofhistory; and, at the end, an ascription of praise to that Spirit of theWorld whose incarnation was now accomplished. "So much we can say; but we can say nothing as to the impression of thepersonality who stood there. In appearance the man seemed to be aboutthirty-three years of age, clean-shaven, upright, with white hair anddark eyes and brows; he stood motionless with his hands on the rail, hemade but one gesture that drew a kind of sob from the crowd, he spokethese words slowly, distinctly, and in a clear voice; then he stoodwaiting. "There was no response but a sigh which sounded in the ears of at leastone who heard it as if the whole world drew breath for the first time;and then that strange heart-shaking silence fell again. Many wereweeping silently, the lips of thousands moved without a sound, and allfaces were turned to that simple figure, as if the hope of every soulwere centred there. So, if we may believe it, the eyes of many, centuries ago, were turned on one known now to history as JESUS OFNAZARETH. "Mr. FELSENBURGH stood so a moment longer, then he turned down thesteps, passed across the platform and disappeared. "Of what took place outside we have received the following account froman eye-witness. The white volor, so well known now to all who were inLondon that night, had remained stationary outside the little south doorof the Old Choir aisle, poised about twenty feet above the ground. Gradually it became known to the crowd, in those few minutes, who it waswho had arrived in it, and upon Mr. FELSENBURGH'S reappearance that samestrange groan sounded through the whole length of Paul's Churchyard, followed by the same silence. The volor descended; the master stepped onboard, and once more the vessel rose to a height of twenty feet. It wasthought at first that some speech would be made, but none was necessary;and after a moment's pause, the volor began that wonderful parade whichLondon will never forget. Four times during the night Mr. FELSENBURGHwent round the enormous metropolis, speaking no word; and everywhere thegroan preceded and followed him, while silence accompanied his actualpassage. Two hours after sunrise the white ship rose over Hampstead anddisappeared towards the North; and since then he, whom we call, intruth, the Saviour of the world, has not been seen. "And now what remains to be said? "Comment is useless. It is enough to say in one short sentence that thenew era has begun, to which prophets and kings, and the suffering, thedying, all who labour and are heavy-laden, have aspired in vain. Notonly has intercontinental rivalry ceased to exist, but the strife ofhome dissensions has ceased also. Of him who has been the herald of itsinauguration we have nothing more to say. Time alone can show what isyet left for him to do. "But what has been done is as follows. The Eastern peril has been forever dissipated. It is understood now, by fanatic barbarians as well asby civilised nations, that the reign of War is ended. 'Not peace but asword, ' said CHRIST; and bitterly true have those words proved to be. 'Not a sword but peace' is the retort, articulate at last, from thosewho have renounced CHRIST'S claims or have never accepted them. Theprinciple of love and union learned however falteringly in the Westduring the last century, has been taken up in the East as well. Thereshall be no more an appeal to arms, but to justice; no longer a cryingafter a God Who hides Himself, but to Man who has learned his ownDivinity. The Supernatural is dead; rather, we know now that it neveryet has been alive. What remains is to work out this new lesson, tobring every action, word and thought to the bar of Love and Justice; andthis will be, no doubt, the task of years. Every code must be reversed;every barrier thrown down; party must unite with party, country withcountry, and continent with continent. There is no longer the fear offear, the dread of the hereafter, or the paralysis of strife. Man hasgroaned long enough in the travails of birth; his blood has been pouredout like water through his own foolishness; but at length he understandshimself and is at peace. "Let it be seen at least that England is not behind the nations in thiswork of reformation; let no national isolation, pride of race, ordrunkenness of wealth hold her hands back from this enormous work. Theresponsibility is incalculable, but the victory certain. Let us gosoftly, humbled by the knowledge of our crimes in the past, confident inthe hope of our achievements in the future, towards that reward which isin sight at last--the reward hidden so long by the selfishness of men, the darkness of religion, and the strife of tongues--the reward promisedby one who knew not what he said and denied what he asserted--Blessedare the meek, the peacemakers, the merciful, for they shall inherit theearth, be named the children of God, and find mercy. " * * * * * Oliver, white to the lips, with his wife kneeling now beside him, turnedthe page and read one more short paragraph, marked as being the latestnews. "It is understood that the Government is in communication with Mr. Felsenburgh. " II "Ah! it is journalese, " said Oliver, at last, leaning back. "Tawdrystuff! But--but the thing!" Mabel got up, passed across to the window-seat, and sat down. Her lipsopened once or twice, but she said nothing. "My darling, " cried the man, "have you nothing to say?" She looked at him tremulously a moment. "Say!" she said. "As you said, What is the use of words?" "Tell me again, " said Oliver. "How do I know it is not a dream?" "A dream, " she said. "Was there ever a dream like this?" Again she got up restlessly, came across the floor, and knelt down byher husband once more, taking his hands in hers. "My dear, " she said, "I tell you it is not a dream. It is reality atlast. I was there too--do you not remember? You waited for me when allwas over--when He was gone out--we saw Him together, you and I. We heardHim--you on the platform and I in the gallery. We saw Him again pass upthe Embankment as we stood in the crowd. Then we came home and we foundthe priest. " Her face was transfigured as she spoke. It was as of one who saw aDivine Vision. She spoke very quietly, without excitement or hysteria. Oliver stared at her a moment; then he bent forward and kissed hergently. "Yes, my darling; it is true. But I want to hear it again and again. Tell me again what you saw. " "I saw the Son of Man, " she said. "Oh! there is no other phrase. TheSaviour of the world, as that paper says. I knew Him in my heart as soonas I saw Him--as we all did--as soon as He stood there holding the rail. It was like a glory round his head. I understand it all now. It was Hefor whom we have waited so long; and He has come, bringing Peace andGoodwill in His hands. When He spoke, I knew it again. His voice wasas--as the sound of the sea--as simple as that--as--as lamentable--asstrong as that. --Did you not hear it?" Oliver bowed his head. "I can trust Him for all the rest, " went on the girl softly. "I do notknow where He is, nor when He will come back, nor what He will do. Isuppose there is a great deal for Him to do, before He is fullyknown--laws, reforms--that will be your business, my dear. And the restof us must wait, and love, and be content. " Oliver again lifted his face and looked at her. "Mabel, my dear---" "Oh! I knew it even last night, " she said, "but I did not know that Iknew it till I awoke to-day and remembered. I dreamed of Him allnight. .. . Oliver, where is He?" He shook his head. "Yes, I know where He is, but I am under oath---" She nodded quickly, and stood up. "Yes. I should not have asked that. Well, we are content to wait. " There was silence for a moment or two. Oliver broke it. "My dear, what do you mean when you say that He is not yet known?" "I mean just that, " she said. "The rest only know what He has done--notwhat He is; but that, too, will come in time. " "And meanwhile---" "Meanwhile, you must work; the rest will come by and bye. Oh! Oliver, bestrong and faithful. " She kissed him quickly, and went out. * * * * * Oliver sat on without moving, staring, as his habit was, out at the wideview beyond his windows. This time yesterday he was leaving Paris, knowing the fact indeed--for the delegates had arrived an hourbefore--but ignorant of the Man. Now he knew the Man as well--at leasthe had seen Him, heard Him, and stood enchanted under the glow of Hispersonality. He could explain it to himself no more than could any oneelse--unless, perhaps, it were Mabel. The others had been as he hadbeen: awed and overcome, yet at the same time kindled in the very depthsof their souls. They had come out--Snowford, Cartwright, Pemberton, andthe rest--on to the steps of Paul's House, following that strangefigure. They had intended to say something, but they were dumb as theysaw the sea of white faces, heard the groan and the silence, andexperienced that compelling wave of magnetism that surged up likesomething physical, as the volor rose and started on that indescribableprogress. Once more he had seen Him, as he and Mabel stood together on the deck ofthe electric boat that carried them south. The white ship had passedalong overhead, smooth and steady, above the heads of that vastmultitude, bearing Him who, if any had the right to that title, wasindeed the Saviour of the world. Then they had come home, and found thepriest. That, too, had been a shock to him; for, at first sight, it seemed thatthis priest was the very man he had seen ascend the rostrum two hoursbefore. It was an extraordinary likeness--the same young face and whitehair. Mabel, of course, had not noticed it; for she had only seenFelsenburgh at a great distance; and he himself had soon been reassured. And as for his mother--it was terrible enough; if it had not been forMabel there would have been violence done last night. How collected andreasonable she had been! And, as for his mother--he must leave her alonefor the present. By and bye, perhaps, something might be done. Thefuture! It was that which engrossed him--the future, and the absorbingpower of the personality under whose dominion he had fallen last night. All else seemed insignificant now--even his mother's defection, herillness--all paled before this new dawn of an unknown sun. And in anhour he would know more; he was summoned to Westminster to a meeting ofthe whole House; their proposals to Felsenburgh were to be formulated;it was intended to offer him a great position. Yes, as Mabel had said; this was now their work--to carry into effectthe new principle that had suddenly become incarnate in this grey-hairedyoung American--the principle of Universal Brotherhood. It would meanenormous labour; all foreign relations would have to bereadjusted--trade, policy, methods of government--all demandedre-statement. Europe was already organised internally on a basis ofmutual protection: that basis was now gone. There was no more anyprotection, because there was no more any menace. Enormous labour, too, awaited the Government in other directions. A Blue-book must beprepared, containing a complete report of the proceedings in the East, together with the text of the Treaty which had been laid before them inParis, signed by the Eastern Emperor, the feudal kings, the TurkishRepublic, and countersigned by the American plenipotentiaries. .. . Finally, even home politics required reform: the friction of old strifebetween centre and extremes must cease forthwith--there must be but oneparty now, and that at the Prophet's disposal. .. . He grew bewildered ashe regarded the prospect, and saw how the whole plane of the world wasshifted, how the entire foundation of western life requiredreadjustment. It was a Revolution indeed, a cataclysm more stupendousthan even invasion itself; but it was the conversion of darkness intolight, and chaos into order. He drew a deep breath, and so sat pondering. * * * * * Mabel came down to him half-an-hour later, as he dined early beforestarting for Whitehall. "Mother is quieter, " she said. "We must be very patient, Oliver. Haveyou decided yet as to whether the priest is to come again?" He shook his head. "I can think of nothing, " he said, "but of what I have to do. Youdecide, my dear; I leave it in your hands. " She nodded. "I will talk to her again presently. Just now she can understand verylittle of what has happened. .. . What time shall you be home?" "Probably not to-night. We shall sit all night. " "Yes, dear. And what shall I tell Mr. Phillips?" "I will telephone in the morning. .. . Mabel, do you remember what I toldyou about the priest?" "His likeness to the other?" "Yes. What do you make of that?" She smiled. "I make nothing at all of it. Why should they not be alike?" He took a fig from the dish, and swallowed it, and stood up. "It is only very curious, " he said. "Now, good-night, my dear. " III "Oh, mother, " said Mabel, kneeling by the bed; "cannot you understandwhat has happened?" She had tried desperately to tell the old lady of the extraordinarychange that had taken place in the world--and without success. It seemedto her that some great issue depended on it; that it would be piteous ifthe old woman went out into the dark unconscious of what had come. Itwas as if a Christian knelt by the death-bed of a Jew on the firstEaster Monday. But the old lady lay in her bed, terrified but obdurate. "Mother, " said the girl, "let me tell you again. Do you not understandthat all which Jesus Christ promised has come true, though in anotherway? The reign of God has really begun; but we know now who God is. Yousaid just now you wanted the Forgiveness of Sins; well, you have that;we all have it, because there is no such thing as sin. There is onlyCrime. And then Communion. You used to believe that that made you apartaker of God; well, we are all partakers of God, because we are humanbeings. Don't you see that Christianity is only one way of saying allthat? I dare say it was the only way, for a time; but that is all overnow. Oh! and how much better this is! It is true--true. You can see itto be true!" She paused a moment, forcing herself to look at that piteous old face, the flushed wrinkled cheeks, the writhing knotted hands on the coverlet. "Look how Christianity has failed--how it has divided people; think ofall the cruelties--the Inquisition, the Religious Wars; the separationsbetween husband and wife and parents and children--the disobedience tothe State, the treasons. Oh! you cannot believe that these were right. What kind of a God would that be! And then Hell; how could you ever havebelieved in that?. .. Oh! mother, don't believe anything so frightful. .. . Don't you understand that that God has gone--that He never existed atall--that it was all a hideous nightmare; and that now we all know atlast what the truth is. .. . Mother! think of what happened lastnight--how He came--the Man of whom you were so frightened. I told youwhat He was like--so quiet and strong--how every one was silent--ofthe--the extraordinary atmosphere, and how six millions of people sawHim. And think what He has done--how He has healed all the oldwounds--how the whole world is at peace at last--and of what is going tohappen. Oh! mother, give up those horrible old lies; give them up; bebrave. " "The priest, the priest!" moaned the old woman at last. "Oh! no, no, no--not the priest; he can do nothing. He knows it's alllies, too!" "The priest! the priest!" moaned the other again. "He can tell you; heknows the answer. " Her face was convulsed with effort, and her old fingers fumbled andtwisted with the rosary. Mabel grew suddenly frightened, and stood up. "Oh! mother!" She stooped and kissed her. "There! I won't say any morenow. But just think about it quietly. Don't be in the least afraid; itis all perfectly right. " She stood a moment, still looking compassionately down; torn by sympathyand desire. No! it was no use now; she must wait till the next day. "I'll look in again presently, " she said, "when you have had dinner. Mother! don't look like that! Kiss me!" It was astonishing, she told herself that evening, how any one could beso blind. And what a confession of weakness, too, to call only for thepriest! It was ludicrous, absurd! She herself was filled with anextraordinary peace. Even death itself seemed now no longer terrible, for was not death swallowed up in victory? She contrasted the selfishindividualism of the Christian, who sobbed and shrank from death, or, atthe best, thought of it only as the gate to his own eternal life, withthe free altruism of the New Believer who asked no more than that Manshould live and grow, that the Spirit of the World should triumph andreveal Himself, while he, the unit, was content to sink back into thatreservoir of energy from which he drew his life. At this moment shewould have suffered anything, faced death cheerfully--she contemplatedeven the old woman upstairs with pity--for was it not piteous that deathshould not bring her to herself and reality? She was in a quiet whirl of intoxication; it was as if the heavy veil ofsense had rolled back at last and shown a sweet, eternal landscapebehind--a shadowless land of peace where the lion lay down with thelamb, and the leopard with the kid. There should be war no more: thatbloody spectre was dead, and with him the brood of evil that lived inhis shadow--superstition, conflict, terror, and unreality. The idolswere smashed, and rats had run out; Jehovah was fallen; the wild-eyeddreamer of Galilee was in his grave; the reign of priests was ended. Andin their place stood a strange, quiet figure of indomitable power andunruffled tenderness. .. . He whom she had seen--the Son of Man, theSaviour of the world, as she had called Him just now--He who bore thesetitles was no longer a monstrous figure, half God and half man, claimingboth natures and possessing neither; one who was tempted withouttemptation, and who conquered without merit, as his followers said. Herewas one instead whom she could follow, a god indeed and a man as well--agod because human, and a man because so divine. She said no more that night. She looked into the bedroom for a fewminutes, and saw the old woman asleep. Her old hand lay out on thecoverlet, and still between the fingers was twisted the silly string ofbeads. Mabel went softly across in the shaded light, and tried to detachit; but the wrinkled fingers writhed and closed, and a murmur came fromthe half-open lips. Ah! how piteous it was, thought the girl, howhopeless that a soul should flow out into such darkness, unwilling tomake the supreme, generous surrender, and lay down its life because lifeitself demanded it! Then she went to her own room. * * * * * The clocks were chiming three, and the grey dawn lay on the walls, whenshe awoke to find by her bed the woman who had sat with the old lady. "Come at once, madam; Mrs. Brand is dying. " IV Oliver was with them by six o'clock; he came straight up into hismother's room to find that all was over. The room was full of the morning light and the clean air, and a bubbleof bird-music poured in from the lawn. But his wife knelt by the bed, still holding the wrinkled hands of the old woman, her face buried inher arms. The face of his mother was quieter than he had ever seen it, the lines showed only like the faintest shadows on an alabaster mask;her lips were set in a smile. He looked for a moment, waiting until thespasm that caught his throat had died again. Then he put his hand on hiswife's shoulder. "When?" he said. Mabel lifted her face. "Oh! Oliver, " she murmured. "It was an hour ago. . .. Look at this. " She released the dead hands and showed the rosary still twisted there;it had snapped in the last struggle, and a brown bead lay beneath thefingers. "I did what I could, " sobbed Mabel. "I was not hard with her. But shewould not listen. She kept on crying out for the priest as long as shecould speak. " "My dear . .. " began the man. Then he, too, went down on his knees byhis wife, leaned forward and kissed the rosary, while tears blinded him. "Yes, yes, " he said. "Leave her in peace. I would not move it for theworld: it was her toy, was it not?" The girl stared at him, astonished. "We can be generous, too, " he said. "We have all the world at last. Andshe--she has lost nothing: it was too late. " "I did what I could. " "Yes, my darling, and you were right. But she was too old; she could notunderstand. " He paused. "Euthanasia?" he whispered with something very like tenderness. She nodded. "Yes, " she said; "just as the last agony began. She resisted, but I knewyou would wish it. " They talked together for an hour in the garden before Oliver went to hisroom; and he began to tell her presently of all that had passed. "He has refused, " he said. "We offered to create an office for Him; Hewas to have been called Consultor, and he refused it two hours ago. ButHe has promised to be at our service. .. . No, I must not tell you whereHe is. .. . He will return to America soon, we think; but He will notleave us. We have drawn up a programme, and it is to be sent to Himpresently. .. . Yes, we were unanimous. " "And the programme?" "It concerns the Franchise, the Poor Laws and Trade. I can tell you nomore than that. It was He who suggested the points. But we are not sureif we understand Him yet. " "But, my dear---" "Yes; it is quite extraordinary. I have never seen such things. Therewas practically no argument. " "Do the people understand?" "I think so. We shall have to guard against a reaction. They say thatthe Catholics will be in danger. There is an article this morning in the_Era_. The proofs were sent to us for sanction. It suggests that meansmust be taken to protect the Catholics. " Mabel smiled. "It is a strange irony, " he said. "But they have a right to exist. Howfar they have a right to share in the government is another matter. Thatwill come before us, I think, in a week or two. " "Tell me more about Him. " "There is really nothing to tell; we know nothing, except that He is thesupreme force in the world. France is in a ferment, and has offered himDictatorship. That, too, He has refused. Germany has made the sameproposal as ourselves; Italy, the same as France, with the title ofPerpetual Tribune. America has done nothing yet, and Spain is divided. " "And the East?" "The Emperor thanked Him; no more than that. " Mabel drew a long breath, and stood looking out across the heat hazethat was beginning to rise from the town beneath. These were matters sovast that she could not take them in. But to her imagination Europe laylike a busy hive, moving to and fro in the sunshine. She saw the bluedistance of France, the towns of Germany, the Alps, and beyond them thePyrenees and sun-baked Spain; and all were intent on the same business, to capture if they could this astonishing figure that had risen over theworld. Sober England, too, was alight with zeal. Each country desirednothing better than that this man should rule over them; and He hadrefused them all. "He has refused them all!" she repeated breathlessly. "Yes, all. We think He may be waiting to hear from America. He stillholds office there, you know. " "How old is He?" "Not more than thirty-two or three. He has only been in office a fewmonths. Before that He lived alone in Vermont. Then He stood for theSenate; then He made a speech or two; then He was appointed delegate, though no one seems to have realised His power. And the rest we know. " Mabel shook her head meditatively. "We know nothing, " she said. "Nothing; nothing! Where did He learn Hislanguages?" "It is supposed that He travelled for many years. But no one knows. Hehas said nothing. " She turned swiftly to her husband. "But what does it all mean? What is His power? Tell me, Oliver?" He smiled back, shaking his head. "Well, Markham said that it was his incorruption--that and his oratory;but that explains nothing. " "No, it explains nothing, " said the girl. "It is just personality, " went on Oliver, "at least, that's the label touse. But that, too, is only a label. " "Yes, just a label. But it is that. They all felt it in Paul's House, and in the streets afterwards. Did you not feel it?" "Feel it!" cried the man, with shining eyes. "Why, I would die for Him!" * * * * * They went back to the house presently, and it was not till they reachedthe door that either said a word about the dead old woman who layupstairs. "They are with her now, " said Mabel softly. "I will communicate with thepeople. " He nodded gravely. "It had better be this afternoon, " he said. "I have a spare hour atfourteen o'clock. Oh! by the way, Mabel, do you know who took themessage to the priest?" "I think so. " "Yes, it was Phillips. I saw him last night. He will not come hereagain. " "Did he confess it?" "He did. He was most offensive. " But Oliver's face softened again as he nodded to his wife at the foot ofthe stairs, and turned to go up once more to his mother's room. CHAPTER II I It seemed to Percy Franklin as he drew near Rome, sliding five hundredfeet high through the summer dawn, that he was approaching the verygates of heaven, or, still better, he was as a child coming home. Forwhat he had left behind him ten hours before in London was not a badspecimen, he thought, of the superior mansions of hell. It was a worldwhence God seemed to have withdrawn Himself, leaving it indeed in astate of profound complacency--a state without hope or faith, but acondition in which, although life continued, there was absent the oneessential to well-being. It was not that there was not expectation--forLondon was on tip-toe with excitement. There were rumours of all kinds:Felsenburgh was coming back; he was back; he had never gone. He was tobe President of the Council, Prime Minister, Tribune, with fullcapacities of democratic government and personal sacro-sanctity, evenKing--if not Emperor of the West. The entire constitution was to beremodelled, there was to be a complete rearrangement of the pieces;crime was to be abolished by the mysterious power that had killed war;there was to be free food--the secret of life was discovered, there wasto be no more death--so the rumours ran. .. . Yet that was lacking, to thepriest's mind, which made life worth living. .. . In Paris, while the volor waited at the great station at Montmartre, once known as the Church of the Sacred Heart, he had heard the roaringof the mob in love with life at last, and seen the banners go past. Asit rose again over the suburbs he had seen the long lines of trainsstreaming in, visible as bright serpents in the brilliant glory of theelectric globes, bringing the country folk up to the Council of theNation which the legislators, mad with drama, had summoned to decide thegreat question. At Lyons it had been the same. The night was as clear asthe day, and as full of sound. Mid France was arriving to register itsvotes. He had fallen asleep as the cold air of the Alps began to envelop thecar, and had caught but glimpses of the solemn moonlit peaks below him, the black profundities of the gulfs, the silver glint of the shield-likelakes, and the soft glow of Interlaken and the towns in the Rhonevalley. Once he had been moved in spite of himself, as one of the hugeGerman volors had passed in the night, a blaze of ghostly lights andgilding, resembling a huge moth with antennae of electric light, and thetwo ships had saluted one another through half a league of silent air, with a pathetic cry as of two strange night-birds who have no leisure topause. Milan and Turin had been quiet, for Italy was organised on otherprinciples than France, and Florence was not yet half awake. And now theCampagna was slipping past like a grey-green rug, wrinkled and tumbled, five hundred feet beneath, and Rome was all but in sight. The indicatorabove his seat moved its finger from one hundred to ninety miles. He shook off the doze at last, and drew out his office book; but as hepronounced the words his attention was elsewhere, and, when Prime wassaid, he closed the book once more, propped himself more comfortably, drawing the furs round him, and stretching his feet on the empty seatopposite. He was alone in his compartment; the three men who had come inat Paris had descended at Turin. * * * * * He had been remarkably relieved when the message had come three daysbefore from the Cardinal-Protector, bidding him make arrangements for along absence from England, and, as soon as that was done, to come toRome. He understood that the ecclesiastical authorities were reallydisturbed at last. He reviewed the last day or two, considering the report he would have topresent. Since his last letter, three days before, seven notableapostasies had taken place in Westminster diocese alone, two priests andfive important laymen. There was talk of revolt on all sides; he hadseen a threatening document, called a "petition, " demanding the right todispense with all ecclesiastical vestments, signed by one hundred andtwenty priests from England and Wales. The "petitioners" pointed outthat persecution was coming swiftly at the hands of the mob; that theGovernment was not sincere in the promises of protection; they hintedthat religious loyalty was already strained to breaking-point even inthe case of the most faithful, and that with all but those it hadalready broken. And as to his comments Percy was clear. He would tell the authorities, as he had already told them fifty times, that it was not persecutionthat mattered; it was this new outburst of enthusiasm for Humanity--anenthusiasm which had waxed a hundredfold more hot since the coming ofFelsenburgh and the publication of the Eastern news--which was meltingthe hearts of all but the very few. Man had suddenly fallen in love withman. The conventional were rubbing their eyes and wondering why they hadever believed, or even dreamed, that there was a God to love, asking oneanother what was the secret of the spell that had held them so long. Christianity and Theism were passing together from the world's mind as amorning mist passes when the sun comes up. His recommendations--? Yes, he had those clear, and ran them over in his mind with a sense ofdespair. For himself, he scarcely knew if he believed what he professed. Hisemotions seemed to have been finally extinguished in the vision of thewhite car and the silence of the crowd that evening three weeks before. It had been so horribly real and positive; the delicate aspirations andhopes of the soul appeared so shadowy when compared with that burning, heart-shaking passion of the people. He had never seen anything like it;no congregation under the spell of the most kindling preacher alive hadever responded with one-tenth of the fervour with which that irreligiouscrowd, standing in the cold dawn of the London streets, had greeted thecoming of their saviour. And as for the man himself--Percy could notanalyse what it was that possessed him as he had stared, muttering thename of Jesus, on that quiet figure in black with features and hair solike his own. He only knew that a hand had gripped his heart--a handwarm, not cold--and had quenched, it seemed, all sense of religiousconviction. It had only been with an effort that sickened him toremember, that he had refrained from that interior act of capitulationthat is so familiar to all who have cultivated an inner life andunderstand what failure means. There had been one citadel that had notflung wide its gates--all else had yielded. His emotions had beenstormed, his intellect silenced, his memory of grace obscured, aspiritual nausea had sickened his soul, yet the secret fortress of thewill had, in an agony, held fast the doors and refused to cry out andcall Felsenburgh king. Ah! how he had prayed during those three weeks! It appeared to him thathe had done little else; there had been no peace. Lances of doubt thrustagain and again through door and window; masses of argument had crashedfrom above; he had been on the alert day and night, repelling this, blindly, and denying that, endeavouring to keep his foothold on theslippery plane of the supernatural, sending up cry after cry to the LordWho hid Himself. He had slept with his crucifix in his hand, he hadawakened himself by kissing it; while he wrote, talked, ate, walked, andsat in cars, the inner life had been busy-making frantic speechless actsof faith in a religion which his intellect denied and from which hisemotions shrank. There had been moments of ecstasy--now in a crowdedstreet, when he recognised that God was all, that the Creator was thekey to the creature's life, that a humble act of adoration wastranscendently greater than the most noble natural act, that theSupernatural was the origin and end of existence there had come to himsuch moments in the night, in the silence of the Cathedral, when thelamp flickered, and a soundless air had breathed from the iron door ofthe tabernacle. Then again passion ebbed, and left him stranded onmisery, but set with a determination (which might equally be that ofpride or faith) that no power in earth or hell should hinder him fromprofessing Christianity even if he could not realise it. It wasChristianity alone that made life tolerable. Percy drew a long vibrating breath, and changed his position; for faraway his unseeing eyes had descried a dome, like a blue bubble set on acarpet of green; and his brain had interrupted itself to tell him thatthis was Rome. He got up presently, passed out of his compartment, andmoved forward up the central gangway, seeing, as he went, through theglass doors to right and left his fellow-passengers, some still asleep, some staring out at the view, some reading. He put his eye to the glasssquare in the door, and for a minute or two watched, fascinated, thesteady figure of the steerer at his post. There he stood motionless, hishands on the steel circle that directed the vast wings, his eyes on thewind-gauge that revealed to him as on the face of a clock both the forceand the direction of the high gusts; now and again his hands movedslightly, and the huge fans responded, now lifting, now lowering. Beneath him and in front, fixed on a circular table, were the glassdomes of various indicators--Percy did not know the meaning of half--oneseemed a kind of barometer, intended, he guessed, to declare the heightat which they were travelling, another a compass. And beyond, throughthe curved windows, lay the enormous sky. Well, it was all verywonderful, thought the priest, and it was with the force of which allthis was but one symptom that the supernatural had to compete. He sighed, turned, and went back to his compartment. It was an astonishing vision that began presently to open beforehim--scarcely beautiful except for its strangeness, and as unreal as araised map. Far to his right, as he could see through the glass doors, lay the grey line of the sea against the luminous sky, rising andfalling ever so slightly as the car, apparently motionless, tiltedimperceptibly against the western breeze; the only other movement wasthe faint pulsation of the huge throbbing screw in the rear. To the leftstretched the limitless country, flitting beneath, in glimpses seenbetween the motionless wings, with here and there the streak of avillage, flattened out of recognition, or the flash of water, andbounded far away by the low masses of the Umbrian hills; while in front, seen and gone again as the car veered, lay the confused line of Rome andthe huge new suburbs, all crowned by the great dome growing everyinstant. Around, above and beneath, his eyes were conscious of wideair-spaces, overhead deepening into lapis-lazuli down to horizons ofpale turquoise. The only sound, of which he had long ceased to bedirectly conscious, was that of the steady rush of air, less shrill nowas the speed began to drop down--down--to forty miles an hour. There wasa clang of a bell, and immediately he was aware of a sense of faintsickness as the car dropped in a glorious swoop, and he staggered alittle as he grasped his rugs together. When he looked again the motionseemed to have ceased; he could see towers ahead, a line of house-roofs, and beneath he caught a glimpse of a road and more roofs with patches ofgreen between. A bell clanged again, and a long sweet cry followed. Onall sides he could hear the movement of feet; a guard in uniform passedswiftly along the glazed corridor; again came the faint nausea; and ashe looked up once more from his luggage for an instant he saw the dome, grey now and lined, almost on a level with his own eyes, huge againstthe vivid sky. The world span round for a moment; he shut his eyes, andwhen he looked again walls seemed to heave up past him and stop, swaying. There was the last bell, a faint vibration as the car groundedin the steel-netted dock; a line of faces rocked and grew still outsidethe windows, and Percy passed out towards the doors, carrying his bags. II He still felt a sense of insecure motion as he sat alone over coffee anhour later in one of the remote rooms of the Vatican; but there was asense of exhilaration as well, as his tired brain realised where he was. It had been strange to drive over the rattling stones in the weedylittle cab, such as he remembered ten years ago when he had left Rome, newly ordained. While the world had moved on, Rome had stood still; shehad other affairs to think of than physical improvements, now that thespiritual weight of the earth rested entirely upon her shoulders. Allhad seemed unchanged--or rather it had reverted to the condition ofnearly one hundred and fifty years ago. Histories related how theimprovements of the Italian government had gradually dropped out of useas soon as the city, eighty years before, had been given herindependence; the trains ceased to run; volors were not allowed to enterthe walls; the new buildings, permitted to remain, had been converted toecclesiastical use; the Quirinal became the offices of the "Red Pope";the embassies, huge seminaries; even the Vatican itself, with theexception of the upper floor, had become the abode of the SacredCollege, who surrounded the Supreme Pontiff as stars their sun. It was an extraordinary city, said antiquarians--the one living exampleof the old days. Here were to be seen the ancient inconveniences, theinsanitary horrors, the incarnation of a world given over to dreaming. The old Church pomp was back, too; the cardinals drove again in giltcoaches; the Pope rode on his white mule; the Blessed Sacrament wentthrough the ill-smelling streets with the sound of bells and the lightof lanterns. A brilliant description of it had interested the civilisedworld immensely for about forty-eight hours; the appalling retrogressionwas still used occasionally as the text for violent denunciations by thepoorly educated; the well-educated had ceased to do anything but takefor granted that superstition and progress were irreconcilable enemies. Yet Percy, even in the glimpses he had had in the streets, as he drovefrom the volor station outside the People's Gate, of the old peasantdresses, the blue and red-fringed wine carts, the cabbage-strewngutters, the wet clothes flapping on strings, the mules andhorses--strange though these were, he had found them a refreshment. Ithad seemed to remind him that man was human, and not divine as the restof the world proclaimed--human, and therefore careless andindividualistic; human, and therefore occupied with interests other thanthose of speed, cleanliness, and precision. The room in which he sat now by the window with shading blinds, for thesun was already hot, seemed to revert back even further than to acentury-and-a-half. The old damask and gilding that he had expected wasgone, and its absence gave the impression of great severity. There was awide deal table running the length of the room, with upright wooden armchairs set against it; the floor was red-tiled, with strips of mattingfor the feet, the white, distempered walls had only a couple of oldpictures hung upon them, and a large crucifix flanked by candles stoodon a little altar by the further door. There was no more furniture thanthat, with the exception of a writing-desk between the windows, on whichstood a typewriter. That jarred somehow on his sense of fitness, and hewondered at it. He finished the last drop of coffee in the thick-rimmed white cup, andsat back in his chair. * * * * * Already the burden was lighter, and he was astonished at the swiftnesswith which it had become so. Life looked simpler here; the interiorworld was taken more for granted; it was not even a matter of debate. There it was, imperious and objective, and through it glimmered to theeyes of the soul the old Figures that had become shrouded behind therush of worldly circumstance. The very shadow of God appeared to resthere; it was no longer impossible to realise that the saints watched andinterceded, that Mary sat on her throne, that the white disc on thealtar was Jesus Christ. Percy was not yet at peace after all, he hadbeen but an hour in Rome; and air, charged with never so much grace, could scarcely do more than it had done. But he felt more at ease, lessdesperately anxious, more childlike, more content to rest on theauthority that claimed without explanation, and asserted that the world, as a matter of fact, proved by evidences without and within, was madethis way and not that, for this purpose and not the other. Yet he hadused the conveniences which he hated; he had left London a bare twelvehours before, and now here he sat in a place which was either a stagnantbackwater of life, or else the very mid-current of it; he was not yetsure which. * * * * * There was a step outside, a handle was turned; and theCardinal-Protector came through. Percy had not seen him for four years, and for a moment scarcelyrecognised him. It was a very old man that he saw now, bent and feeble, his face coveredwith wrinkles, crowned by very thin, white hair, and the little scarletcap on top; he was in his black Benedictine habit with a plain abbatialcross on his breast, and walked hesitatingly, with a black stick. Theonly sign of vigour was in the narrow bright slit of his eyes showingbeneath drooping lids. He held out his hand, smiling, and Percy, remembering in time that he was in the Vatican, bowed low only as hekissed the amethyst. "Welcome to Rome, father, " said the old man, speaking with an unexpectedbriskness. "They told me you were here half-an-hour ago; I thought Iwould leave you to wash and have your coffee. " Percy murmured something. "Yes; you are tired, no doubt, " said the Cardinal, pulling out a chair. "Indeed not, your Eminence. I slept excellently. " The Cardinal made a little gesture to a chair. "But I must have a word with you. The Holy Father wishes to see you ateleven o'clock. " Percy started a little. "We move quickly in these days, father. .. . There is no time to dawdle. You understand that you are to remain in Rome for the present?" "I have made all arrangements for that, your Eminence. " "That is very well. .. . We are pleased with you here, Father Franklin. The Holy Father has been greatly impressed by your comments. You haveforeseen things in a very remarkable manner. " Percy flushed with pleasure. It was almost the first hint ofencouragement he had had. Cardinal Martin went on. "I may say that you are considered our most valuablecorrespondent--certainly in England. That is why you are summoned. Youare to help us here in future--a kind of consultor: any one can relatefacts; not every one can understand them. .. . You look very young, father. How old are you?" "I am thirty-three, your Eminence. " "Ah! your white hair helps you. .. . Now, father, will you come with meinto my room? It is now eight o'clock. I will keep you till nine--nolonger. Then you shall have some rest, and at eleven I shall take you upto his Holiness. " Percy rose with a strange sense of elation, and ran to open the door forthe Cardinal to go through. III At a few minutes before eleven Percy came out of his little white-washedroom in his new ferraiuola, soutane and buckle shoes, and tapped at thedoor of the Cardinal's room. He felt a great deal more self-possessed now. He had talked to theCardinal freely and strongly, had described the effect that Felsenburghhad had upon London, and even the paralysis that had seized uponhimself. He had stated his belief that they were on the edge of amovement unparalleled in history: he related little scenes that he hadwitnessed--a group kneeling before a picture of Felsenburgh, a dying mancalling him by name, the aspect of the crowd that had waited inWestminster to hear the result of the offer made to the stranger. Heshowed him half-a-dozen cuttings from newspapers, pointing out theirhysterical enthusiasm; he even went so far as to venture upon prophecy, and to declare his belief that persecution was within reasonabledistance. "The world seems very oddly alive, " he said; "it is as if the wholething was flushed and nervous. " The Cardinal nodded. "We, too, " he said, "even we feel it. " For the rest the Cardinal had sat watching him out of his narrow eyes, nodding from time to time, putting an occasional question, but listeningthroughout with great attention. "And your recommendations, father---" he had said, and then interruptedhimself. "No, that is too much to ask. The Holy Father will speak ofthat. " He had congratulated him upon his Latin then--for they had spoken inthat language throughout this second interview; and Percy had explainedhow loyal Catholic England had been in obeying the order, given tenyears before, that Latin should become to the Church what Esperanto wasbecoming to the world. "That is very well, " said the old man. "His Holiness will be pleased atthat. " At his second tap the door opened and the Cardinal came out, taking himby the arm without a word; and together they turned to the liftentrance. Percy ventured to make a remark as they slid noiselessly up towards thepapal apartment. "I am surprised at the lift, your Eminence, and the typewriter in theaudience-room. " "Why, father?" "Why, all the rest of Rome is back in the old days. " The Cardinal looked at him, puzzled. "Is it? I suppose it is. I never thought of that. " A Swiss guard flung back the door of the lift, saluted and went beforethem along the plain flagged passage to where his comrade stood. Then hesaluted again and went back. A Pontifical chamberlain, in all the sombreglory of purple, black, and a Spanish ruff, peeped from the door, andmade haste to open it. It really seemed almost incredible that suchthings still existed. "In a moment, your Eminence, " he said in Latin. "Will your Eminence waithere?" It was a little square room, with half-a-dozen doors, plainly contrivedout of one of the huge old halls, for it was immensely high, and thetarnished gilt cornice vanished directly in two places into the whitewalls. The partitions, too, seemed thin; for as the two men sat downthere was a murmur of voices faintly audible, the shuffling offootsteps, and the old eternal click of the typewriter from which Percyhoped he had escaped. They were alone in the room, which was furnishedwith the same simplicity as the Cardinal's--giving the impression of acurious mingling of ascetic poverty and dignity by its red-tiled floor, its white walls, its altar and two vast bronze candlesticks ofincalculable value that stood on the dais. The shutters here, too, weredrawn; and there was nothing to distract Percy from the excitement thatsurged up now tenfold in heart and brain. It was _Papa Angelicus_ whom he was about to see; that amazing old manwho had been appointed Secretary of State just fifty years ago, at theage of thirty, and Pope nine years previously. It was he who had carriedout the extraordinary policy of yielding the churches throughout thewhole of Italy to the Government, in exchange for the temporal lordshipof Rome, and who had since set himself to make it a city of saints. Hehad cared, it appeared, nothing whatever for the world's opinion; hispolicy, so far as it could be called one, consisted in a very simplething: he had declared in Epistle after Epistle that the object of theChurch was to do glory to God by producing supernatural virtues in man, and that nothing at all was of any significance or importance except sofar as it effected this object. He had further maintained that sincePeter was the Rock, the City of Peter was the Capital of the world, andshould set an example to its dependency: this could not be done unlessPeter ruled his City, and therefore he had sacrificed every church andecclesiastical building in the country for that one end. Then he had setabout ruling his city: he had said that on the whole the latter-daydiscoveries of man tended to distract immortal souls from acontemplation of eternal verities--not that these discoveries could beanything but good in themselves, since after all they gave insight intothe wonderful laws of God--but that at present they were too exciting tothe imagination. So he had removed the trams, the volors, thelaboratories, the manufactories--saying that there was plenty of roomfor them outside Rome--and had allowed them to be planted in thesuburbs: in their place he had raised shrines, religious houses andCalvaries. Then he had attended further to the souls of his subjects. Since Rome was of limited area, and, still more because the worldcorrupted without its proper salt, he allowed no man under the age offifty to live within its walls for more than one month in each year, except those who received his permit. They might live, of course, immediately outside the city (and they did, by tens of thousands), butthey were to understand that by doing so they sinned against the spirit, though not the letter, of their Father's wishes. Then he had divided thecity into national quarters, saying that as each nation had its peculiarvirtues, each was to let its light shine steadily in its proper place. Rents had instantly begun to rise, so he had legislated against that byreserving in each quarter a number of streets at fixed prices, and hadissued an ipso facto excommunication against all who erred in thisrespect. The rest were abandoned to the millionaires. He had retainedthe Leonine City entirely at his own disposal. Then he had restoredCapital Punishment, with as much serene gravity as that with which hehad made himself the derision of the civilised world in other matters, saying that though human life was holy, human virtue was more holystill; and he had added to the crime of murder, the crimes of adultery, idolatry and apostasy, for which this punishment was theoreticallysanctioned. There had not been, however, more than two such executionsin the eight years of his reign, since criminals, of course, with theexception of devoted believers, instantly made their way to the suburbs, where they were no longer under his jurisdiction. But he had not stayed here. He had sent once more ambassadors to everycountry in the world, informing the Government of each of their arrival. No attention was paid to this, beyond that of laughter; but he hadcontinued, undisturbed, to claim his rights, and, meanwhile, used hislegates for the important work of disseminating his views. Epistlesappeared from time to time in every town, laying down the principles ofthe papal claims with as much tranquillity as if they were everywhereacknowledged. Freemasonry was steadily denounced, as well as democraticideas of every kind; men were urged to remember their immortal souls andthe Majesty of God, and to reflect upon the fact that in a few years allwould be called to give their account to Him Who was Creator and Rulerof the world, Whose Vicar was John XXIV, P. P. , whose name and seal wereappended. That was a line of action that took the world completely by surprise. People had expected hysteria, argument, and passionate exhortation;disguised emissaries, plots, and protests. There were none of these. Itwas as if progress had not yet begun, and volors were uninvented, as ifthe entire universe had not come to disbelieve in God, and to discoverthat itself was God. Here was this silly old man, talking in his sleep, babbling of the Cross, and the inner life and the forgiveness of sins, exactly as his predecessors had talked two thousand years before. Well, it was only one sign more that Rome had lost not only its power, but itscommon sense as well. It was really time that something should be done. * * * * * And this was the man, thought Percy, _Papa Angelicus_, whom he was tosee in a minute or two. The Cardinal put his hand on the priest's knee as the door opened, and apurple prelate appeared, bowing. "Only this, " he said. "Be absolutely frank. " Percy stood up, trembling. Then he followed his patron towards the innerdoor. IV A white figure sat in the green gloom, beside a great writing-table, three or four yards away, but with the chair wheeled round to face thedoor by which the two entered. So much Percy saw as he performed thefirst genuflection. Then he dropped his eyes, advanced, genuflectedagain with the other, advanced once more, and for the third timegenuflected, lifting the thin white hand, stretched out, to his lips. Heheard the door close as he stood up. "Father Franklin, Holiness, " said the Cardinal's voice at his ear. A white-sleeved arm waved to a couple of chairs set a yard away, and thetwo sat down. * * * * * While the Cardinal, talking in slow Latin, said a few sentences, explaining that this was the English priest whose correspondence hadbeen found so useful, Percy began to look with all his eyes. He knew the Pope's face well, from a hundred photographs and movingpictures; even his gestures were familiar to him, the slight bowing ofthe head in assent, the tiny eloquent movement of the hands; but Percy, with a sense of being platitudinal, told himself that the livingpresence was very different. It was a very upright old man that he saw in the chair before him, ofmedium height and girth, with hands clasping the bosses of hischair-arms, and an appearance of great and deliberate dignity. But itwas at the face chiefly that he looked, dropping his gaze three or fourtimes, as the Pope's blue eyes turned on him. They were extraordinaryeyes, reminding him of what historians said of Pius X. ; the lids drewstraight lines across them, giving him the look of a hawk, but the restof the face contradicted them. There was no sharpness in that. It wasneither thin nor fat, but beautifully modelled in an oval outline: thelips were clean-cut, with a look of passion in their curves; the nosecame down in an aquiline sweep, ending in chiselled nostrils; the chinwas firm and cloven, and the poise of the whole head was strangelyyouthful. It was a face of great generosity and sweetness, set at anangle between defiance and humility, but ecclesiastical from ear to earand brow to chin; the forehead was slightly compressed at the temples, and beneath the white cap lay white hair. It had been the subject oflaughter at the music-halls nine years before, when the composite faceof well-known priests had been thrown on a screen, side by side with thenew Pope's, for the two were almost indistinguishable. Percy found himself trying to sum it up, but nothing came to him exceptthe word "priest. " It was that, and that was all. _Ecce sacerdosmagnus!_ He was astonished at the look of youth, for the Pope waseighty-eight this year; yet his figure was as upright as that of a manof fifty, his shoulders unbowed, his head set on them like an athlete's, and his wrinkles scarcely perceptible in the half light. _PapaAngelicus!_ reflected Percy. The Cardinal ceased his explanations, and made a little gesture. Percydrew up all his faculties tense and tight to answer the questions thathe knew were coming. "I welcome you, my son, " said a very soft, resonant voice. Percy bowed, desperately, from the waist. The Pope dropped his eyes again, lifted a paper-weight with his lefthand, and began to play with it gently as he talked. "Now, my son, deliver a little discourse. I suggest to you threeheads--what has happened, what is happening, what will happen, with aperoration as to what should happen. " Percy drew a long breath, settled himself back, clasped the fingers ofhis left hand in the fingers of his right, fixed his eyes firmly uponthe cross-embroidered red shoe opposite, and began. (Had he notrehearsed this a hundred times!) * * * * * He first stated his theme; to the effect that all the forces of thecivilised world were concentrating into two camps--the world and God. Upto the present time the forces of the world had been incoherent andspasmodic, breaking out in various ways--revolutions and wars had beenlike the movements of a mob, undisciplined, unskilled, and unrestrained. To meet this, the Church, too, had acted through her Catholicity--dispersion rather than concentration: _franc-tireurs_ had been opposedto _franc-tireurs_. But during the last hundred years there had beenindications that the method of warfare was to change. Europe, at anyrate, had grown weary of internal strife; the unions first of Labour, then of Capital, then of Labour and Capital combined, illustrated thisin the economic sphere; the peaceful partition of Africa in thepolitical sphere; the spread of Humanitarian religion in the spiritualsphere. Over against this must be placed the increased centralisation ofthe Church. By the wisdom of her pontiffs, over-ruled by God Almighty, the lines had been drawing tighter every year. He instanced theabolition of all local usages, including those so long cherished by theEast, the establishment of the Cardinal-Protectorates in Rome, theenforced merging of all friars into one Order, though retaining theirfamiliar names, under the authority of the supreme General; all monks, with the exception of the Carthusians, the Carmelites and the Trappists, into another; of the three excepted into a third; and the classificationof nuns after the same plan. Further, he remarked on the more recentdecrees, establishing the sense of the Vatican decision oninfallibility, the new version of Canon Law, the immense simplificationthat had taken place in ecclesiastical government, the hierarchy, rubrics and the affairs of missionary countries, with the new andextraordinary privileges granted to mission priests. At this point hebecame aware that his self-consciousness had left him, and he began, even with little gestures, and a slightly raised voice, to enlarge onthe significance of the last month's events. All that had gone before, he said, pointed to what had now actuallytaken place--namely, the reconciliation of the world on a basis otherthan that of Divine Truth. It was the intention of God and of His Vicarsto reconcile all men in Christ Jesus; but the corner-stone had once morebeen rejected, and instead of the chaos that the pious had prophesied, there was coming into existence a unity unlike anything known inhistory. This was the more deadly from the fact that it contained somany elements of indubitable good. War, apparently, was now extinct, andit was not Christianity that had done it; union was now seen to bebetter than disunion, and the lesson had been learned apart from theChurch. In fact, natural virtues had suddenly waxed luxuriant, andsupernatural virtues were despised. Friendliness took the place ofcharity, contentment the place of hope, and knowledge the place offaith. Percy stopped, he had become conscious that he was preaching a kind ofsermon. "Yes, my son, " said the kind voice. "What else?" What else?. .. Very well, continued Percy, movements such as thesebrought forth men, and the Man of this movement was Julian Felsenburgh. He had accomplished a work that--apart from God--seemed miraculous. Hehad broken down the eternal division between East and West, cominghimself from the continent that alone could produce such powers; he hadprevailed by sheer force of personality over the two supreme tyrants oflife religious fanaticism and party government. His influence over theimpassive English was another miracle, yet he had also set on fireFrance, Germany, and Spain. Percy here described one or two of hislittle scenes, saying that it was like the vision of a god: and hequoted freely some of the titles given to the Man by sober, unhystericalnewspapers. Felsenburgh was called the Son of Man, because he was sopure-bred a cosmopolitan; the Saviour of the World, because he had slainwar and himself survived--even--even--here Percy's voice faltered--evenIncarnate God, because he was the perfect representative of divine man. The quiet, priestly face watching opposite never winced or moved; and hewent on. Persecution, he said, was coming. There had been a riot or two already. But persecution was not to be feared. It would no doubt causeapostasies, as it had always done, but these were deplorable only onaccount of the individual apostates. On the other hand, it wouldreassure the faithful; and purge out the half-hearted. Once, in theearly ages, Satan's attack had been made on the bodily side, with whipsand fire and beasts; in the sixteenth century it had been on theintellectual side; in the twentieth century on the springs of moral andspiritual life. Now it seemed as if the assault was on all three planesat once. But what was chiefly to be feared was the positive influence ofHumanitarianism: it was coming, like the kingdom of God, with power; itwas crushing the imaginative and the romantic, it was assuming ratherthan asserting its own truth; it was smothering with bolsters instead ofwounding and stimulating with steel or controversy. It seemed to beforcing its way, almost objectively, into the inner world. Persons whohad scarcely heard its name were professing its tenets; priests absorbedit, as they absorbed God in Communion--he mentioned the names of therecent apostates--children drank it in like Christianity itself. Thesoul "naturally Christian" seemed to be becoming "the soul naturallyinfidel. " Persecution, cried the priest, was to be welcomed likesalvation, prayed for, and grasped; but he feared that the authoritieswere too shrewd, and knew the antidote and the poison apart. There mightbe individual martyrdoms--in fact there would be, and very many--butthey would be in spite of secular government, not because of it. Finally, he expected, Humanitarianism would presently put on the dressof liturgy and sacrifice, and when that was done, the Church's cause, unless God intervened, would be over. Percy sat back, trembling. "Yes, my son. And what do you think should be done?" Percy flung out his hands. "Holy Father--the mass, prayer, the rosary. These first and last. Theworld denies their power: it is on their power that Christians mustthrow all their weight. All things in Jesus Christ--in Jesus Christ, first and last. Nothing else can avail. He must do all, for we can donothing. " The white head bowed. Then it rose erect. "Yes, my son. .. . But so long as Jesus Christ deigns to use us, we mustbe used. He is Prophet and King as well as Priest. We then, too, must beprophet and king as well as priest. What of Prophecy and Royalty?" The voice thrilled Percy like a trumpet. "Yes, Holiness. .. . For prophecy, then, let us preach charity; forRoyalty, let us reign on crosses. We must love and suffer. .. . " (He drewone sobbing breath. ) "Your Holiness has preached charity always. Letcharity then issue in good deeds. Let us be foremost in them; let usengage in trade honestly, in family life chastely, in governmentuprightly. And as for suffering--ah! Holiness!" His old scheme leaped back to his mind, and stood poised thereconvincing and imperious. "Yes, my son, speak plainly. " "Your Holiness--it is old--old as Rome--every fool has desired it: a newOrder, Holiness--a new Order, " he stammered. The white hand dropped the paper-weight; the Pope leaned forward, looking intently at the priest. "Yes, my son?" Percy threw himself on his knees. "A new Order, Holiness--no habit or badge--subject to your Holinessonly--freer than Jesuits, poorer than Franciscans, more mortified thanCarthusians: men and women alike--the three vows with the intention ofmartyrdom; the Pantheon for their Church; each bishop responsible fortheir sustenance; a lieutenant in each country. .. . (Holiness, it is thethought of a fool. ) . .. And Christ Crucified for their patron. " The Pope stood up abruptly--so abruptly that Cardinal Martin sprang uptoo, apprehensive and terrified. It seemed that this young man had gonetoo far. Then the Pope sat down again, extending his hand. "God bless you, my son. You have leave to go. .. . Will your Eminence stayfor a few minutes?" CHAPTER III I The Cardinal said very little to Percy when they met again that evening, beyond congratulating him on the way he had borne himself with the Pope. It seemed that the priest had done right by his extreme frankness. Thenhe told him of his duties. Percy was to retain the couple of rooms that had been put at hisdisposal; he was to say mass, as a rule, in the Cardinal's oratory; andafter that, at nine, he was to present himself for instructions: he wasto dine at noon with the Cardinal, after which he was to considerhimself at liberty till _Ave Maria_: then, once more he was to be at hismaster's disposal until supper. The work he would principally have to dowould be the reading of all English correspondence, and the drawing upof a report upon it. Percy found it a very pleasant and serene life, and the sense of homedeepened every day. He had an abundance of time to himself, which heoccupied resolutely in relaxation. From eight to nine he usually walkedabroad, going sedately through the streets with his senses passive, looking into churches, watching the people, and gradually absorbing thestrange naturalness of life under ancient conditions. At times itappeared to him like an historical dream; at times it seemed that therewas no other reality; that the silent, tense world of moderncivilisation was itself a phantom, and that here was the simplenaturalness of the soul's childhood back again. Even the reading of theEnglish correspondence did not greatly affect him, for the stream of hismind was beginning to run clear again in this sweet old channel; and heread, dissected, analysed and diagnosed with a deepening tranquillity. There was not, after all, a great deal of news. It was a kind of lullafter storm. Felsenburgh was still in retirement; he had refused theoffers made to him by France and Italy, as that of England; and, although nothing definite was announced, it seemed that he was confininghimself at present to an unofficial attitude. Meanwhile the Parliamentsof Europe were busy in the preliminary stages of code-revision. Nothingwould be done, it was understood, until the autumn sessions. Life in Rome was very strange. The city had now become not only thecentre of faith but, in a sense, a microcosm of it. It was divided intofour huge quarters--Anglo-Saxon, Latin, Teutonic and Eastern--besidesTrastevere, which was occupied almost entirely by Papal offices, seminaries, and schools. Anglo-Saxondom occupied the southwesternquarter, now entirely covered with houses, including the Aventine, theCelian and Testaccio. The Latins inhabited old Rome, between the Courseand the river; the Teutons the northeastern quarter, bounded on thesouth by St. Laurence's Street; and the Easterns the remaining quarter, of which the centre was the Lateran. In this manner the true Romans werescarcely conscious of intrusion; they possessed a multitude of their ownchurches, they were allowed to revel in narrow, dark streets and holdtheir markets; and it was here that Percy usually walked, in a passionof historical retrospect. But the other quarters were strange enough, too. It was curious to see how a progeny of Gothic churches, served bynorthern priests, had grown up naturally in the Anglo-Saxon and Teutonicdistricts, and how the wide, grey streets, the neat pavements, thesevere houses, showed how the northerns had not yet realised therequirements of southern life. The Easterns, on the other hand, resembled the Latins; their streets were as narrow and dark, theirsmells as overwhelming, their churches as dirty and as homely, and theircolours even more brilliant. Outside the walls the confusion was indescribable. If the cityrepresented a carved miniature of the world, the suburbs represented thesame model broken into a thousand pieces, tumbled in a bag and shot outat random. So far as the eye could see, on all sides from the roof ofthe Vatican, there stretched an endless plain of house-roofs, broken byspires, towers, domes and chimneys, under which lived human beings ofevery race beneath the sun. Here were the great manufactories, themonster buildings of the new world, the stations, the schools, theoffices, all under secular dominion, yet surrounded by six millions ofsouls who lived here for love of religion. It was these who haddespaired of modern life, tired out with change and effort, who had fledfrom the new system for refuge to the Church, but who could not obtainleave to live in the city itself. New houses were continually springingup in all directions. A gigantic compass, fixed by one leg in Rome, andwith a span of five miles, would, if twirled, revolve through packedstreets through its entire circle. Beyond that too houses stretched intothe indefinite distance. But Percy did not realise the significance of all that he saw, until theoccasion of the Pope's name-day towards the end of August. It was yet cool and early, when he followed his patron, whom he was toserve as chaplain, along the broad passages of the Vatican towards theroom where the Pope and Cardinals were to assemble. Through a window, ashe looked out into the Piazza, the crowd was yet more dense, if thatwere possible, than it had been an hour before. The huge oval square wascobbled with heads, through which ran a broad road, kept by papal troopsfor the passage of the carriages; and up the broad ribbon, white in theeastern light, came monstrous vehicles, a blaze of gilding and colourand cream tint; slow cheers swelled up and died, and through all camethe rush and patter of wheels over the stones, like the sound of atide-swept pebbly beach. As they waited in an ante-chamber, halted by the pressure in front andbehind--a pack of scarlet and white and purple--he looked out again, andrealised what he had known only intellectually before, that here beforehis eyes was the royalty of the old world assembled--and he began toperceive its significance. Round the steps of the basilica spread a great fan of coaches, eachyoked to eight horses--the white of France and Spain, the black ofGermany, Italy and Russia, and the cream-coloured of England. Thosestood out in the near half-circle, and beyond was the sweep of thelesser powers: Greece, Norway, Sweden, Roumania and the Balkan States. One, the Turk, was alone wanting, he reminded himself. The emblems ofsome were visible--eagles, lions, leopards--guarding the royal crownabove the roof of each. From the foot of the steps to the head ran abroad scarlet carpet, lined with soldiers. Percy leaned against the shutter, and began to meditate. Here was allthat was left of Royalty. He had seen their palaces before, here andthere in the various quarters, with standards flying, andscarlet-liveried men lounging on the steps. He had raised his hat adozen times as a landau thundered past him up the Course; be had evenseen the lilies of France and the leopards of England pass together inthe solemn parade of the Pincian Hill. He had read in the papers everynow and again during the last five years that family after family hadmade its way to Rome, after papal recognition had been granted; he hadbeen told by the Cardinal on the previous evening that William ofEngland, with his Consort, had landed at Ostia in the morning and thatthe tale of the Powers was complete. But he had never before realisedthe stupendous, overwhelming fact of the assembly of the world's royaltyunder the shadow of Peter's Throne, nor the appalling danger that itspresence constituted in the midst of a democratic world. That world, heknew, affected to laugh at the folly and the childishness of it all--atthe desperate play-acting of Divine Right on the part of fallen anddespised families; but the same world, he knew very well, had not yetlost quite all its sentiment; and if that sentiment should happen tobecome resentful--- The pressure relaxed; Percy slipped out of the recess, and followed inthe slow-moving stream. Half-an-hour later he was in his place among the ecclesiastics, as thepapal procession came out through the glimmering dusk of the chapel ofthe Blessed Sacrament into the nave of the enormous church; but evenbefore he had entered the chapel he heard the quiet roar of recognitionand the cry of the trumpets that greeted the Supreme Pontiff as he cameout, a hundred yards ahead, borne on the _sedia gestatoria_, with thefans going behind him. When Percy himself came out, five minutes later, walking in his quaternion, and saw the sight that was waiting, heremembered with a sudden throb at his heart that other sight he had seenin London in a summer dawn three months before. .. . Far ahead, seeming to cleave its way through the surging heads, like thepoop of an ancient ship, moved the canopy beneath which sat the Lord ofthe world, and between him and the priest, as if it were the wake ofthat same ship, swayed the gorgeous procession--Protonotaries Apostolic, Generals of Religious Orders and the rest--making its way along withwhite, gold, scarlet and silver foam between the living banks on eitherside. Overhead hung the splendid barrel of the roof, and far in frontthe haven of God's altar reared its monstrous pillars, beneath whichburned the seven yellow stars that were the harbour lights of sanctity. It was an astonishing sight, but too vast and bewildering to do anythingbut oppress the observers with a consciousness of their own futility. The enormous enclosed air, the giant statues, the dim and distant roofs, the indescribable concert of sound--of the movement of feet, the murmurof ten thousand voices, the peal of organs like the crying of gnats, thethin celestial music--the faint suggestive smell of incense and men andbruised bay and myrtle--and, supreme above all, the vibrant atmosphereof human emotion, shot with supernatural aspiration, as the Hope of theWorld, the holder of Divine Vice-Royalty, passed on his way to standbetween God and man--this affected the priest as the action of a drugthat at once lulls and stimulates, that blinds while it gives newvision, that deafens while it opens stopped ears, that exalts while itplunges into new gulfs of consciousness. Here, then, was the otherformulated answer to the problem of life. The two Cities of Augustinelay for him to choose. The one was that of a world self-originated, self-organised and self-sufficient, interpreted by such men as Marx andHerve, socialists, materialists, and, in the end, hedonists, summed upat last in Felsenburgh. The other lay displayed in the sight he sawbefore him, telling of a Creator and of a creation, of a Divine purpose, a redemption, and a world transcendent and eternal from which all sprangand to which all moved. One of the two, John and Julian, was the Vicar, and the other the Ape, of God. .. . And Percy's heart in one more spasm ofconviction made its choice. .. . But the summit was not yet reached. As Percy came at last out from the nave beneath the dome, on his way tothe tribune beyond the papal throne, he became aware of a new element. A great space was cleared about the altar and confession, extending, ashe could see at least on his side, to the point that marked the entranceto the transepts; at this point ran rails straight across from side toside, continuing the lines of the nave. Beyond this red-hung barrier laya gradual slope of faces, white and motionless; a glimmer of steelbounded it, and above, a third of the distance down the transept, rosein solemn serried array a line of canopies. These were of scarlet, likecardinalitial baldachini, but upon the upright surface of each burnedgigantic coats supported by beasts and topped by crowns. Under each wasa figure or two--no more--in splendid isolation, and through theinterspaces between the thrones showed again a misty slope of faces. His heart quickened as he saw it--as he swept his eyes round and acrossto the right and saw as in a mirror the replica of the left in the righttransept. It was there then that they sat--those lonely survivors ofthat strange company of persons who, till half-a-century ago, hadreigned as God's temporal Vicegerents with the consent of theirsubjects. They were unrecognised, now, save by Him from whom they drewtheir sovereignty--pinnacles clustering and hanging from a dome, fromwhich the walls had been withdrawn. These were men and women who hadlearned at last that power comes from above, and their title to rulecame not from their subjects but from the Supreme Ruler ofall--shepherds without sheep, captains without soldiers to command. Itwas piteous--horribly piteous, yet inspiring. The act of faith was sosublime; and Percy's heart quickened as he understood it. These, then, men and women like himself, were not ashamed to appeal from man to God, to assume insignia which the world regarded as playthings, but which tothem were emblems of supernatural commission. Was there not mirroredhere, he asked himself, some far-off shadow of One Who rode on the coltof an ass amid the sneers of the great and the enthusiasm ofchildren?. .. * * * * * It was yet more kindling as the mass went on, and he saw the malesovereigns come down to do their services at the altar, and to go to andfro between it and the Throne. There they went bareheaded, the statelysilent figures. The English king, once again _Fidei Defensor_, bore thetrain in place of the old king of Spain, who, with the Austrian Emperor, alone of all European sovereigns, had preserved the unbroken continuityof faith. The old man leaned over his fald-stool, mumbling and weeping, even crying out now and again in love and devotion, as, like Simeon, hesaw his Salvation. The Austrian Emperor twice administered the Lavabo;the German sovereign, who had lost his throne and all but his life uponhis conversion four years before, by a new privilege placed and withdrewthe cushion, as his Lord kneeled before the Lord of them both. Somovement by movement the gorgeous drama was enacted; the murmuring ofthe crowds died to a stillness that was but one wordless prayer as thetiny White Disc rose between the white hands, and the thin angelic musicpealed in the dome. For here was the one hope of these thousands, asmighty and as little as once within the Manger. There was none otherthat fought for them but only God. Surely then, if the blood of men andthe tears of women could not avail to move the Judge and Observer of allfrom His silence, surely at least here the bloodless Death of His onlySon, that once on Calvary had darkened heaven and rent the earth, pleaded now with such sorrowful splendour upon this island of faith amida sea of laughter and hatred--this at least must avail! How could itnot? * * * * * Percy had just sat down, tired out with the long ceremonies, when thedoor opened abruptly, and the Cardinal, still in his robes, came inswiftly, shutting the door behind him. "Father Franklin, " he said, in a strange breathless voice, "there is theworst of news. Felsenburgh is appointed President of Europe. " II It was late that night before Percy returned, completely exhausted byhis labours. For hour after hour he had sat with the Cardinal, openingdespatches that poured into the electric receivers from all over Europe, and were brought in one by one into the quiet sitting-room. Three timesin the afternoon the Cardinal had been sent for, once by the Pope andtwice to the Quirinal. There was no doubt at all that the news was true; and it seemed thatFelsenburgh must have waited deliberately for the offer. All others hehad refused. There had been a Convention of the Powers, each of whom hadbeen anxious to secure him, and each of whom had severally failed; theseprivate claims had been withdrawn, and an united message sent. The newproposal was to the effect that Felsenburgh should assume a positionhitherto undreamed of in democracy; that he should receive a House ofGovernment in every capital of Europe; that his veto of any measureshould be final for three years; that any measure he chose to introducethree times in three consecutive years should become law; that his titleshould be that of President of Europe. From his side practically nothingwas asked, except that he should refuse any other official positionoffered him that did not receive the sanction of all the Powers. And allthis, Percy saw very well, involved the danger of an united Europeincreased tenfold. It involved all the stupendous force of Socialismdirected by a brilliant individual. It was the combination of thestrongest characteristics of the two methods of government. The offerhad been accepted by Felsenburgh after eight hours' silence. It was remarkable, too, to observe how the news had been accepted by thetwo other divisions of the world. The East was enthusiastic; America wasdivided. But in any case America was powerless: the balance of the worldwas overwhelmingly against her. Percy threw himself, as he was, on to his bed, and lay there withdrumming pulses, closed eyes and a huge despair at his heart. The worldindeed had risen like a giant over the horizons of Rome, and the holycity was no better now than a sand castle before a tide. So much hegrasped. As to how ruin would come, in what form and from whatdirection, he neither knew nor cared. Only he knew now that it wouldcome. He had learned by now something of his own temperament; and he turnedhis eyes inwards to observe himself bitterly, as a doctor in mortaldisease might with a dreadful complacency diagnose his own symptoms. Itwas even a relief to turn from the monstrous mechanism of the world tosee in miniature one hopeless human heart. For his own religion he nolonger feared; he knew, as absolutely as a man may know the colour ofhis eyes, that it was secure again and beyond shaking. During thoseweeks in Rome the cloudy deposit had run clear and the channel was oncemore visible. Or, better still, that vast erection of dogma, ceremony, custom and morals in which he had been educated, and on which he hadlooked all his life (as a man may stare upon some great set-piece thatbewilders him), seeing now one spark of light, now another, flare andwane in the darkness, had little by little kindled and revealed itselfin one stupendous blaze of divine fire that explains itself. Hugeprinciples, once bewildering and even repellent, were again luminouslyself-evident; he saw, for example, that while Humanity-Religionendeavoured to abolish suffering the Divine Religion embraced it, sothat the blind pangs even of beasts were within the Father's Will andScheme; or that while from one angle one colour only of the web of lifewas visible--material, or intellectual, or artistic--from another theSupernatural was as eminently obvious. Humanity-Religion could only betrue if at least half of man's nature, aspirations and sorrows wereignored. Christianity, on the other hand, at least included andaccounted for these, even if it did not explain them. This . .. And this. .. And this . .. All made the one and perfect whole. There was theCatholic Faith, more certain to him than the existence of himself: itwas true and alive. He might be damned, but God reigned. He might gomad, but Jesus Christ was Incarnate Deity, proving Himself so by deathand Resurrection, and John his Vicar. These things were as the bones ofthe Universe--facts beyond doubting--if they were not true, nothinganywhere was anything but a dream. Difficulties?--Why, there were ten thousand. He did not in the leastunderstand why God had made the world as it was, nor how Hell could bethe creation of Love, nor how bread was transubstantiated into the Bodyof God but--well, these things were so. He had travelled far, he beganto see, from his old status of faith, when he had believed that divinetruth could be demonstrated on intellectual grounds. He had learned now(he knew not how) that the supernatural cried to the supernatural; theChrist without to the Christ within; that pure human reason indeed couldnot contradict, yet neither could it adequately prove the mysteries offaith, except on premisses visible only to him who receives Revelationas a fact; that it is the moral state, rather than the intellectual, towhich the Spirit of God speaks with the greater certitude. That which hehad both learned and taught he now knew, that Faith, having, like manhimself, a body and a spirit--an historical expression and an innerverity--speaks now by one, now by another. This man believes because hesees--accepts the Incarnation or the Church from its credentials; thatman, perceiving that these things are spiritual facts, yields himselfwholly to the message and authority of her who alone professes them, aswell as to the manifestation of them upon the historical plane; and inthe darkness leans upon her arm. Or, best of all, because he hasbelieved, now he sees. So he looked with a kind of interested indolence at other tracts of hisnature. First, there was his intellect, puzzled beyond description, demanding, Why, why, why? Why was it allowed? How was it conceivable that God didnot intervene, and that the Father of men could permit His dear world tobe so ranged against Him? What did He mean to do? Was this eternalsilence never to be broken? It was very well for those that had theFaith, but what of the countless millions who were settling down incontented blasphemy? Were these not, too, His children and the sheep ofHis pasture? What was the Catholic Church made for if not to convert theworld, and why then had Almighty God allowed it, on the one side, todwindle to a handful, and, on the other, the world to find its peaceapart from Him? He considered his emotions, but there was no comfort there, no stimulus. Oh! yes; he could pray still, by mere cold acts of the will, and histheology told him that God accepted such. He could say "_Adveniat regnumtuum. . .. Fiat voluntas tua_, " five thousand times a day, if God wantedthat; but there was no sting or touch, no sense of vibration through thecords that his will threw up to the Heavenly Throne. What in the worldthen did God want him to do? Was it just then to repeat formulas, to liestill, to open despatches, to listen through the telephone, and tosuffer? And then the rest of the world--the madness that had seized upon thenations; the amazing stories that had poured in that day of the men inParis, who, raving like Bacchantes, had stripped themselves naked in thePlace de Concorde, and stabbed themselves to the heart, crying out tothunders of applause that life was too enthralling to be endured; of thewoman who sang herself mad last night in Spain, and fell laughing andfoaming in the concert hall at Seville; of the crucifixion of theCatholics that morning in the Pyrenees, and the apostasy of threebishops in Germany. .. . And this . .. And this . .. And a thousand morehorrors were permitted, and God made no sign and spoke no word. .. . There was a tap, and Percy sprang up as the Cardinal came in. He looked horribly worn; and his eyes had a kind of sunken brilliancethat revealed fever. He made a little motion to Percy to sit down, andhimself sat in the deep chair, trembling a little, and gathering hisbuckled feet beneath his red-buttoned cassock. "You must forgive me, father, " he said. "I am anxious for the Bishop'ssafety. He should be here by now. " This was the Bishop of Southwark, Percy remembered, who had left Englandearly that morning. "He is coming straight through, your Eminence?" "Yes; he should have been here by twenty-three. It is after midnight, isit not?" As he spoke, the bells chimed out the half-hour. It was nearly quiet now. All day the air had been full of sound; mobshad paraded the suburbs; the gates of the City had been barred, yet thatwas only an earnest of what was to be expected when the world understooditself. The Cardinal seemed to recover himself after a few minutes' silence. "You look tired out, father, " he said kindly. Percy smiled. "And your Eminence?" he said. The old man smiled too. "Why, yes, " he said. "I shall not last much longer, father. And then itwill be you to suffer. " Percy sat up, suddenly, sick at heart. "Why, yes, " said the Cardinal. "The Holy Father has arranged it. You areto succeed me, you know. It need be no secret. " Percy drew a long trembling breath. "Eminence, " he began piteously. The other lifted a thin old hand. "I understand all that, " he said softly. "You wish to die, is it notso?--and be at peace. There are many who wish that. But we must sufferfirst. _Et pati et mori_. Father Franklin, there must be no faltering. " There was a long silence. The news was too stunning to convey anything to the priest but a senseof horrible shock. The thought had simply never entered his mind thathe, a man under forty, should be considered eligible to succeed thiswise, patient old prelate. As for the honour--Percy was past that now, even had he thought of it. There was but one view before him--of a longand intolerable journey, on a road that went uphill, to be traversedwith a burden on his shoulders that he could not support. Yet he recognised its inevitability. The fact was announced to him asindisputable; it was to be; there was nothing to be said. But it was asif one more gulf had opened, and he stared into it with a dull, sickhorror, incapable of expression. The Cardinal first broke the silence. "Father Franklin, " he said, "I have seen to-day a picture ofFelsenburgh. Do you know whom I at first took it for?" Percy smiled listlessly. "Yes, father, I took it for you. Now, what do you make of that?" "I don't understand, Eminence. " "Why---" He broke off, suddenly changing the subject. "There was a murder in the City to-day, " he said. "A Catholic stabbed ablasphemer. " Percy glanced at him again. "Oh! yes; he has not attempted to escape, " went on the old man. "He isin gaol. " "And---" "He will be executed. The trial will begin to-morrow. .. . It is sadenough. It is the first murder for eight months. " The irony of the position was evident enough to Percy as he satlistening to the deepening silence outside in the starlit night. Herewas this poor city pretending that nothing was the matter, quietlyadministering its derided justice; and there, outside, were the forcesgathering that would put an end to all. His enthusiasm seemed dead. There was no thrill from the thought of the splendid disregard ofmaterial facts of which this was one tiny instance, none of despairingcourage or drunken recklessness. He felt like one who watches a flywashing his face on the cylinder of an engine--the huge steel slidesalong bearing the tiny life towards enormous death--another moment andit will be over; and yet the watcher cannot interfere. The supernaturalthus lay, perfect and alive, but immeasurably tiny; the huge forces werein motion, the world was heaving up, and Percy could do nothing butstare and frown. Yet, as has been said, there was no shadow on hisfaith; the fly he knew was greater than the engine from the superiorityof its order of life; if it were crushed, life would not be the finalsufferer; so much he knew, but how it was so, he did not know. As the two sat there, again came a step and a tap; and a servant's facelooked in. "His Lordship is come, Eminence, " he said. The Cardinal rose painfully, supporting himself by the table. Then hepaused, seeming to remember something, and fumbled in his pocket. "See that, father, " he said, and pushed a small silver disc towards thepriest. "No; when I am gone. " Percy closed the door and came back, taking up the little round object. It was a coin, fresh from the mint. On one side was the familiar wreathwith the word "fivepence" in the midst, with its Esperanto equivalentbeneath, and on the other the profile of a man, with an inscription. Percy turned it to read: "JULIAN FELSENBURGH, LA PREZIDANTE DE UROPO. " III It was at ten o'clock on the following morning that the Cardinals weresummoned to the Pope's presence to hear the allocution. Percy, from his seat among the Consultors, watched them come in, men ofevery nation and temperament and age--the Italians all together, gesticulating, and flashing teeth; the Anglo-Saxons steady-faced andserious; an old French Cardinal leaning on his stick, walking with theEnglish Benedictine. It was one of the great plain stately rooms ofwhich the Vatican now chiefly consisted, seated length wise like achapel. At the lower end, traversed by the gangway, were the seats ofthe Consultors; at the upper end, the dais with the papal throne. Threeor four benches with desks before them, standing out beyond theConsultors' seats, were reserved for the arrivals of the day before--prelates and priests who had poured into Rome from every Europeancountry on the announcement of the amazing news. Percy had not an idea as to what would be said. It was scarcely possiblethat nothing but platitudes would be uttered, yet what else could besaid in view of the complete doubtfulness of the situation? All that wasknown even this morning was that the Presidentship of Europe was a fact;the little silver coin he had seen witnessed to that; that there hadbeen an outburst of persecution, repressed sternly by local authorities;and that Felsenburgh was to-day to begin his tour from capital tocapital. He was expected in Turin by the end of the week. From everyCatholic centre throughout the world had come in messages imploringguidance; it was said that apostasy was rising like a tidal wave, thatpersecution threatened everywhere, and that even bishops were beginningto yield. As for the Holy Father, all was doubtful. Those who knew, said nothing;and the only rumour that escaped was to the effect that he had spent allnight in prayer at the tomb of the Apostle. .. . The murmur died suddenly to a rustle and a silence; there was a rippleof sinking heads along the seats as the door beside the canopy opened, and a moment later John, _Pater Patrum_, was on his throne. * * * * * At first Percy understood nothing. He stared only, as at a picture, through the dusty sunlight that poured in through the shrouded windows, at the scarlet lines to right and left, up to the huge scarlet canopy, and the white figure that sat there. Certainly, these southernersunderstood the power of effect. It was as vivid and impressive as avision of the Host in a jewelled monstrance. Every accessory wasgorgeous, the high room, the colour of the robes, the chains andcrosses, and as the eye moved along to its climax it was met by a pieceof dead white--as if glory was exhausted and declared itself impotent totell the supreme secret. Scarlet and purple and gold were well enoughfor those who stood on the steps of the throne--they needed it; but forHim who sat there nothing was needed. Let colours die and sounds faintin the presence of God's Viceroy. Yet what expression was required founditself adequately provided in that beautiful oval face, the poisedimperious head, the sweet brilliant eyes and the clean-curved lips thatspoke so strongly. There was not a sound in the room, not a rustle, nora breathing--even without it seemed as if the world were allowing thesupernatural to state its defence uninterruptedly, before summing up andclamouring condemnation. * * * * * Percy made a violent effort at self-repression, clenched his hands andlistened. " . .. Since this then is so, sons in Jesus Christ, it is for us toanswer. We wrestle not, as the Doctor of the Gentiles teaches us, _against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, againstthe rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits ofwickedness in the high places. Wherefore_, he continues, _take unto youthe armour of God_; and he further declares to us its nature--_thegirdle of truth, the breastplate of justice, the shoes of peace, theshield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit. _ "By this, therefore, the Word of God bids us to war, but not with theweapons of this world, for neither is His kingdom of this world; and itis to remind you of the principles of this warfare that we have summonedyou to Our Presence. " The voice paused, and there was a rustling sigh along the seats. Thenthe voice continued on a slightly higher note. "It has ever been the wisdom of Our predecessors, as is also their duty, while keeping silence at certain seasons, at others to speak freely thewhole counsel of God. From this duty We Ourself must not be deterred bythe knowledge of Our own weakness and ignorance, but to trust ratherthat He Who has placed Us on this throne will deign to speak through Ourmouth and use Our words to His glory. "First, then, it is necessary to utter Our sentence as to the newmovement, as men call it, which has latterly been inaugurated by therulers of this world. "We are not unmindful of the blessings of peace and unity, nor do Weforget that the appearance of these things has been the fruit of muchthat we have condemned. It is this appearance of peace that has deceivedmany, causing them to doubt the promise of the Prince of Peace that itis through Him alone that we have access to the Father. That true peace, passing understanding, concerns not only the relations of men betweenthemselves, but, supremely, the relations of men with their Maker; andit is in this necessary point that the efforts of the world are foundwanting. It is not indeed to be wondered at that in a world which hasrejected God this necessary matter should be forgotten. Men havethought--led astray by seducers--that the unity of nations was thegreatest prize of this life, forgetting the words of our Saviour, Whosaid that He came to bring not peace but a sword, and that it is throughmany tribulations that we enter God's Kingdom. First, then, there shouldbe established the peace of man with God, and after that the unity ofman with man will follow. _Seek ye first_, said Jesus Christ, _thekingdom of God--and then all these things shall be added unto you. _ "First, then, We once more condemn and anathematise the opinions ofthose who teach and believe the contrary of this; and we renew once moreall the condemnations uttered by Ourself or Our predecessors against allthose societies, organisations and communities that have been formed forthe furtherance of an unity on another than a divine foundation; and Weremind Our children throughout the world that it is forbidden to them toenter or to aid or to approve in any manner whatsoever any of thosebodies named in such condemnations. " Percy moved in his seat, conscious of a touch of impatience. .. . Themanner was superb, tranquil and stately as a river; but the matter atrifle banal. Here was this old reprobation of Freemasonry, repeated inunoriginal language. "Secondly, " went on the steady voice, "We wish to make known to you Ourdesires for the future; and here We tread on what many have considereddangerous ground. " Again came that rustle. Percy saw more than one cardinal lean forwardwith hand crooked at ear to hear the better. It was evident thatsomething important was coming. "There are many points, " went on the high voice, "of which it is not Ourintention to speak at this time, for of their own nature they aresecret, and must be treated of on another occasion. But what We sayhere, We say to the world. Since the assaults of Our enemies are bothopen and secret, so too must be Our defences. This then is Ourintention. " The Pope paused again, lifted one hand as if mechanically to his breast, and grasped the cross that hung there. "While the army of Christ is one, it consists of many divisions, each ofwhich has its proper function and object. In times past God has raisedup companies of His servants to do this or that particular work--thesons of St. Francis to preach poverty, those of St. Bernard to labour inprayer with all holy women dedicating themselves to this purpose, theSociety of Jesus for the education of youth and the conversion of theheathen--together with all the other Religious Orders whose names areknown throughout the world. Each such company was raised up at aparticular season of need, and each has corresponded nobly with thedivine vocation. It has also been the especial glory of each, for thefurtherance of its intention, while pursuing its end, to cut off fromitself all such activities (good in themselves) which would hinder thatwork for which God had called it into being--following in this matterthe words of our Redeemer, _Every branch that beareth fruit, He purgethit that it may bring forth more fruit. _ At this present season, then, itappears to Our Humility that all such Orders (which once more We commendand bless) are not perfectly suited by the very conditions of theirrespective Rules to perform the great work which the time requires. Ourwarfare lies not with ignorance in particular, whether of the heathensto whom the Gospel has not yet come, or of those whose fathers haverejected it, nor with _the deceitful riches of this world_, nor with_science falsely so-called_, nor indeed with any one of thosestrongholds of infidelity against whom We have laboured in the past. Rather it appears as if at last the time was come of which the apostlespoke when he said that _that day shall not come, except there come afalling away first, and that Man of Sin be revealed, the Son ofPerdition, who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is calledGod. _ "It is not with this or that force that we are concerned, but ratherwith the unveiled immensity of that power whose time was foretold, andwhose destruction is prepared. " The voice paused again, and Percy gripped the rail before him to staythe trembling of his hands. There was no rustle now, nothing but asilence that tingled and shook. The Pope drew a long breath, turned hishead slowly to right and left, and went on more deliberately than ever. "It seems good, then, to Our Humility, that the Vicar of Christ shouldhimself invite God's children to this new warfare; and it is Ourintention to enroll under the title of the Order of Christ Crucified thenames of all who offer themselves to this supreme service. In doing thisWe are aware of the novelty of Our action, and the disregard of all suchprecautions as have been necessary in the past. We take counsel in thismatter with none save Him Who we believe has inspired it. "First, then, let Us say, that although obedient service will berequired from all who shall be admitted to this Order, Our primaryintention in instituting it lies in God's regard rather than in man's, in appealing to Him Who asks our generosity rather than to those whodeny it, and dedicating once more by a formal and deliberate act oursouls and bodies to the heavenly Will and service of Him Who alone canrightly claim such offering, and will accept our poverty. "Briefly, we dictate only the following conditions. "None shall be capable of entering the Order except such as shall beabove the age of seventeen years. "No badge, habit, nor insignia shall be attached to it. "The Three Evangelical Counsels shall be the foundation of the Rule, towhich we add a fourth intention, namely, that of a desire to receive thecrown of martyrdom and a purpose of embracing it. "The bishop of every diocese, if he himself shall enter the Order, shallbe the superior within the limits of his own jurisdiction, and aloneshall be exempt from the literal observance of the Vow of Poverty solong as he retains his see. Such bishops as do not feel the vocation tothe Order shall retain their sees under the usual conditions, but shallhave no Religious claim on the members of the Order. "Further, We announce Our intention of Ourself entering the Order as itssupreme prelate, and of making Our profession within the course of a fewdays. "Further, We declare that in Our Own pontificate none shall be elevatedto the Sacred College save those who have made their profession in theOrder; and We shall dedicate shortly the Basilica of St. Peter and St. Paul as the central church of the Order, in which church We shall raiseto the altars without any delay those happy souls who shall lay downtheir lives in the pursuance of their vocation. "Of that vocation it is unnecessary to speak beyond indicating that itmay be pursued under any conditions laid down by the Superiors. Asregards the novitiate, its conditions and requirements, we shall shortlyissue the necessary directions. Each diocesan superior (for it is Ourhope that none will hold back) shall have all such rights as usuallyappertain to Religious Superiors, and shall be empowered to employ hissubjects in any work that, in his opinion, shall subserve the glory ofGod and the salvation of souls. It is Our Own intention to employ in Ourservice none except those who shall make their profession. " He raised his eyes once more, seemingly without emotion, then hecontinued: "So far, then, We have determined. On other matters We shall takecounsel immediately; but it is Our wish that these words shall becommunicated to all the world, that there may be no delay in makingknown what it is that Christ through His Vicar asks of all who professthe Divine Name. We offer no rewards except those which God Himself haspromised to those that love Him, and lay down their life for Him; nopromise of peace, save of that which passeth understanding; no home savethat which befits pilgrims and sojourners who seek a City to come; nohonour save the world's contempt; no life, save that which is hid withChrist in God. " CHAPTER IV I Oliver Brand, seated in his little private room at Whitehall, wasexpecting a visitor. It was already close upon ten o'clock, and athalf-past he must be in the House. He had hoped that Mr. Francis, whoever he might be, would not detain him long. Even now, every momentwas a respite, for the work had become simply prodigious during the lastweeks. But he was not reprieved for more than a minute, for the last boom fromthe Victoria Tower had scarcely ceased to throb when the door opened anda clerkly voice uttered the name he was expecting. Oliver shot one quick look at the stranger, at his drooping lids anddown-turned mouth, summed him up fairly and accurately in the momentsduring which they seated themselves, and went briskly to business. "At twenty-five minutes past, sir, I must leave this room, " he said. "Until then---" he made a little gesture. Mr. Francis reassured him. "Thank you, Mr. Brand--that is ample time. Then, if you will excuseme---" He groped in his breast-pocket, and drew out a long envelope. "I will leave this with you, " he said, "when I go. It sets out ourdesires at length and our names. And this is what I have to say, sir. " He sat back, crossed his legs, and went on, with a touch of eagerness inhis voice. "I am a kind of deputation, as you know, " he said. "We have somethingboth to ask and to offer. I am chosen because it was my own idea. First, may I ask a question?" Oliver bowed. "I wish to ask nothing that I ought not. But I believe it is practicallycertain, is it not?--that Divine Worship is to be restored throughoutthe kingdom?" Oliver smiled. "I suppose so, " he said. "The bill has been read for the third time, and, as you know, the President is to speak upon it this evening. " "He will not veto it?" "We suppose not. He has assented to it in Germany. " "Just so, " said Mr. Francis. "And if he assents here, I suppose it willbecome law immediately. " Oliver leaned over this table, and drew out the green paper thatcontained the Bill. "You have this, of course---" he said. "Well, it becomes law at once;and the first feast will be observed on the first of October. 'Paternity, ' is it not? Yes, Paternity. " "There will be something of a rush then, " said the other eagerly. "Why, that is only a week hence. " "I have not charge of this department, " said Oliver, laying back theBill. "But I understand that the ritual will be that already in use inGermany. There is no reason why we should be peculiar. " "And the Abbey will be used?" "Why, yes. " "Well, sir, " said Mr. Francis, "of course I know the GovernmentCommission has studied it all very closely, and no doubt has its ownplans. But it appears to me that they will want all the experience theycan get. " "No doubt. " "Well, Mr. Brand, the society which I represent consists entirely of menwho were once Catholic priests. We number about two hundred in London. Iwill leave a pamphlet with you, if I may, stating our objects, ourconstitution, and so on. It seemed to us that here was a matter in whichour past experience might be of service to the Government. Catholicceremonies, as you know, are very intricate, and some of us studied themvery deeply in old days. We used to say that Masters of Ceremonies wereborn, not made, and we have a fair number of those amongst us. Butindeed every priest is something of a ceremonialist. " He paused. "Yes, Mr. Francis?" "I am sure the Government realises the immense importance of all goingsmoothly. If Divine Service was at all grotesque or disorderly, it wouldlargely defeat its own object. So I have been deputed to see you, Mr. Brand, and to suggest to you that here is a body of men--reckon it as atleast twenty-five--who have had special experience in this kind ofthing, and are perfectly ready to put themselves at the disposal of theGovernment. " Oliver could not resist a faint flicker of a smile at the corner of hismouth. It was a very grim bit of irony, he thought, but it seemedsensible enough. "I quite understand, Mr. Francis. It seems a very reasonable suggestion. But I do not think I am the proper person. Mr. Snowford---" "Yes, yes, sir, I know. But your speech the other day inspired us all. You said exactly what was in all our hearts--that the world could notlive without worship; and that now that God was found at last---" Oliver waved his hand. He hated even a touch of flattery. "It is very good of you, Mr. Francis. I will certainly speak to Mr. Snowford. I understand that you offer yourselves as--as Masters ofCeremonies--?" "Yes, sir; and sacristans. I have studied the German ritual verycarefully; it is more elaborate than I had thought it. It will need agood deal of adroitness. I imagine that you will want at least a dozen_Ceremoniarii_ in the Abbey; and a dozen more in the vestries willscarcely be too much. " Oliver nodded abruptly, looking curiously at the eager pathetic face ofthe man opposite him; yet it had something, too, of that mask-likepriestly look that he had seen before in others like him. This wasevidently a devotee. "You are all Masons, of course?" he said. "Why, of course, Mr. Brand. " "Very good. I will speak to Mr. Snowford to-day if I can catch him. " He glanced at the clock. There were yet three or four minutes. "You have seen the new appointment in Rome, sir, " went on Mr. Francis. Oliver shook his head. He was not particularly interested in Rome justnow. "Cardinal Martin is dead--he died on Tuesday--and his place is alreadyfilled. " "Indeed, sir?" "Yes--the new man was once a friend of mine--Franklin, his nameis--Percy Franklin. " "Eh?" "What is the matter, Mr. Brand? Did you know him?" Oliver was eyeing him darkly, a little pale. "Yes; I knew him, " he said quietly. "At least, I think so. " "He was at Westminster until a month or two ago. " "Yes, yes, " said Oliver, still looking at him. "And you knew him, Mr. Francis?" "I knew him--yes. " "Ah!--well, I should like to have a talk some day about him. " He broke off. It yet wanted a minute to his time. "And that is all?" he asked. "That is all my actual business, sir, " answered the other. "But I hopeyou will allow me to say how much we all appreciate what you have done, Mr. Brand. I do not think it is possible for any, except ourselves, tounderstand what the loss of worship means to us. It was very strange atfirst---" His voice trembled a little, and he stopped. Oliver felt interested, andchecked himself in his movement to rise. "Yes, Mr. Francis?" The melancholy brown eyes turned on him full. "It was an illusion, of course, sir--we know that. But I, at any rate, dare to hope that it was not all wasted--all our aspirations andpenitence and praise. We mistook our God, but none the less it reachedHim--it found its way to the Spirit of the World. It taught us that theindividual was nothing, and that He was all. And now---" "Yes, sir, " said the other softly. He was really touched. The sad brown eyes opened full. "And now Mr. Felsenburgh is come. " He swallowed in his throat. "JulianFelsenburgh!" There was a world of sudden passion in his gentle voice, and Oliver's own heart responded. "I know, sir, " he said; "I know all that you mean. " "Oh! to have a Saviour at last!" cried Francis. "One that can be seenand handled and praised to His Face! It is like a dream--too good to betrue!" Oliver glanced at the clock, and rose abruptly, holding out his hand. "Forgive me, sir. I must not stay. You have touched me very deeply. .. . Iwill speak to Snowford. Your address is here, I understand?" He pointed to the papers. "Yes, Mr. Brand. There is one more question. " "I must not stay, sir, " said Oliver, shaking his head. "One instant--is it true that this worship will be compulsory?" Oliver bowed as he gathered up his papers. II Mabel, seated in the gallery that evening behind the President's chair, had already glanced at her watch half-a-dozen times in the last hour, hoping each time that twenty-one o'clock was nearer than she feared. Sheknew well enough by now that the President of Europe would not behalf-a-minute either before or after his time. His supreme punctualitywas famous all over the continent. He had said Twenty-One, so it was tobe twenty-one. A sharp bell-note impinged from beneath, and in a moment the drawlingvoice of the speaker stopped. Once more she lifted her wrist, saw thatit wanted five minutes of the hour; then she leaned forward from hercorner and stared down into the House. A great change had passed over it at the metallic noise. All down thelong brown seats members were shifting and arranging themselves moredecorously, uncrossing their legs, slipping their hats beneath theleather fringes. As she looked, too, she saw the President of the Housecoming down the three steps from his chair, for Another would need it ina few moments. The house was full from end to end; a late comer ran in from thetwilight of the south door and looked distractedly about him in the fulllight before he saw his vacant place. The galleries at the lower endwere occupied too, down there, where she had failed to obtain a seat. Yet from all the crowded interior there was no sound but a sibilantwhispering; from the passages behind she could hear again the quickbell-note repeat itself as the lobbies were cleared; and from ParliamentSquare outside once more came the heavy murmur of the crowd that hadbeen inaudible for the last twenty minutes. When that ceased she wouldknow that he was come. How strange and wonderful it was to be here--on this night of all, whenthe President was to speak! A month ago he had assented to a similarBill in Germany, and had delivered a speech on the same subject atTurin. To-morrow he was to be in Spain. No one knew where he had beenduring the past week. A rumour had spread that his volor had been seenpassing over Lake Como, and had been instantly contradicted. No one kneweither what he would say to-night. It might be three words or twentythousand. There were a few clauses in the Bill--notably those bearing onthe point as to when the new worship was to be made compulsory on allsubjects over the age of seven--it might be he would object and vetothese. In that case all must be done again, and the Bill re-passed, unless the House accepted his amendment instantly by acclamation. Mabel herself was inclined to these clauses. They provided that, although worship was to be offered in every parish church of England onthe ensuing first day of October, this was not to be compulsory on allsubjects till the New Year; whereas, Germany, who had passed the Billonly a month before, had caused it to come into full force immediately, thus compelling all her Catholic subjects either to leave the countrywithout delay or suffer the penalties. These penalties were notvindictive: on a first offence a week's detention only was to be given;on the second, one month's imprisonment; on the third, one year's; andon the fourth, perpetual imprisonment until the criminal yielded. Thesewere merciful terms, it seemed; for even imprisonment itself meant nomore than reasonable confinement and employment on Government works. There were no mediaeval horrors here; and the act of worship demandedwas so little, too; it consisted of no more than bodily presence in thechurch or cathedral on the four new festivals of Maternity, Life, Sustenance and Paternity, celebrated on the first day of each quarter. Sunday worship was to be purely voluntary. She could not understand how any man could refuse this homage. Thesefour things were facts--they were the manifestations of what she calledthe Spirit of the World--and if others called that Power God, yet surelythese ought to be considered as His functions. Where then was thedifficulty? It was not as if Christian worship were not permitted, underthe usual regulations. Catholics could still go to mass. And yetappalling things were threatened in Germany: not less than twelvethousand persons had already left for Rome; and it was rumoured thatforty thousand would refuse this simple act of homage a few days hence. It bewildered and angered her to think of it. For herself the new worship was a crowning sign of the triumph ofHumanity. Her heart had yearned for some such thing as this--somepublic corporate profession of what all now believed. She had soresented the dulness of folk who were content with action and neverconsidered its springs. Surely this instinct within her was a true one;she desired to stand with her fellows in some solemn place, consecratednot by priests but by the will of man; to have as her inspirers sweetsinging and the peal of organs; to utter her sorrow with thousandsbeside her at her own feebleness of immolation before the Spirit of all;to sing aloud her praise of the glory of life, and to offer by sacrificeand incense an emblematic homage to That from which she drew her being, and to whom one day she must render it again. Ah! these Christians hadunderstood human nature, she had told herself a hundred times: it wastrue that they had degraded it, darkened light, poisoned thought, misinterpreted instinct; but they had understood that man must worship--must worship or sink. For herself she intended to go at least once a week to the little oldchurch half-a-mile away from her home, to kneel there before the sunlitsanctuary, to meditate on sweet mysteries, to present herself to Thatwhich she was yearning to love, and to drink, it might be, new draughtsof life and power. Ah! but the Bill must pass first. .. . She clenched her hands on the rail, and stared steadily before her on the ranks of heads, the open gangways, the great mace on the table, and heard, above the murmur of the crowdoutside and the dying whispers within, her own heart beat. She could not see Him, she knew. He would come in from beneath throughthe door that none but He might use, straight into the seat beneath thecanopy. But she would hear His voice--that must be joy enough forher. .. . Ah! there was silence now outside; the soft roar had died. He had comethen. And through swimming eyes she saw the long ridges of heads risebeneath her, and through drumming ears heard the murmur of many feet. All faces looked this way; and she watched them as a mirror to see thereflected light of His presence. There was a gentle sobbing somewhere inthe air--was it her own or another's? . .. The click of a door; a greatmellow booming over-head, shock after shock, as the huge tenor bellstolled their three strokes; and, in an instant, over the white facespassed a ripple, as if some breeze of passion shook the souls within;there was a swaying here and there; and a passionless voice spoke half adozen words in Esperanto, out of sight: "Englishmen, I assent to the Bill of Worship. " III It was not until mid-day breakfast on the following morning that husbandand wife met again. Oliver had slept in town and telephoned about eleveno'clock that he would be home immediately, bringing a guest with him:and shortly before noon she heard their voices in the hall. Mr. Francis, who was presently introduced to her, seemed a harmless kindof man, she thought, not interesting, though he seemed in earnest aboutthis Bill. It was not until breakfast was nearly over that sheunderstood who he was. "Don't go, Mabel, " said her husband, as she made a movement to rise. "You will like to hear about this, I expect. My wife knows all that Iknow, " he added. Mr. Francis smiled and bowed. "I may tell her about you, sir?" said Oliver again. "Why, certainly. " Then she heard that he had been a Catholic priest a few months before, and that Mr. Snowford was in consultation with him as to the ceremoniesin the Abbey. She was conscious of a sudden interest as she heard this. "Oh! do talk, " she said. "I want to hear everything. " It seemed that Mr. Francis had seen the new Minister of Public Worshipthat morning, and had received a definite commission from him to takecharge of the ceremonies on the first of October. Two dozen of hiscolleagues, too, were to be enrolled among the _ceremoniarii_, at leasttemporarily--and after the event they were to be sent on a lecturingtour to organise the national worship throughout the country. Of course things would be somewhat sloppy at first, said Mr. Francis;but by the New Year it was hoped that all would be in order, at least inthe cathedrals and principal towns. "It is important, " he said, "that this should be done as soon aspossible. It is very necessary to make a good impression. There arethousands who have the instinct of worship, without knowing how tosatisfy it. " "That is perfectly true, " said Oliver. "I have felt that for a longtime. I suppose it is the deepest instinct in man. " "As to the ceremonies---" went on the other, with a slightly importantair. His eyes roved round a moment; then he dived into hisbreast-pocket, and drew out a thin red-covered book. "Here is the Order of Worship for the Feast of Paternity, " he said. "Ihave had it interleaved, and have made a few notes. " He began to turn the pages, and Mabel, with considerable excitement, drew her chair a little closer to listen. "That is right, sir, " said the other. "Now give us a little lecture. " Mr. Francis closed the book on his finger, pushed his plate aside, andbegan to discourse. "First, " he said, "we must remember that this ritual is based almostentirely upon that of the Masons. Three-quarters at least of the entirefunction will be occupied by that. With that the _ceremoniarii_ will notinterfere, beyond seeing that the insignia are ready in the vestries andproperly put on. The proper officials will conduct the rest. .. . I neednot speak of that then. The difficulties begin with the last quarter. " He paused, and with a glance of apology began arranging forks andglasses before him on the cloth. "Now here, " he said, "we have the old sanctuary of the abbey. In theplace of the reredos and Communion table there will be erected the largealtar of which the ritual speaks, with the steps leading up to it fromthe floor. Behind the altar--extending almost to the old shrine of theConfessor--will stand the pedestal with the emblematic figure upon it;and--so far as I understand from the absence of directions--each suchfigure will remain in place until the eve of the next quarterly feast. " "What kind of figure?" put in the girl. Francis glanced at her husband. "I understand that Mr. Markenheim has been consulted, " he said. "He willdesign and execute them. Each is to represent its own feast. This forPaternity---" He paused again. "Yes, Mr. Francis?" "This one, I understand, is to be the naked figure of a man. " "A kind of Apollo--or Jupiter, my dear, " put in Oliver. Yes--that seemed all right, thought Mabel. Mr. Francis's voice moved onhastily. "A new procession enters at this point, after the discourse, " he said. "It is this that will need special marshalling. I suppose no rehearsalwill be possible?" "Scarcely, " said Oliver, smiling. The Master of Ceremonies sighed. "I feared not. Then we must issue very precise printed instructions. Those who take part will withdraw, I imagine, during the hymn, to theold chapel of St. Faith. That is what seems to me the best. " He indicated the chapel. "After the entrance of the procession all will take their places onthese two sides--here--and here--while the celebrant with the sacredministers---" "Eh?" Mr. Francis permitted a slight grimace to appear on his face; he flusheda little. "The President of Europe---" He broke off. "Ah! that is the point. Willthe President take part? That is not made clear in the ritual. " "We think so, " said Oliver. "He is to be approached. " "Well, if not, I suppose the Minister of Public Worship will officiate. He with his supporters pass straight up to the foot of the altar. Remember that the figure is still veiled, and that the candles have beenlighted during the approach of the procession. There follow theAspirations printed in the ritual with the responds. These are sung bythe choir, and will be most impressive, I think. Then the officiantascends the altar alone, and, standing, declaims the Address, as it iscalled. At the close of it--at the point, that is to say, marked herewith a star, the thurifers will leave the chapel, four in number. Oneascends the altar, leaving the others swinging their thurifers at itsfoot--hands his to the officiant and retires. Upon the sounding of abell the curtains are drawn back, the officiant tenses the image insilence with four double swings, and, as he ceases the choir sings theappointed antiphon. " He waved his hands. "The rest is easy, " he said. "We need not discuss that. " To Mabel's mind even the previous ceremonies seemed easy enough. But shewas undeceived. "You have no idea, Mrs. Brand, " went on the _ceremoniarius_, "of thedifficulties involved even in such a simple matter as this. Thestupidity of people is prodigious. I foresee a great deal of hard workfor us all. .. . Who is to deliver the discourse, Mr. Brand?" Oliver shook his head. "I have no idea, " he said. "I suppose Mr. Snowford will select. " Mr. Francis looked at him doubtfully. "What is your opinion of the whole affair, sir?" he said. Oliver paused a moment. "I think it is necessary, " he began. "There would not be such a cry forworship if it was not a real need. I think too--yes, I think that on thewhole the ritual is impressive. I do not see how it could bebettered. .. . " "Yes, Oliver?" put in his wife, questioningly. "No--there is nothing--except . .. Except I hope the people willunderstand it. " Mr. Francis broke in. "My dear sir, worship involves a touch of mystery. You must rememberthat. It was the lack of that that made Empire Day fail in the lastcentury. For myself, I think it is admirable. Of course much must dependon the manner in which it is presented. I see many details at presentundecided--the colour of the curtains, and so forth. But the main planis magnificent. It is simple, impressive, and, above all, it isunmistakable in its main lesson---" "And that you take to be--?" "I take it that it is homage offered to Life, " said the other slowly. "Life under four aspects--Maternity corresponds to Christmas and theChristian fable; it is the feast of home, love, faithfulness. Lifeitself is approached in spring, teeming, young, passionate. Sustenancein midsummer, abundance, comfort, plenty, and the rest, correspondingsomewhat to the Catholic Corpus Christi; and Paternity, the protective, generative, masterful idea, as winter draws on. .. . I understand it was aGerman thought. " Oliver nodded. "Yes, " he said. "And I suppose it will be the business of the speaker toexplain all this. " "I take it so. It appears to me far more suggestive than the alternativeplan--Citizenship, Labour, and so forth. These, after all, aresubordinate to Life. " Mr. Francis spoke with an extraordinary suppressed enthusiasm, and thepriestly look was more evident than ever. It was plain that his heart atleast demanded worship. Mabel clasped her hands suddenly. "I think it is beautiful, " she said softly, "and--and it is so real. " Mr. Francis turned on her with a glow in his brown eyes. "Ah! yes, madam. That is it. There is no Faith, as we used to call it:it is the vision of Facts that no one can doubt; and the incensedeclares the sole divinity of Life as well as its mystery. " "What of the figures?" put in Oliver. "A stone image is impossible, of course. It must be clay for thepresent. Mr. Markenheim is to set to work immediately. If the figuresare approved they can then be executed in marble. " Again Mabel spoke with a soft gravity. "It seems to me, " she said, "that this is the last thing that we needed. It is so hard to keep our principles clear--we must have a body forthem--some kind of expression---" She paused. "Yes, Mabel?" "I do not mean, " she went on, "that some cannot live without it, butmany cannot. The unimaginative need concrete images. There must be somechannel for their aspirations to flow through--- Ah! I cannot expressmyself!" Oliver nodded slowly. He, too, seemed to be in a meditative mood. "Yes, " he said. "And this, I suppose, will mould men's thoughts too: itwill keep out all danger of superstition. " Mr. Francis turned on him abruptly. "What do you think of the Pope's new Religious Order, sir?" Oliver's face took on it a tinge of grimness. "I think it is the worst step he ever took--for himself, I mean. Eitherit is a real effort, in which case it will provoke immenseindignation--or it is a sham, and will discredit him. Why do you ask?" "I was wondering whether any disturbance will be made in the abbey. " "I should be sorry for the brawler. " A bell rang sharply from the row of telephone labels. Oliver rose andwent to it. Mabel watched him as he touched a button--mentioned hisname, and put his ear to the opening. "It is Snowford's secretary, " he said abruptly to the two expectantfaces. "Snowford wants to--ah!" Again he mentioned his name and listened. They heard a sentence or twofrom him that seemed significant. "Ah! that is certain, is it? I am sorry. .. . Yes. .. . Oh! but that isbetter than nothing. .. . Yes; he is here. .. . Indeed. Very well; we willbe with you directly. " He looked on the tube, touched the button again, and came back to them. "I am sorry, " he said. "The President will take no part at the Feast. But it is uncertain whether he will not be present. Mr. Snowford wantsto see us both at once, Mr. Francis. Markenheim is with him. " But though Mabel was herself disappointed, she thought he looked graverthan the disappointment warranted. CHAPTER V I Percy Franklin, the new Cardinal-Protector of England, came slowly alongthe passage leading from the Pope's apartments, with Hans Steinmann, Cardinal-Protector of Germany, blowing at his side. They entered thelift, still in silence, and passed out, two splendid vivid figures, oneerect and virile, the other bent, fat, and very German from spectaclesto flat buckled feet. At the door of Percy's suite, the Englishman paused, made a littlegesture of reverence, and went in without a word. A secretary, young Mr. Brent, lately from England, stood up as hispatron came in. "Eminence, " he said, "the English papers are come. " Percy put out a hand, took a paper, passed on into his inner room, andsat down. There it all was--gigantic headlines, and four columns of print brokenby startling title phrases in capital letters, after the fashion set byAmerica a hundred years ago. No better way even yet had been found ofmisinforming the unintelligent. He looked at the top. It was the English edition of the _Era_. Then heread the headlines. They ran as follows: "THE NATIONAL WORSHIP. BEWILDERING SPLENDOUR. RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM. THEABBEY AND GOD. CATHOLIC FANATIC. EX-PRIESTS AS FUNCTIONARIES. " He ran his eyes down the page, reading the vivid little phrases, anddrawing from the whole a kind of impressionist view of the scenes in theAbbey on the previous day, of which he had already been informed by thetelegraph, and the discussion of which had been the purpose of hisinterview just now with the Holy Father. There plainly was no additional news; and he was laying the paper downwhen his eye caught a name. "It is understood that Mr. Francis, the _ceremoniarius_ (to whom thethanks of all are due for his reverent zeal and skill), will proceedshortly to the northern towns to lecture on the Ritual. It isinteresting to reflect that this gentleman only a few months ago wasofficiating at a Catholic altar. He was assisted in his labours bytwenty-four confreres with the same experience behind them. " "Good God!" said Percy aloud. Then he laid the paper down. But his thoughts had soon left this renegade behind, and once more hewas running over in his mind the significance of the whole affair, andthe advice that he had thought it his duty to give just now upstairs. Briefly, there was no use in disputing the fact that the inauguration ofPantheistic worship had been as stupendous a success in England as inGermany. France, by the way, was still too busy with the cult of humanindividuals, to develop larger ideas. But England was deeper; and, somehow, in spite of prophecy, the affairhad taken place without even a touch of bathos or grotesqueness. It hadbeen said that England was too solid and too humorous. Yet there hadbeen extraordinary scenes the day before. A great murmur of enthusiasmhad rolled round the Abbey from end to end as the gorgeous curtains ranback, and the huge masculine figure, majestic and overwhelming, colouredwith exquisite art, had stood out above the blaze of candles against thetall screen that shrouded the shrine. Markenheim had done his work well;and Mr. Brand's passionate discourse had well prepared the popular mindfor the revelation. He had quoted in his peroration passage afterpassage from the Jewish prophets, telling of the City of Peace whosewalls rose now before their eyes. "_Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord isrisen upon thee. .. . For behold I create new heavens and a new earth; andthe former shall not be remembered nor come into mind. .. . Violence shallno more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thyborders. O thou so long afflicted, tossed with tempest and notcomforted; behold I will lay thy stones with fair colours, and thyfoundations with sapphires. .. . I will make thy windows of agates and thygates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones. Arise, shine, for thy light is come. _" As the chink of the censer-chains had sounded in the stillness, with oneconsent the enormous crowd had fallen on its knees, and so remained, asthe smoke curled up from the hands of the rebel figure who held thethurible. Then the organ had begun to blow, and from the huge massedchorus in the transepts had rolled out the anthem, broken by onepassionate cry, from some mad Catholic. But it had been silenced in aninstant. .. . It was incredible--utterly incredible, Percy had told himself. Yet theincredible had happened; and England had found its worship oncemore--the necessary culmination of unimpeded subjectivity. From theprovinces had come the like news. In cathedral after cathedral had beenthe same scenes. Markenheim's masterpiece, executed in four days afterthe passing of the bill, had been reproduced by the ordinary machinery, and four thousand replicas had been despatched to every importantcentre. Telegraphic reports had streamed into the London papers thateverywhere the new movement had been received with acclamation, and thathuman instincts had found adequate expression at last. If there had notbeen a God, mused Percy reminiscently, it would have been necessary toinvent one. He was astonished, too, at the skill with which the new culthad been framed. It moved round no disputable points; there was nopossibility of divergent political tendencies to mar its success, noover-insistence on citizenship, labour and the rest, for those who weresecretly individualistic and idle. Life was the one fount and centre ofit all, clad in the gorgeous robes of ancient worship. Of course thethought had been Felsenburgh's, though a German name had been mentioned. It was Positivism of a kind, Catholicism without Christianity, Humanityworship without its inadequacy. It was not man that was worshipped butthe Idea of man, deprived of his supernatural principle. Sacrifice, too, was recognised--the instinct of oblation without the demand made bytranscendent Holiness upon the blood-guiltiness of man. .. . In fact, --infact, said Percy, it was exactly as clever as the devil, and as old asCain. The advice he had given to the Holy Father just now was a counsel ofdespair, or of hope; he really did not know which. He had urged that astringent decree should be issued, forbidding any acts of violence onthe part of Catholics. The faithful were to be encouraged to be patient, to hold utterly aloof from the worship, to say nothing unless they werequestioned, to suffer bonds gladly. He had suggested, in company withthe German Cardinal, that they two should return to their respectivecountries at the close of the year, to encourage the waverers; but theanswer had been that their vocation was to remain in Rome, unlesssomething unforeseen happened. As for Felsenburgh, there was little news. It was said that he was inthe East; but further details were secret. Percy understood quite wellwhy he had not been present at the worship as had been expected. First, it would have been difficult to decide between the two countries thathad established it; and, secondly, he was too brilliant a politician torisk the possible association of failure with his own person; thirdly, there was something the matter with the East. This last point was difficult to understand; it had not yet becomeexplicit, but it seemed as if the movement of last year had not yet runits course. It was undoubtedly difficult to explain the new President'sconstant absences from his adopted continent, unless there was somethingthat demanded his presence elsewhere; but the extreme discretion of theEast and the stringent precautions taken by the Empire made itimpossible to know any details. It was apparently connected withreligion; there were rumours, portents, prophets, ecstatics there. * * * * * Upon Percy himself had fallen a subtle change which he himself wasrecognising. He no longer soared to confidence or sank to despair. Hesaid his mass, read his enormous correspondence, meditated strictly;and, though he felt nothing he knew everything. There was not a tinge ofdoubt upon his faith, but neither was there emotion in it. He was as onewho laboured in the depths of the earth, crushed even in imagination, yet conscious that somewhere birds sang, and the sun shone, and waterran. He understood his own state well enough, and perceived that he hadcome to a reality of faith that was new to him, for it was sheerfaith--sheer apprehension of the Spiritual--without either the dangersor the joys of imaginative vision. He expressed it to himself by sayingthat there were three processes through which God led the soul: thefirst was that of external faith, which assents to all things presentedby the accustomed authority, practises religion, and is neitherinterested nor doubtful; the second follows the quickening of theemotional and perceptive powers of the soul, and is set about withconsolations, desires, mystical visions and perils; it is in this planethat resolutions are taken and vocations found and shipwrecksexperienced; and the third, mysterious and inexpressible, consists inthe re-enactment in the purely spiritual sphere of all that has preceded(as a play follows a rehearsal), in which God is grasped but notexperienced, grace is absorbed unconsciously and even distastefully, andlittle by little the inner spirit is conformed in the depths of itsbeing, far within the spheres of emotion and intellectual perception, tothe image and mind of Christ. So he lay back now, thinking, a long, stately, scarlet figure, in hisdeep chair, staring out over Holy Rome seen through the misty Septemberhaze. How long, he wondered, would there be peace? To his eyes evenalready the air was black with doom. He struck his hand-bell at last. "Bring me Father Blackmore's Last report, " he said, as his secretaryappeared. II Percy's intuitive faculties were keen by nature and had been vastlyincreased by cultivation. He had never forgotten Father Blackmore'sshrewd remarks of a year ago; and one of his first acts asCardinal-Protector had been to appoint that priest on the list ofEnglish correspondents. Hitherto he had received some dozen letters, andnot one of them had been without its grain of gold. Especially he hadnoticed that one warning ran through them all, namely, that sooner orlater there would be some overt act of provocation on the part ofEnglish Catholics; and it was the memory of this that had inspired hisvehement entreaties to the Pope this morning. As in the Roman andAfrican persecutions of the first three centuries, so now, the greatestdanger to the Catholic community lay not in the unjust measures of theGovernment but in the indiscreet zeal of the faithful themselves. Theworld desired nothing better than a handle to its blade. The scabbardwas already cast away. When the young man had brought the four closely written sheets, datedfrom Westminster, the previous evening, Percy turned at once to the lastparagraph before the usual Recommendations. "Mr. Brand's late secretary, Mr. Phillips, whom your Eminence commendedto me, has been to see me two or three times. He is in a curious state. He has no faith; yet, intellectually, he sees no hope anywhere but inthe Catholic Church. He has even begged for admission to the Order ofChrist Crucified, which of course is impossible. But there is no doubthe is sincere; otherwise he would have professed Catholicism. I haveintroduced him to many Catholics in the hope that they may help him. Ishould much wish your Eminence to see him. " Before leaving England, Percy had followed up the acquaintance he hadmade so strangely over Mrs. Brand's reconciliation to God, and, scarcelyknowing why, had commended him to the priest. He had not beenparticularly impressed by Mr. Phillips; he had thought him a timid, undecided creature, yet he had been struck by the extremely unselfishaction by which the man had forfeited his position. There must surely bea good deal behind. And now the impulse had come to send for him. Perhaps the spiritualatmosphere of Rome would precipitate faith. In any case, theconversation of Mr. Brand's late secretary might be instructive. He struck the bell again. "Mr. Brent, " he said, "in your next letter to Father Blackmore, tell himthat I wish to see the man whom he proposed to send--Mr. Phillips. " "Yes, Eminence. " "There is no hurry. He can send him at his leisure. " "Yes, Eminence. " "But he must not come till January. That will be time enough, unlessthere is urgent reason. " "Yes, Eminence. " * * * * * The development of the Order of Christ Crucified had gone forward withalmost miraculous success. The appeal issued by the Holy Fatherthroughout Christendom had been as fire among stubble. It seemed as ifthe Christian world had reached exactly that point of tension at which anew organisation of this nature was needed, and the response hadstartled even the most sanguine. Practically the whole of Rome with itssuburbs--three millions in all--had run to the enrolling stations inSt. Peter's as starving men run to food, and desperate to the stormingof a breach. For day after day the Pope himself had sat enthroned belowthe altar of the Chair, a glorious, radiant figure, growing ever whiteand weary towards evening, imparting his Blessing with a silent sign toeach individual of the vast crowd that swarmed up between the barriers, fresh from fast and Communion, to kneel before his new Superior and kissthe Pontifical ring. The requirements had been as stringent ascircumstances allowed. Each postulant was obliged to go to confession toa specially authorised priest, who examined sharply into motives andsincerity, and only one-third of the applicants had been accepted. This, the authorities pointed out to the scornful, was not an excessiveproportion; for it was to be remembered that most of those who hadpresented themselves had already undergone a sifting fierce as fire. Ofthe three millions in Rome, two millions at least were exiles for theirfaith, preferring to live obscure and despised in the shadow of Godrather than in the desolate glare of their own infidel countries. On the fifth evening of the enrolment of novices an astonishing incidenthad taken place. The old King of Spain (Queen Victoria's second son), already on the edge of the grave, had just risen and tottered before hisRuler; it seemed for an instant as if he would fall, when the Popehimself, by a sudden movement, had risen, caught him in his arms andkissed him; and then, still standing, had spread his arms abroad anddelivered a _fervorino_ such as never had been heard before in thehistory of the basilica. "_Benedictus Dominus!_" he cried, with upraised face and shining eyes. "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for He hath visited and redeemed Hispeople. I, John, Vicar of Christ, Servant of Servants, and sinner amongsinners, bid you be of good courage in the Name of God. By Him Who hungon the Cross, I promise eternal life to all who persevere in His Order. He Himself has said it. _To him that overcometh I will give a crown oflife. _ "Little children; fear not him that killeth the body. There is no morethat he can do. God and His Mother are amongst us. .. . " So his voice had poured on, telling the enormous awe-stricken crowd ofthe blood that already had been shed on the place where they stood, ofthe body of the Apostle that lay scarcely fifty yards away, urging, encouraging, inspiring. They had vowed themselves to death, if that wereGod's Will; and if not, the intention would be taken for the deed. Theywere under obedience now; their wills were no longer theirs but God's;under chastity--for their bodies were bought with a price; underpoverty, and theirs was the kingdom of heaven. He had ended by a great silent Benediction of the City and the World:and there were not wanting a half-dozen of the faithful who had seen, they thought, a white shape in the form of a bird that hung in the airwhile he spoke white as a mist, translucent as water. .. . The consequent scenes in the city and suburbs had been unparalleled, forthousands of families had with one consent dissolved human ties. Husbands had found their way to the huge houses on the Quirinal setapart for them; wives to the Aventine; while the children, as confidentas their parents, had swarmed over to the Sisters of St. Vincent who hadreceived at the Pope's orders the gift of three streets to shelter themin. Everywhere the smoke of burning went up in the squares wherehousehold property, rendered useless by the vows of poverty, wereconsumed by their late owners; and daily long trains moved out from thestation outside the walls carrying jubilant loads of those who weredespatched by the Pope's delegates to be the salt of men, consumed intheir function, and leaven plunged in the vast measures of the infidelworld. And that infidel world welcomed their coming with bitterlaughter. From the rest of Christendom had poured in news of success. The sameprecautions had been observed as in Rome, for the directions issued wereprecise and searching; and day after day came in the long rolls of thenew Religious drawn up by the diocesan superiors. Within the last few days, too, other lists had arrived, more gloriousthan all. Not only did reports stream in that already the Order wasbeginning its work and that already broken communications were beingre-established, that devoted missioners were in process of organisingthemselves, and that hope was once more rising in the most desperatehearts; but better than all this was the tidings of victory in anothersphere. In Paris forty of the new-born Order had been burned alive inone day in the Latin quarter, before the Government intervened. FromSpain, Holland, Russia had come in other names. In Dusseldorf eighteenmen and boys, surprised at their singing of Prime in the church of SaintLaurence, had been cast down one by one into the city-sewer, eachchanting as he vanished: "_Christi Fili Dei vivi miserere nobis, _" and from the darkness had come up the same broken song till it wassilenced with stones. Meanwhile, the German prisons were thronged withthe first batches of recusants. The world shrugged its shoulders, anddeclared that they had brought it on themselves, while yet it deprecatedmob-violence, and requested the attention of the authorities and thedecisive repression of this new conspiracy of superstition. And withinSt. Peter's Church the workmen were busy at the long rows of new altars, affixing to the stone diptychs the brass-forged names of those who hadalready fulfilled their vows and gained their crowns. It was the first word of God's reply to the world's challenge. * * * * * As Christmas drew on it was announced that the Sovereign pontiff wouldsing mass on the last day of the year, at the papal altar of SaintPeter's, on behalf of the Order; and preparations began to be made. It was to be a kind of public inauguration of the new enterprise; and, to the astonishment of all, a special summons was issued to all membersof the Sacred College throughout the world to be present, unless hinderedby sickness. It seemed as if the Pope were determined that the worldshould understand that war was declared; for, although the command wouldnot involve the absence of any Cardinal from his province for more thanfive days, yet many inconveniences must surely result. However, it hadbeen said, and it was to be done. * * * * * It was a strange Christmas. Percy was ordered to attend the Pope at his second mass, and himselfsaid his three at midnight in his own private oratory. For the firsttime in his life he saw that of which he had heard so often, thewonderful old-world Pontifical procession, lit by torches, going throughthe streets from the Lateran to St. Anastasia, where the Pope for thelast few years had restored the ancient custom discontinued for nearly acentury-and-a-half. The little basilica was reserved, of course, inevery corner for the peculiarly privileged; but the streets outsidealong the whole route from the Cathedral to the church--and, indeed, theother two sides of the triangle as well, were one dense mass of silentheads and flaming torches. The Holy Father was attended at the altar bythe usual sovereigns; and Percy from his place watched the heavenlydrama of Christ's Passion enacted through the veil of His nativity atthe hands of His old Angelic Vicar. It was hard to perceive Calvaryhere; it was surely the air of Bethlehem, the celestial light, not thesupernatural darkness, that beamed round the simple altar. It was theChild called Wonderful that lay there beneath the old hands, rather thanthe stricken Man of Sorrows. _Adeste fideles_ sang the choir from the tribune. --Come, let us adore, rather than weep; let us exult, be content, be ourselves like littlechildren. As He for us became a child, let us become childlike for Him. Let us put on the garments of infancy and the shoes of peace. _For theLord hath reigned; He is clothed with beauty: the Lord is clothed withstrength and hath girded Himself. He hath established the world whichshall not be moved: His throne is prepared from of old. He is fromeverlasting. Rejoice greatly then, O daughter of Zion, shout for joy, Odaughter of Jerusalem; behold thy King cometh, to thee, the Holy One, the Saviour of the world. _ It will be time, then, to suffer by and bye, when the Prince of this world cometh upon the Prince of Heaven. So Percy mused, standing apart in his gorgeousness, striving to makehimself little and simple. Surely nothing was too hard for God! Mightnot this mystic Birth once more do what it had done before--bring intosubjection through the might of its weakness every proud thing thatexalts itself above all that is called God? It had drawn wise Kings onceacross the desert, as well as shepherds from their flocks. It had kingsabout it now, kneeling with the poor and foolish, kings who had laiddown their crowns, who brought the gold of loyal hearts, the myrrh ofdesired martyrdom, and the incense of a pure faith. Could not republics, too, lay aside their splendour, mobs be tamed, selfishness deny itself, and wisdom confess its ignorance?. .. Then he remembered Felsenburgh; and his heart sickened within him. III Six days later, Percy rose as usual, said his mass, breakfasted, andsat down to say office until his servant should summon him to vest forthe Pontifical mass. He had learned to expect bad news now so constantly--of apostasies, deaths, losses--that the lull of the previous week had come to him withextraordinary refreshment. It appeared to him as if his musings in St. Anastasia had been truer than he thought, and that the sweetness of theold feast had not yet wholly lost its power even over a world thatdenied its substance. For nothing at all had happened of importance. Afew more martyrdoms had been chronicled, but they had been isolatedcases; and of Felsenburgh there had been no tidings at all. Europeconfessed its ignorance of his business. On the other hand, to-morrow, Percy knew very well, would be a day ofextraordinary moment in England and Germany at any rate; for in Englandit was appointed as the first occasion of compulsory worship throughoutthe country, while it was the second in Germany. Men and women wouldhave to declare themselves now. He had seen on the previous evening a photograph of the image that wasto be worshipped next day in the Abbey; and, in a fit of loathing, hadtorn it to shreds. It represented a nude woman, huge and majestic, entrancingly lovely, with head and shoulders thrown back, as one whosees a strange and heavenly vision, arms downstretched and hands alittle raised, with wide fingers, as in astonishment--the wholeattitude, with feet and knees pressed together, suggestive ofexpectation, hope and wonder; in devilish mockery her long hair wascrowned with twelve stars. This, then, was the spouse of the other, theembodiment of man's ideal maternity, still waiting for her child. .. . When the white scraps lay like poisonous snow at his feet, he had sprungacross the room to his _prie-dieu_, and fallen there in an agony ofreparation. "Oh! Mother, Mother!" he cried to the stately Queen of Heaven who, withHer true Son long ago in Her arms, looked down on him from Herbracket--no more than that. * * * * * But he was still again this morning, and celebrated Saint Silvester, Pope and Martyr, the last saint in the procession of the Christian year, with tolerable equanimity. The sights of last night, the throng ofofficials, the stately, scarlet, unfamiliar figures of the Cardinals whohad come in from north, south, east and west--these helped to reassurehim again--unreasonably, as he knew, yet effectually. The very air waselectric with expectation. All night the piazza had been crowded by ahuge, silent mob waiting till the opening of the doors at seven o'clock. Now the church itself was full, and the piazza full again. Far down thestreet to the river, so far as he could see as he had leaned from hiswindow just now, lay that solemn motionless pavement of heads. The roofof the colonnade showed a fringe of them, the house-tops were black--andthis in the bitter cold of a clear, frosty morning, for it was announcedthat after mass and the proceeding of the members of the Order past thePontifical Throne, the Pope would give Apostolic Benediction to the Cityand the World. Percy finished Terce, closed his book and lay back; his servant would behere in a minute now. His mind began to run over the function, and he reflected that theentire Sacred College (with the exception of the Cardinal-Protector ofJerusalem, detained by sickness), numbering sixty-four members, wouldtake part. This would mean an unique sight by and bye. Eight yearsbefore, he remembered, after the freedom of Rome, there had been asimilar assembly; but the Cardinals at that time amounted to no morethan fifty-three all told, and four had been absent. Then he heard voices in his ante-room, a quick step, and a loud Englishexpostulation. That was curious, and he sat up. Then he heard a sentence. "His Eminence must go to vest; it is useless. " There was a sharp answer, a faint scuffle, and a snatch at the handle. This was indecent; so Percy stood up, made three strides of it to thedoor, and tore it open. A man stood there, whom at first he did not recognise, pale anddisordered. "Why---" began Percy, and recoiled. "Mr. Phillips!" he said. The other threw out his hands. "It is I, sir--your Eminence--this moment arrived. It is life and death. Your servant tells me---" "Who sent you?" "Father Blackmore. " "Good news or bad?" The man rolled his eyes towards the servant, who still stood erect andoffended a yard away; and Percy understood. He put his hand on the other's arm, drawing him through the doorway. "Tap upon this door in two minutes, James, " he said. They passed across the polished floor together; Percy went to his usualplace in the window, leaned against the shutter, and spoke. "Tell me in one sentence, sir, " he said to the breathless man. "There is a plot among the Catholics. They intend destroying the Abbeyto-morrow with explosives. I knew that the Pope---" Percy cut him short with a gesture. CHAPTER VI I The volor-stage was comparatively empty this afternoon, as the littleparty of six stepped out on to it from the lift. There was nothing todistinguish these from ordinary travellers. The two Cardinals of Germanyand England were wrapped in plain furs, without insignia of any kind;their chaplains stood near them, while the two men-servants hurriedforward with the bags to secure a private compartment. The four kept complete silence, watching the busy movements of theofficials on board, staring unseeingly at the sleek, polished monsterthat lay netted in steel at their feet, and the great folded fins thatwould presently be cutting the thin air at a hundred and fifty miles anhour. Then Percy, by a sudden movement, turned from the others, went to theopen window that looked over Rome, and leaned there with his elbows onthe sill, looking. * * * * * It was a strange view before him. It was darkening now towards sunset, and the sky, primrose-greenoverhead, deepened to a clear tawny orange above the horizon, with asanguine line or two at the edge, and beneath that lay the deep eveningviolet of the city, blotted here and there by the black of cypresses andcut by the thin leafless pinnacles of a poplar grove that aspiredwithout the walls. But right across the picture rose the enormous dome, of an indescribable tint; it was grey, it was violet--it was what theeye chose to make it--and through it, giving its solidity the air of abubble, shone the southern sky, flushed too with faint orange. It wasthis that was supreme and dominant; the serrated line of domes, spiresand pinnacles, the crowded roofs beneath, in the valley dell' Inferno, the fairy hills far away--all were but the annexe to this mightytabernacle of God. Already lights were beginning to shine, as for thirtycenturies they had shone; thin straight skeins of smoke were ascendingagainst the darkening sky. The hum of this Mother of cities wasbeginning to be still, for the keen air kept folks indoors; and theevening peace was descending that closed another day and another year. Beneath in the narrow streets Percy could see tiny figures, hurryinglike belated ants; the crack of a whip, the cry of a woman, the wail ofa child came up to this immense elevation like details of a murmur fromanother world. They, too, would soon be quiet, and there would be peace. A heavy bell beat faintly from far away, and the drowsy city turned tomurmur its good-night to the Mother of God. From a thousand towers camethe tiny melody, floating across the great air spaces, in a thousandaccents, the solemn bass of St. Peter's, the mellow tenor of theLateran, the rough cry from some old slum church, the peevish tinkle ofconvents and chapels--all softened and made mystical in this graveevening air--it was the wedding of delicate sound and clear light. Above, the liquid orange sky; beneath, this sweet, subdued ecstasy ofbells. "_Alma Redemptoris Mater_, " whispered Percy, his eyes wet with tears. "_Gentle Mother of the Redeemer--the open door of the sky, star of thesea--have mercy on sinners. _The Angel of the Lord announced it to Mary, and she conceived of the Holy Ghost_. .. . Pour, therefore, Lord, Thygrace into our hearts. Let us, who know Christ's incarnation, risethrough passion and cross to the glory of Resurrection--through the sameChrist our Lord. " Another bell clanged sharply close at hand, calling him down to earth, and wrong, and labour and grief; and he turned to see the motionlessvolor itself one blaze of brilliant internal light, and the two priestsfollowing the German Cardinal across the gangway. It was the rear compartment that the men had taken; and when he had seenthat the old man was comfortable, still without a word he passed outagain into the central passage to see the last of Rome. The exit-door had now been snapped, and as Percy stood at the oppositewindow looking out at the high wall that would presently sink beneathhim, throughout the whole of the delicate frame began to run thevibration of the electric engine. There was the murmur of talkingsomewhere, a heavy step shook the floor, a bell clanged again, twice, and a sweet wind-chord sounded. Again it sounded; the vibration ceased, and the edge of the high wall against the tawny sky on which he hadfixed his eyes sank suddenly like a dropped bar, and he staggered alittle in his place. A moment later the dome rose again, and itselfsank, the city, a fringe of towers and a mass of dark roofs, prickedwith light, span like a whirlpool; the jewelled stars themselves sprangthis way and that; and with one more long cry the marvellous machinerighted itself, beat with its wings, and settled down, with the note ofthe flying air passing through rising shrillness into vibrant silence, to its long voyage to the north. Further and further sank the city behind; it was a patch now: greynesson black. The sky seemed to grow more huge and all-containing as theearth relapsed into darkness; it glowed like a vast dome of wonderfulglass, darkening even as it glowed; and as Percy dropped his eyes oncemore round the extreme edge of the car the city was but a line and abubble--a line and a swelling--a line, and nothingness. He drew a long breath, and went back to his friends. II "Tell me again, " said the old Cardinal, when the two were settled downopposite to one another, and the chaplains were gone to anothercompartment. "Who is this man?" "This man? He was secretary to Oliver Brand, one of our politicians. Hefetched me to old Mrs. Brand's death bed, and lost his place inconsequence. He is in journalism now. He is perfectly honest. No, he isnot a Catholic, though he longs to be one. That is why they confided inhim. " "And they?" "I know nothing of them, except that they are a desperate set. They haveenough faith to act, but not enough to be patient. .. . I suppose theythought this man would sympathise. But unfortunately he has aconscience, and he also sees that any attempt of this kind would be thelast straw on the back of toleration. Eminence, do you realise howviolent the feeling is against us?" The old man shook his head lamentably. "Do I not?" he murmured. "And my Germans are in it? Are you sure?" "Eminence, it is a vast plot. It has been simmering for months. Therehave been meetings every week. They have kept the secret marvellously. Your Germans only delayed that the blow might be more complete. And now, to-morrow---" Percy drew back with a despairing gesture. "And the Holy Father?" "I went to him as soon as mass was over. He withdrew all opposition, andsent for you. It is our one chance, Eminence. " "And you think our plan will hinder it?" "I have no idea, but I can think of nothing else. I shall go straight tothe Archbishop and tell him all. We arrive, I believe, at three o'clock, and you in Berlin about seven, I suppose, by German time. The functionis fixed for eleven. By eleven, then, we shall have done all that ispossible. The Government will know, and they will know, too, that we areinnocent in Rome. I imagine they will cause it to be announced that theCardinal-Protector and the Archbishop, with his coadjutors, will bepresent in the sacristies. They will double every guard; they willparade volors overhead--and then--well! in God's hands be the rest. " "Do you think the conspirators will attempt it?" "I have no idea, " said Percy shortly. "I understand they have alternative plans. " "Just so. If all is clear, they intend dropping the explosive fromabove; if not, at least three men have offered to sacrifice themselvesby taking it into the Abbey themselves. .. . And you, Eminence?" The old man eyed him steadily. "My programme is yours, " he said. "Eminence, have you considered theeffect in either case? If nothing happens---" "If nothing happens we shall be accused of a fraud, of seeking toadvertise ourselves. If anything happens--well, we shall all go beforeGod together. Pray God it may be the second, " he added passionately. "It will be at least easier to bear, " observed the old man. "I beg your pardon, Eminence. I should not have said that. " There fell a silence between the two, in which no sound was heard butthe faint untiring vibration of the screw, and the sudden cough of a manin the next compartment. Percy leaned his head wearily on his hand, andstared from the window. The earth was now dark beneath them--an immense emptiness; above, thehuge engulfing sky was still faintly luminous, and through the highfrosty mist through which they moved stars glimmered now and again, asthe car swayed and tacked across the wind. "It will be cold among the Alps, " murmured Percy. Then he broke off. "And I have not one shred of evidence, " he said; "nothing but the wordof a man. " "And you are sure?" "I am sure. " "Eminence, " said the German suddenly, staring straight into his face, "the likeness is extraordinary. " Percy smiled listlessly. He was tired of bearing that. "What do you make of it?" persisted the other. "I have been asked that before, " said Percy. "I have no views. " "It seems to me that God means something, " murmured the German heavily, still staring at him. "Well, Eminence?" "A kind of antithesis--a reverse of the medal. I do not know. " Again there was silence. A chaplain looked in through the glazed door, ahomely, blue-eyed German, and was waved away once more. "Eminence, " said the old man abruptly, "there is surely more to speakof. Plans to be made. " Percy shook his head. "There are no plans to be made, " he said. "We know nothing but thefact--no names--nothing. We--we are like children in a tiger's cage. Andone of us has just made a gesture in the tiger's face. " "I suppose we shall communicate with one another?" "If we are in existence. " It was curious how Percy took the lead. He had worn his scarlet forabout three months, and his companion for twelve years; yet it was theyounger who dictated plans and arranged. He was scarcely conscious ofits strangeness, however. Ever since the shocking news of the morning, when a new mine had been sprung under the shaking Church, and he hadwatched the stately ceremonial, the gorgeous splendour, the dignified, tranquil movements of the Pope and his court, with a secret that burnedhis heart and brain--above all, since that quick interview in which oldplans had been reversed and a startling decision formed, and a blessinggiven and received, and a farewell looked not uttered--all done inhalf-an-hour--his whole nature had concentrated itself into one keentense force, like a coiled spring. He felt power tingling to hisfinger-tips--power and the dulness of an immense despair. Every prop hadbeen cut, every brace severed; he, the City of Rome, the CatholicChurch, the very supernatural itself, seemed to hang now on one singlething--the Finger of God. And if that failed--well, nothing would evermatter any more. .. . He was going now to one of two things--ignominy or death. There was nothird thing--unless, indeed, the conspirators were actually taken withtheir instruments upon them. But that was impossible. Either they wouldrefrain, knowing that God's ministers would fall with them, and in thatcase there would be the ignominy of a detected fraud, of a miserableattempt to win credit. Or they would not refrain; they would count thedeath of a Cardinal and a few bishops a cheap price to pay forrevenge--and in that case well, there was Death and Judgment. But Percyhad ceased to fear. No ignominy could be greater than that which healready bore--the ignominy of loneliness and discredit. And death couldbe nothing but sweet--it would at least be knowledge and rest. He waswilling to risk all on God. The other, with a little gesture of apology, took out his office bookpresently, and began to read. Percy looked at him with an immense envy. Ah! if only he were as old asthat! He could bear a year or two more of this misery, but not fiftyyears, he thought. It was an almost endless vista that (even if thingswent well) opened before him, of continual strife, self-repression, energy, misrepresentation from his enemies. The Church was sinkingfurther every day. What if this new spasm of fervour were no more thanthe dying flare of faith? How could he bear that? He would have to seethe tide of atheism rise higher and more triumphant every day;Felsenburgh had given it an impetus of whose end there was noprophesying. Never before had a single man wielded the full power ofdemocracy. Then once more he looked forward to the morrow. Oh! if itcould but end in death!. .. _Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur!_ . .. It was no good; it was cowardly to think in this fashion. After all, Godwas God--He takes up the isles as a very little thing. Percy took out his office book, found Prime and St. Sylvester, signedhimself with the cross, and began to pray. A minute later the twochaplains slipped in once more, and sat down; and all was silent, savefor that throb of the screw, and the strange whispering rush of airoutside. III It was about nineteen o'clock that the ruddy English conductor looked inat the doorway, waking Percy from his doze. "Dinner will be served in half-an-hour, gentlemen, " he said (speakingEsperanto, as the rule was on international cars). "We do not stop atTurin to-night. " He shut the door and went out, and the sound of closing doors came downthe corridor as he made the same announcement to each compartment. There were no passengers to descend at Turin, then, reflected Percy; andno doubt a wireless message had been received that there were none tocome on board either. That was good news: it would give him more time inLondon. It might even enable Cardinal Steinmann to catch an earliervolor from Paris to Berlin; but he was not sure bow they ran. It was apity that the German had not been able to catch the thirteen o'clockfrom Rome to Berlin direct. So he calculated, in a kind of superficialinsensibility. He stood up presently to stretch himself. Then he passed out and alongthe corridor to the lavatory to wash his hands. He became fascinated by the view as he stood before the basin at therear of the car, for even now they were passing over Turin. It was ablur of light, vivid and beautiful, that shone beneath him in the midstof this gulf of darkness, sweeping away southwards into the gloom as thecar sped on towards the Alps. How little, he thought, seemed this greatcity seen from above; and yet, how mighty it was! It was from thatglimmer, already five miles behind, that Italy was controlled; in one ofthese dolls' houses of which he had caught but a glimpse, men sat incouncil over souls and bodies, and abolished God, and smiled at HisChurch. And God allowed it all, and made no sign. It was there thatFelsenburgh bad been, a month or two ago--Felsenburgh, his double! Andagain the mental sword tore and stabbed at his heart. * * * * * A few minutes later, the four ecclesiastics were sitting at their roundtable in a little screened compartment of the dining-room in the bows ofthe air-ship. It was an excellent dinner, served, as usual, from thekitchen in the bowels of the volor, and rose, course by course, with asmooth click, into the centre of the table. There was a bottle of redwine to each diner, and both table and chairs swung easily to the veryslight motion of the ship. But they did not talk much, for there wasonly one subject possible to the two cardinals, and the chaplains hadnot yet been admitted into the full secret. It was growing cold now, and even the hot-air foot-rests did not quitecompensate for the deathly iciness of the breath that began to streamdown from the Alps, which the ship was now approaching at a slightincline. It was necessary to rise at least nine thousand feet from theusual level, in order to pass the frontier of the Mont Cenis at a safeangle; and at the same time it was necessary to go a little slower overthe Alps themselves, owing to the extreme rarity of the air, and thedifficulty in causing the screw to revolve sufficiently quickly tocounteract it. "There will be clouds to-night, " said a voice clear and distinct fromthe passage, as the door swung slightly to a movement of the car. Percy got up and closed it. The German Cardinal began to grow a little fidgety towards the end ofdinner. "I shall go back, " he said at last. "I shall be better in my fur rug. " His chaplain dutifully went after him, leaving his own dinnerunfinished, and Percy was left alone with Father Corkran, his Englishchaplain lately from Scotland. He finished his wine, ate a couple of figs, and then sat staring outthrough the plate-glass window in front. "Ah!" he said. "Excuse me, father. There are the Alps at last. " The front of the car consisted of three divisions, in the centre of oneof which stood the steersman, his eyes looking straight ahead, and hishands upon the wheel. On either side of him, separated from him byaluminium walls, was contrived a narrow slip of a compartment, with along curved window at the height of a man's eyes, through which amagnificent view could be obtained. It was to one of these that Percywent, passing along the corridor, and seeing through half-opened doorsother parties still over their wine. He pushed the spring door on theleft and went through. He had crossed the Alps three times before in his life, and wellremembered the extraordinary effect they had had on him, especially ashe had once seen them from a great altitude upon a clear day--aneternal, immeasurable sea of white ice, broken by hummocks and wrinklesthat from below were soaring peaks named and reverenced; and, beyond, the spherical curve of the earth's edge that dropped in a haze of airinto unutterable space. But this time they seemed more amazing thanever, and he looked out on them with the interest of a sick child. The car was now ascending; rapidly towards the pass up across the hugetumbled slopes, ravines, and cliffs that lie like outworks of theenormous wall. Seen from this great height they were in themselvescomparatively insignificant, but they at least suggested the vastness ofthe bastions of which they were no more than buttresses. As Percyturned, he could see the moonless sky alight with frosty stars, and thedimness of the illumination made the scene even more impressive; but ashe turned again, there was a change. The vast air about him seemed nowto be perceived through frosted glass. The velvet blackness of the pineforests had faded to heavy grey, the pale glint of water and ice seenand gone again in a moment, the monstrous nakedness of rock spires andslopes, rising towards him and sliding away again beneath with acrawling motion--all these had lost their distinctness of outline, andwere veiled in invisible white. As he looked yet higher to right andleft the sight became terrifying, for the giant walls of rock rushingtowards him, the huge grotesque shapes towering on all sides, ran upwardinto a curtain of cloud visible only from the dancing radiance thrownupon it by the brilliantly lighted car. Even as he looked, two straightfingers of splendour, resembling horns, shot out, as the bowsearchlights were turned on; and the car itself, already travelling athalf-speed, dropped to quarter-speed, and began to sway softly from sideto side as the huge air-planes beat the mist through which they moved, and the antennae of light pierced it. Still up they went, and on--yetswift enough to let Percy see one great pinnacle rear itself, elongate, sink down into a cruel needle, and vanish into nothingness a thousandfeet below. The motion grew yet more nauseous, as the car moved up at asharp angle preserving its level, simultaneously rising, advancing andswaying. Once, hoarse and sonorous, an unfrozen torrent roared like abeast, it seemed within twenty yards, and was dumb again on the instant. Now, too, the horns began to cry, long, lamentable hootings, ringingsadly in that echoing desolation like the wail of wandering souls; andas Percy, awed beyond feeling, wiped the gathering moisture from theglass, and stared again, it appeared as if he floated now, motionlessexcept for the slight rocking beneath his feet, in a world of whiteness, as remote from earth as from heaven, poised in hopeless infinite space, blind, alone, frozen, lost in a white hell of desolation. Once, as he stared, a huge whiteness moved towards him through the veil, slid slowly sideways and down, disclosing, as the car veered, a giganticslope smooth as oil, with one cluster of black rock cutting it like thefingers of a man's hand groping from a mountainous wave. Then, as once more the car cried aloud like a lost sheep, there answeredit, it seemed scarcely ten yards away, first one windy scream of dismay, another and another; a clang of bells, a chorus broke out; and the airwas full of the beating of wings. IV There was one horrible instant before a clang of a bell, the answeringscream, and a whirling motion showed that the steersman was alert. Thenlike a stone the car dropped, and Percy clutched at the rail before himto steady the terrible sensation of falling into emptiness. He couldhear behind him the crash of crockery, the bumping of heavy bodies, andas the car again checked on its wide wings, a rush of footsteps brokeout and a cry or two of dismay. Outside, but high and far away, thehooting went on; the air was full of it, and in a flash he recognisedthat it could not be one or ten or twenty cars, but at least a hundredthat had answered the call, and that somewhere overhead were hooting andflapping. The invisible ravines and cliffs on all sides took up thecrying; long wails whooped and moaned and died amid a clash of bells, further and further every instant, but now in every direction, behind, above, in front, and far to right and left. Once more the car began tomove, sinking in a long still curve towards the face of the mountain;and as it checked, and began to sway again on its huge wings, he turnedto the door, seeing as he did so, through the cloudy windows in theglow of light, a spire of rock not thirty feet below rising from themist, and one smooth shoulder of snow curving away into invisibility. Within, the car shewed brutal signs of the sudden check: the doors ofthe dining compartments, as he passed along, were flung wide; glasses, plates, pools of wine and tumbled fruit rolled to and fro on the heavingfloors; one man, sitting helplessly on the ground, rolled vacant, terrified eyes upon the priest. He glanced in at the door through whichhe had come just now, and Father Corkran staggered up from his seat andcame towards him, reeling at the motion underfoot; simultaneously therewas a rush from the opposite door, where a party of Americans had beendining; and as Percy, beckoning with his head, turned again to go downto the stern-end of the ship, he found the narrow passage blocked withthe crowd that had run out. A babble of talking and cries made questionsimpossible; and Percy, with his chaplain behind him, gripped thealuminium panelling, and step by step began to make his way in search ofhis friends. Half-way down the passage, as he pushed and struggled, a voice madeitself heard above the din; and in the momentary silence that followed, again sounded the far-away crying of the volors overhead. "Seats, gentlemen, seats, " roared the voice. "We are movingimmediately. " Then the crowd melted as the conductor came through, red-faced anddetermined, and Percy, springing into his wake, found his way clear tothe stern. The Cardinal seemed none the worse. He had been asleep, he explained, and saved himself in time from rolling on to the floor; but his old facetwitched as he talked. "But what is it?" he said. "What is the meaning?" Father Bechlin related how he had actually seen one of the troop ofvolors within five yards of the window; it was crowded with faces, hesaid, from stem to stern. Then it had soared suddenly, and vanished inwhorls of mist. Percy shook his head, saying nothing. He had no explanation. "They are inquiring, I understand, " said Father Bechlin again. "Theconductor was at his instrument just now. " There was nothing to be seen from the windows now. Only, as Percy staredout, still dazed with the shock, he saw the cruel needle of rockwavering beneath as if seen through water, and the huge shoulder of snowswaying softly up and down. It was quieter outside. It appeared that theflock had passed, only somewhere from an infinite height still sounded afitful wailing, as if a lonely bird were wandering, lost in space. "That is the signalling volor, " murmured Percy to himself. He had no theory--no suggestion. Yet the matter seemed an ominous one. It was unheard of that an encounter with a hundred volors should takeplace, and he wondered why they were going southwards. Again the name ofFelsenburgh came to his mind. What if that sinister man were stillsomewhere overhead? "Eminence, " began the old man again. But at that instant the car beganto move. A bell clanged, a vibration tingled underfoot, and then, soft as aflake of snow, the great ship began to rise, its movement perceptibleonly by the sudden drop and vanishing of the spire of rock at whichPercy still stared. Slowly the snowfield too began to flit downwards, ablack cleft, whisked smoothly into sight from above, and disappearedagain below, and a moment later once more the car seemed poised in whitespace as it climbed the slope of air down which it had dropped just now. Again the wind-chord rent the atmosphere; and this time the answer wasas faint and distant as a cry from another world. The speed quickened, and the steady throb of the screw began to replace the swaying motion ofthe wings. Again came the hoot, wild and echoing through the barrenwilderness of rock walls beneath, and again with a sudden impulse thecar soared. It was going in great circles now, cautious as a cat, climbing, climbing, punctuating the ascent with cry after cry, searchingthe blind air for dangers. Once again a vast white slope came intosight, illuminated by the glare from the windows, sinking ever more andmore swiftly, receding and approaching--until for one instant a jaggedline of rocks grinned like teeth through the mist, dropped away andvanished, and with a clash of bells, and a last scream of warning, thethrob of the screw passed from a whirr to a rising note, and the note tostillness, as the huge ship, clear at last of the frontier peaks, shookout her wings steady once more, and set out for her humming flightthrough space. .. . Whatever it was, was behind them now, vanished intothe thick night. There was a sound of talking from the interior of the car, hasty, breathless voices, questioning, exclaiming, and the authoritative terseanswer of the guard. A step came along outside, and Percy sprang to meetit, but, as he laid his hand on the door, it was pushed from without, and to his astonishment the English guard came straight through, closingit behind him. He stood there, looking strangely at the four priests, with compressedlips and anxious eyes. "Well?" cried Percy. "All right, gentlemen. But I'm thinking you'd better descend at Paris. Iknow who you are, gentlemen--and though I'm not a Catholic---" He stopped again. "For God's sake, man---" began Percy. "Oh! the news, gentlemen. Well, it was two hundred cars going to Rome. There is a Catholic plot, sir, discovered in London---" "Well?" "To wipe out the Abbey. So they're going---" "Ah!" "Yes, sir--to wipe out Rome. " Then he was gone again. CHAPTER VII I It was nearly sixteen o'clock on the same day, the last day of the year, that Mabel went into the little church that stood in the street beneathher house. The dark was falling softly layer on layer; across the roofs to westwardburned the smouldering fire of the winter sunset, and the interior wasfull of the dying light. She had slept a little in her chair thatafternoon, and had awakened with that strange cleansed sense of spiritand mind that sometimes follows such sleep. She wondered later how shecould have slept at such a time, and above all, how it was that she hadperceived nothing of that cloud of fear and fury that even now wasfalling over town and country alike. She remembered afterwards anunusual busy-ness on the broad tracks beneath her as she had looked outon them from her windows, and an unusual calling of horns and whistles;but she thought nothing of it, and passed down an hour later for ameditation in the church. She had grown to love the quiet place, and came in often like this tosteady her thoughts and concentrate them on the significance that laybeneath the surface of life--the huge principles upon which all lived, and which so plainly were the true realities. Indeed, such devotion wasbecoming almost recognised among certain classes of people. Addresseswere delivered now and then; little books were being published as guidesto the interior life, curiously resembling the old Catholic books onmental prayer. She went to-day to her usual seat, sat down, folded her hands, lookedfor a minute or two upon the old stone sanctuary, the white image andthe darkening window. Then she closed her eyes and began to think, according to the method she followed. First she concentrated her attention on herself, detaching it from allthat was merely external and transitory, withdrawing it inwards . .. Inwards, until she found that secret spark which, beneath all frailtiesand activities, made her a substantial member of the divine race ofhumankind. This then was the first step. The second consisted in an act of the intellect, followed by one of theimagination. All men possessed that spark, she considered. .. . Then shesent out her powers, sweeping with the eyes of her mind the seethingworld, seeing beneath the light and dark of the two hemispheres, thecountless millions of mankind--children coming into the world, old menleaving it, the mature rejoicing in it and their own strength. Backthrough the ages she looked, through those centuries of crime andblindness, as the race rose through savagery and superstition to aknowledge of themselves; on through the ages yet to come, as generationfollowed generation to some climax whose perfection, she told herself, she could not fully comprehend because she was not of it. Yet, she toldherself again, that climax had already been born; the birthpangs wereover; for had not He come who was the heir of time?. .. Then by a third and vivid act she realised the unity of all, the centralfire of which each spark was but a radiation--that vast passionlessdivine being, realising Himself up through these centuries, one yetmany, Him whom men had called God, now no longer unknown, but recognisedas the transcendent total of themselves--Him who now, with the coming ofthe new Saviour, had stirred and awakened and shown Himself as One. And there she stayed, contemplating the vision of her mind, detachingnow this virtue, now that for particular assimilation, dwelling on herdeficiencies, seeing in the whole the fulfilment of all aspirations, thesum of all for which men had hoped--that Spirit of Peace, so longhindered yet generated too perpetually by the passions of the world, forced into outline and being by the energy of individual lives, realising itself in pulse after pulse, dominant at last, serene, manifest, and triumphant. There she stayed, losing the sense ofindividuality, merging it by a long sustained effort of the will, drinking, as she thought, long breaths of the spirit of life andlove. .. . Some sound, she supposed afterwards, disturbed her, and she opened hereyes; and there before her lay the quiet pavement, glimmering throughthe dusk, the step of the sanctuary, the rostrum on the right, and thepeaceful space of darkening air above the white Mother-figure andagainst the tracery of the old window. It was here that men hadworshipped Jesus, that blood-stained Man of Sorrow, who had borne, evenon His own confession, not peace but a sword. Yet they had knelt, thoseblind and hopeless Christians. .. . Ah! the pathos of it all, thedespairing acceptance of any creed that would account for sorrow, thewild worship of any God who had claimed to bear it! And again came the sound, striking across her peace, though as yet shedid not understand why. It was nearer now; and she turned in astonishment to look down the duskynave. It was from without that the sound had come, that strange murmur, thatrose and fell again as she listened. She stood up, her heart quickening a little--only once before had sheheard such a sound, once before, in a square, where men raged about apoint beneath a platform. .. . She stepped swiftly out of her seat, passed down the aisle, drew backthe curtains beneath the west window, lifted the latch and stepped out. * * * * * The street, from where she looked over the railings that barred theentrance to the church, seemed unusually empty and dark. To right andleft stretched the houses, overhead the darkening sky was flushed withrose; but it seemed as if the public lights had been forgotten. Therewas not a living being to be seen. She had put her hand on the latch of the gate, to open it and go out, when a sudden patter of footsteps made her hesitate; and the nextinstant a child appeared panting, breathless and terrified, running withher hands before her. "They're coming, they're coming, " sobbed the child, seeing the facelooking at her. Then she clung to the bars, staring over her shoulder. Mabel lifted the latch in an instant; the child sprang in, ran to thedoor and beat against it, then turning, seized her dress and coweredagainst her. Mabel shut the gate. "There, there, " she said. "Who is it? Who are coming?" But the child hid her face, drawing at the kindly skirts; and the nextmoment came the roar of voices and the trampling of footsteps. * * * * * It was not more than a few seconds before the heralds of that grimprocession came past. First came a flying squadron of children, laughing, terrified, fascinated, screaming, turning their heads as theyran, with a dog or two yelping among them, and a few women driftingsideways along the pavements. A face of a man, Mabel saw as she glancedin terror upwards, had appeared at the windows opposite, pale andeager--some invalid no doubt dragging himself to see. One group--awell-dressed man in grey, a couple of women carrying babies, asolemn-faced boy--halted immediately before her on the other side of therailings, all talking, none listening, and these too turned their facesto the road on the left, up which every instant the clamour andtrampling grew. Yet she could not ask. Her lips moved; but no sound camefrom them. She was one incarnate apprehension. Across her intense fixitymoved pictures of no importance of Oliver as he had been at breakfast, of her own bedroom with its softened paper, of the dark sanctuary andthe white figure on which she had looked just now. They were coming thicker now; a troop of young men with their armslinked swayed into sight, all talking or crying aloud, nonelistening--all across the roadway, and behind them surged the crowd, like a wave in a stone-fenced channel, male scarcely distinguishablefrom female in that pack of faces, and under that sky that grew darkerevery instant. Except for the noise, which Mabel now hardly noticed, sothick and incessant it was, so complete her concentration in the senseof sight--except for that, it might have been, from its suddenness andoverwhelming force, some mob of phantoms trooping on a sudden out ofsome vista of the spiritual world visible across an open space, andabout to vanish again in obscurity. That empty street was full now onthis side and that so far as she could see; the young men weregone--running or walking she hardly knew--round the corner to the right, and the entire space was one stream of heads and faces, pressing sofiercely that the group at the railings were detached like weeds anddrifted too, sideways, clutching at the bars, and swept away too andvanished. And all the while the child tugged and tore at her skirts. Certain things began to appear now above the heads of the crowd--objectsshe could not distinguish in the failing light--poles, and fantasticshapes, fragments of stuff resembling banners, moving as if alive, turning from side to side, borne from beneath. Faces, distorted with passion, looked at her from time to time as themoving show went past, open mouths cried at her; but she hardly sawthem. She was watching those strange emblems, straining her eyes throughthe dusk, striving to distinguish the battered broken shapes, half-guessing, yet afraid to guess. Then, on a sudden, from the hidden lamps beneath the eaves, light leapedinto being--that strong, sweet, familiar light, generated by the greatengines underground that, in the passion of that catastrophic day, allmen had forgotten; and in a moment all changed from a mob of phantomsand shapes into a pitiless reality of life and death. Before her moved a great rood, with a figure upon it, of which one armhung from the nailed hand, swinging as it went; an embroidery streamedbehind with the swiftness of the motion. And next after it came the naked body of a child, impaled, white andruddy, the head fallen upon the breast, and the arms, too, dangling andturning. And next the figure of a man, hanging by the neck, dressed, it seemed, in a kind of black gown and cape, with its black-capped head twistingfrom the twisting rope. II The same night Oliver Brand came home about an hour before midnight. For himself, what he had heard and seen that day was still too vivid andtoo imminent for him to judge of it coolly. He had seen, from hiswindows in Whitehall, Parliament Square filled with a mob the like ofwhich had not been known in England since the days of Christianity--amob full of a fury that could scarcely draw its origin except fromsources beyond the reach of sense. Thrice during the hours that followedthe publication of the Catholic plot and the outbreak of mob-law he hadcommunicated with the Prime Minister asking whether nothing could bedone to allay the tumult; and on both occasions he had received thedoubtful answer that what could be done would be done, that force wasinadmissible at present; but that the police were doing all that waspossible. As regarded the despatch of the volors to Rome, he had assented bysilence, as had the rest of the Council. That was, Snowford had said, ajudicial punitive act, regrettable but necessary. Peace, in thisinstance, could not be secured except on terms of war--or rather, sincewar was obsolete--by the sternness of justice. These Catholics had shownthemselves the avowed enemies of society; very well, then society mustdefend itself, at least this once. Man was still human. And Oliver hadlistened and said nothing. As he passed in one of the Government volors over London on his wayhome, he had caught more than one glimpse of what was proceeding beneathhim. The streets were as bright as day, shadowless and clear in thewhite light, and every roadway was a crawling serpent. From beneath roseup a steady roar of voices, soft and woolly, punctuated by cries. Fromhere and there ascended the smoke of burning; and once, as he flittedover one of the great squares to the south of Battersea, he had seen asit were a scattered squadron of ants running as if in fear orpursuit. .. . He knew what was happening. .. . Well, after all, man was notyet perfectly civilised. He did not like to think of what awaited him at home. Once, about fivehours earlier, he had listened to his wife's voice through thetelephone, and what he had heard had nearly caused him to leave all andgo to her. Yet he was scarcely prepared for what he found. As he came into the sitting-room, there was no sound, except thatfar-away hum from the seething streets below. The room seemed strangelydark and cold; the only light that entered was through one of thewindows from which the curtains were withdrawn, and, silhouetted againstthe luminous sky beyond, was the upright figure of a woman, looking andlistening. .. . He pressed the knob of the electric light; and Mabel turned slowlytowards him. She was in her day-dress, with a cloak thrown over hershoulders, and her face was almost as that of a stranger. It wasperfectly colourless, her lips were compressed and her eyes full of anemotion which he could not interpret. It might equally have been anger, terror or misery. She stood there in the steady light, motionless, looking at him. For a moment he did not trust himself to speak. He passed across to thewindow, closed it and drew the curtains. Then he took that rigid figuregently by the arm. "Mabel, " he said, "Mabel. " She submitted to be drawn towards the sofa, but there was no response tohis touch. He sat down and looked up at her with a kind of despairingapprehension. "My dear, I am tired out, " he said. Still she looked at him. There was in her pose that rigidity that actorssimulate; yet he knew it for the real thing. He had seen that silenceonce or twice before in the presence of a horror--once at any rate, atthe sight of a splash of blood on her shoe. "Well, my darling, sit down, at least, " he said. She obeyed him mechanically--sat, and still stared at him. In thesilence once more that soft roar rose and died from the invisible worldof tumult outside the windows. Within here all was quiet. He knewperfectly that two things strove within her, her loyalty to her faithand her hatred of those crimes in the name of justice. As he looked onher he saw that these two were at death grips, that hatred wasprevailing, and that she herself was little more than a passivebattlefield. Then, as with a long-drawn howl of a wolf, there surged andsank the voices of the mob a mile away, the tension broke. .. . She threwherself forward towards him, he caught her by the wrists, and so sherested, clasped in his arms, her face and bosom on his knees, and herwhole body torn by emotion. For a full minute neither spoke. Oliver understood well enough, yet atpresent he had no words. He only drew her a little closer to himself, kissed her hair two or three times, and settled himself to hold her. Hebegan to rehearse what he must say presently. Then she raised her flushed face for an instant, looked at himpassionately, dropped her head again and began to sob out broken words. He could only catch a sentence here and there, yet he knew what she wassaying. .. . It was the ruin of all her hopes, she sobbed, the end of her religion. Let her die, die and have done with it! It was all gone, gone, sweptaway in this murderous passion of the people of her faith . .. They wereno better than Christians, after all, as fierce as the men on whom theyavenged themselves, as dark as though the Saviour, Julian, had nevercome; it was all lost . .. War and Passion and Murder had returned to thebody from which she had thought them gone forever. .. . The burningchurches, the hunted Catholics, the raging of the streets on which shehad looked that day, the bodies of the child and the priest carried onpoles, the burning churches and convents. . .. All streamed out, incoherent, broken by sobs, details of horror, lamentations, reproaches, interpreted by the writhing of her head and hands upon his knees. Thecollapse was complete. He put his hands again beneath her arms and raised her. He was worn outby his work, yet he knew he must quiet her. This was more serious thanany previous crisis. Yet he knew her power of recovery. "Sit down, my darling, " he said. "There . .. Give me your hands. Nowlisten to me. " * * * * * He made really an admirable defence, for it was what he had beenrepeating to himself all day. Men were not yet perfect, he said; thereran in their veins the blood of men who for twenty centuries had beenChristians. .. . There must be no despair; faith in man was of the veryessence of religion, faith in man's best self, in what he would become, not in what at present he actually was. They were at the beginning ofthe new religion, not in its maturity; there must be sourness in theyoung fruit. . .. Consider, too, the provocation! Remember the appallingcrime that these Catholics had contemplated; they had set themselves tostrike the new Faith in its very heart. .. . "My darling, " he said, "men are not changed in an instant. What if thoseChristians had succeeded!. .. I condemn it all as strongly as you. I sawa couple of newspapers this afternoon that are as wicked as anythingthat the Christians have ever done. They exulted in all these crimes. Itwill throw the movement back ten years. .. . Do you think that there arenot thousands like yourself who hate and detest this violence?. .. Butwhat does faith mean, except that we know that mercy will prevail?Faith, patience and hope--these are our weapons. " He spoke with passionate conviction, his eyes fixed on hers, in a fierceendeavour to give her his own confidence, and to reassure the remnantsof his own doubtfulness. It was true that he too hated what she hated, yet he saw things that she did not. .. . Well, well, he told himself, hemust remember that she was a woman. The look of frantic horror passed slowly out of her eyes, giving way toacute misery as he talked, and as his personality once more began todominate her own. But it was not yet over. "But the volors, " she cried, "the volors! That is deliberate; that isnot the work of the mob. " "My darling, it is no more deliberate than the other. We are all human, we are all immature. Yes, the Council permitted it, . .. Permitted it, remember. The German Government, too, had to yield. We must tame natureslowly, we must not break it. " He talked again for a few minutes, repeating his arguments, soothing, reassuring, encouraging; and he saw that he was beginning to prevail. But she returned to one of his words. "Permitted it! And you permitted it. " "Dear; I said nothing, either for it or against. I tell you that if wehad forbidden it there would have been yet more murder, and the peoplewould have lost their rulers. We were passive, since we could donothing. " "Ah! but it would have been better to die. .. . Oh, Oliver, let me die atleast! I cannot bear it. " By her hands which he still held he drew her nearer yet to himself. "Sweetheart, " he said gravely, "cannot you trust me a little? If I couldtell you all that passed to-day, you would understand. But trust me thatI am not heartless. And what of Julian Felsenburgh?" For a moment he saw hesitation in her eyes; her loyalty to him and herloathing of all that had happened strove within her. Then once againloyalty prevailed, the name of Felsenburgh weighed down the balance, andtrust came back with a flood of tears. "Oh, Oliver, " she said, "I know I trust you. But I am so weak, and allis so terrible. And He so strong and merciful. And will He be with usto-morrow?" * * * * * It struck midnight from the clock-tower a mile away as they yet sat andtalked. She was still tremulous from the struggle; but she looked at himsmiling, still holding his hands. He saw that the reaction was upon herin full force at last. "The New Year, my husband, " she said, and rose as she said it, drawinghim after her. "I wish you a happy New Year, " she said. "Oh help me, Oliver. " She kissed him, and drew back, still holding his hands, looking at himwith bright tearful eyes. "Oliver, " she cried again, "I must tell you this. .. . Do you know what Ithought before you came?" He shook his head, staring at her greedily. How sweet she was! He felther grip tighten on his hands. "I thought I could not bear it, " she whispered--"that I must end itall--ah! you know what I mean. " His heart flinched as he heard her; and he drew her closer again tohimself. "It is all over! it is all over, " she cried. "Ah! do not look like that!I could not tell you if it was not. "' As their lips met again there came the vibration of an electric bellfrom the next room, and Oliver, knowing what it meant, felt even in thatinstant a tremor shake his heart. He loosed her hands, and still smiledat her. "The bell!" she said, with a flash of apprehension. "But it is all well between us again?" Her face steadied itself into loyalty and confidence. "It is all well, " she said; and again the impatient bell tingled. "Go, Oliver; I will wait here. " A minute later he was back again, with a strange look on his white face, and his lips compressed. He came straight up to her, taking her oncemore by the hands, and looking steadily into her steady eyes. In thehearts of both of them resolve and faith were holding down the emotionthat was not yet dead. He drew a long breath. "Yes, " he said in an even voice, "it is over. " Her lips moved; and that deadly paleness lay on her cheeks. He grippedher firmly. "Listen, " he said. "You must face it. It is over. Rome is gone. Now wemust build something better. " She threw herself sobbing into his arms. CHAPTER VIII I Long before dawn on the first morning of the New Year the approaches tothe Abbey were already blocked. Victoria Street, Great George Street, Whitehall--even Millbank Street itself--were full and motionless. BroadSanctuary, divided by the low-walled motor-track, was itself cut intogreat blocks and wedges of people by the ways which the police kept openfor the passage of important personages, and Palace Yard was keptrigidly clear except for one island, occupied by a stand which wasitself full from top to bottom and end to end. All roofs and parapetswhich commanded a view of the Abbey were also one mass of heads. Overhead, like solemn moons, burned the white lights of the electricglobes. It was not known at exactly what hour the tumult had steadied itself todefinite purpose, except to a few weary controllers of the temporaryturnstiles which had been erected the evening before. It had beenannounced a week previously that, in consideration of the enormousdemand for seats, all persons who presented their worship-ticket at anauthorised office, and followed the directions issued by the police, would be accounted as having fulfilled the duties of citizenship in thatrespect, and it was generally made known that it was the Government'sintention to toll the great bell of the Abbey at the beginning of theceremony and at the incensing of the image, during which period silencemust be as far as possible preserved by all those within hearing. London had gone completely mad on the announcement of the Catholic ploton the afternoon before. The secret had leaked out about fourteeno'clock, an hour after the betrayal of the scheme to Mr. Snowford; andpractically all commercial activities had ceased on the instant. Byfifteen-and-a-half all stores were closed, the Stock Exchange, the Cityoffices, the West End establishments--all had as by irresistible impulsesuspended business, and from within two hours after noon until nearlymidnight, when the police had been adequately reinforced and enabled todeal with the situation, whole mobs and armies of men, screamingsquadrons of women, troops of frantic youths, had paraded the streets, howling, denouncing, and murdering. It was not known how many deaths hadtaken place, but there was scarcely a street without the signs ofoutrage. Westminster Cathedral had been sacked, every altar overthrown, indescribable indignities performed there. An unknown priest hadscarcely been able to consume the Blessed Sacrament before he was seizedand throttled; the Archbishop with eleven priests and two bishops hadbeen hanged at the north end of the church, thirty-five convents hadbeen destroyed, St. George's Cathedral burned to the ground; and it wasreported even, by the evening papers, that it was believed that, for thefirst time since the introduction of Christianity into England, therewas not one Tabernacle left within twenty miles of the Abbey. "London, "explained the _New People_, in huge headlines, "was cleansed at last ofdingy and fantastic nonsense. " It was known at about fifteen-and-a-half o'clock that at least seventyvolors had left for Rome, and half-an-hour later that Berlin hadreinforced them by sixty more. At midnight, fortunately at a time whenthe police had succeeded in shepherding the crowds into some kind oforder, the news was flashed on to cloud and placard alike that the grimwork was done, and that Rome had ceased to exist. The early morningpapers added a few details, pointing out, of course, the coincidence ofthe fall with the close of the year, relating how, by an astonishingchance, practically all the heads of the hierarchy throughout the worldhad been assembled in the Vatican which had been the first object ofattack, and how these, in desperation, it was supposed, had refused toleave the City when the news came by wireless telegraphy that thepunitive force was on its way. There was not a building left in Rome;the entire place, Leonine City, Trastevere, suburbs--everything wasgone; for the volors, poised at an immense height, had parcelled out theCity beneath them with extreme care, before beginning to drop theexplosives; and five minutes after the first roar from beneath and thefirst burst of smoke and flying fragments, the thing was finished. Thevolors had then dispersed in every direction, pursuing the motor andrail-tracks along which the population had attempted to escape so soonas the news was known; and it was supposed that not less than thirtythousand belated fugitives had been annihilated by this foresight. Itwas true, remarked the _Studio_, that many treasures of incalculablevalue had been destroyed, but this was a cheap price to pay for thefinal and complete extermination of the Catholic pest. "There comes apoint, " it remarked, "when destruction is the only cure for avermin-infested house, " and it proceeded to observe that now that thePope with the entire College of Cardinals, all the ex-Royalties ofEurope, all the most frantic religionists from the inhabited world whohad taken up their abode in the "Holy City" were gone at a stroke, arecrudescence of the superstition was scarcely to be feared elsewhere. Yet care must even now be taken against any relenting. Catholics (if anywere left bold enough to attempt it) must no longer be allowed to takeany kind of part in the life of any civilised country. So far asmessages had come in from other countries, there was but one chorus ofapproval at what had been done. A few papers regretted the incident, or rather the spirit which had lainbehind it. It was not seemly, they said, that Humanitarians should haverecourse to violence; yet not one pretended that anything could be feltbut thanksgiving for the general result. Ireland, too, must be broughtinto line; they must not dally any longer. * * * * * It was now brightening slowly towards dawn, and beyond the river throughthe faint wintry haze a crimson streak or two began to burn. But all wassurprisingly quiet, for this crowd, tired out with an all-night watch, chilled by the bitter cold, and intent on what lay before them, had noenergy left for useless effort. Only from packed square and street andlane went up a deep, steady murmur like the sound of the sea a mileaway, broken now and again by the hoot and clang of a motor and the rushof its passage as it tore eastwards round the circle through BroadSanctuary and vanished citywards. And the light broadened and theelectric globes sickened and paled, and the haze began to clear alittle, showing, not the fresh blue that had been hoped for from thecold of the night, but a high, colourless vault of cloud, washed withgrey and faint rose-colour, as the sun came up, a ruddy copper disc, beyond the river. * * * * * At nine o'clock the excitement rose a degree higher. The police betweenWhitehall and the Abbey, looking from their high platforms strung alongthe route, whence they kept watch and controlled the wire palisadings, showed a certain activity, and a minute later a police-car whirledthrough the square between the palings, and vanished round the Abbeytowers. The crowd murmured and shuffled and began to expect, and a cheerwas raised when a moment later four more cars appeared, bearing theGovernment insignia, and disappeared in the same direction. These werethe officials, they said, going to Dean's Yard, where the processionwould assemble. At about a quarter to ten the crowd at the west end of Victoria Streetbegan to raise its voice in a song, and by the time that was over, andthe bells had burst out from the Abbey towers, a rumour had somehow madeits entrance that Felsenburgh was to be present at the ceremony. Therewas no assignable reason for this, neither then nor afterwards; in fact, the _Evening Star_ declared that it was one more instance of theastonishing instinct of human beings _en masse_; for it was not until anhour later that even the Government were made aware of the facts. Yetthe truth remained that at half-past ten one continuous roar went up, drowning even the brazen clamour of the bells, reaching round toWhitehall and the crowded pavements of Westminster Bridge, demandingJulian Felsenburgh. Yet there had been absolutely no news of thePresident of Europe for the last fortnight, beyond an entirelyunsupported report that he was somewhere in the East. And all the while the motors poured from all directions towards theAbbey and disappeared under the arch into Dean's Yard, bearing thosefortunate persons whose tickets actually admitted them to the churchitself. Cheers ran and rippled along the lines as the great men wererecognised--Lord Pemberton, Oliver Brand and his wife, Mr. Caldecott, Maxwell, Snowford, with the European delegates--even melancholy-facedMr. Francis himself, the Government _ceremoniarius_, received agreeting. But by a quarter to eleven, when the pealing bells paused, thestream had stopped, the barriers issued out to stop the roads, the wirepalisadings vanished, and the crowd for an instant, ceasing its roaring, sighed with relief at the relaxed pressure, and surged out into theroadways. Then once more the roaring began for Julian Felsenburgh. The sun was now high, still a copper disc, above the Victoria Tower, butpaler than an hour ago; the whiteness of the Abbey, the heavy greys ofParliament House, the ten thousand tints of house-roofs, heads, streamers, placards began to disclose themselves. A single bell tolled five minutes to the hour, and the moments slippedby, until once more the bell stopped, and to the ears of those withinhearing of the great west doors came the first blare of the huge organ, reinforced by trumpets. And then, as sudden and profound as the hush ofdeath, there fell an enormous silence. II As the five-minutes bell began, sounding like a continuous wind-note inthe great vaults overhead, solemn and persistent, Mabel drew a longbreath and leaned back in her seat from the rigid position in which forthe last half-hour she had been staring out at the wonderful sight. Sheseemed to herself to have assimilated it at last, to be herself oncemore, to have drunk her fill of the triumph and the beauty. She was asone who looks upon a summer sea on the morning after a storm. And nowthe climax was at hand. From end to end and side to side the interior of the Abbey presented agreat broken mosaic of human faces; living slopes, walls, sections andcurves. The south transept directly opposite to her, from pavement torose window, was one sheet of heads; the floor was paved with them, cutin two by the scarlet of the gangway leading from the chapel of St. Faith--on the right, the choir beyond the open space before thesanctuary was a mass of white figures, scarved and surpliced; the highorgan gallery, beneath which the screen had been removed, was crowdedwith them, and, far down beneath, the dim nave stretched the sameendless pale living pavement to the shadow beneath the west window. Between every group of columns behind the choir-stalls, before her, toright, left, and behind, were platforms contrived in the masonry; andthe exquisite roof, fan-tracery and soaring capital, alone gave the eyean escape from humanity. The whole vast space was full, it seemed, ofdelicate sunlight that streamed in from the artificial light set outsideeach window, and poured the ruby and the purple and the blue from theold glass in long shafts of colour across the dusty air, and in brokenpatches on the faces and dresses behind. The murmur of ten thousandvoices filled the place, supplying, it seemed, a solemn accompaniment tothat melodious note that now pulsed above it. And finally, moresignificant than all, was the empty carpeted sanctuary at her feet, theenormous altar with its flight of steps, the gorgeous curtain and thegreat untenanted sedilia. * * * * * Mabel needed some such reassurance, for last night, until the coming ofOliver, had passed for her as a kind of appalling waking dream. From thefirst shock of what she had seen outside the church, through those hoursof waiting, with the knowledge that this was the way in which the Spiritof Peace asserted its superiority, up to that last moment when, in herhusband's arms, she had learned of the Fall of Rome, it had appeared toher as if her new world had suddenly corrupted about her. It wasincredible, she told herself, that this ravening monster, dripping bloodfrom claws and teeth, that had arisen roaring in the night, could be theHumanity that had become her God. She had thought revenge and crueltyand slaughter to be the brood of Christian superstition, dead and buriedunder the new-born angel of light, and now it seemed that the monstersyet stirred and lived. All the evening she had sat, walked, lain abouther quiet house with the horror heavy about her, flinging open a windownow and again in the icy air to listen with clenched hands to the criesand the roarings of the mob that raged in the streets beneath, theclanks, the yells and the hoots of the motor-trains that tore up fromthe country to swell the frenzy of the city--to watch the red glow offire, the volumes of smoke that heaved up from the burning chapels andconvents. She had questioned, doubted, resisted her doubts, flung out frantic actsof faith, attempted to renew the confidence that she attained in hermeditation, told herself that traditions died slowly; she had knelt, crying out to the spirit of peace that lay, as she knew so well, at theheart of man, though overwhelmed for the moment by evil passion. A lineor two ran in her head from one of the old Victorian poets: You doubt If any one Could think or bid it? How could it come about?. .. Who did it? Not men! Not here! Oh! not beneath the sun. .. . The torchthat smouldered till the cup o'er-ran The wrath of God which is thewrath of Man! She had even contemplated death, as she had told her husband--the takingof her own life, in a great despair with the world. Seriously she hadthought of it; it was an escape perfectly in accord with her morality. The useless and agonising were put out of the world by common consent;the Euthanasia houses witnessed to it. Then why not she?. .. For shecould not bear it!. .. Then Oliver had come, she had fought her way backto sanity and confidence; and the phantom had gone again. How sensible and quiet he had been, she was beginning to tell herselfnow, as the quiet influence of this huge throng in this glorious placeof worship possessed her once more--how reasonable in his explanationthat man was even now only convalescent and therefore liable to relapse. She had told herself that again and again during the night, but it hadbeen different when he had said so. His personality had once moreprevailed; and the name of Felsenburgh had finished the work. "If He were but here!" she sighed. But she knew He was far away. * * * * * It was not until a quarter to eleven that she understood that the crowdsoutside were clamouring for Him too, and that knowledge reassured heryet further. They knew, then, these wild tigers, where their redemptionlay; they understood what was their ideal, even if they had not attainedto it. Ah! if He were but here, there would be no more question: thesullen waves would sink beneath His call of peace, the hazy clouds lift, the rumble die to silence. But He was away--away on some strangebusiness. Well; He knew His work. He would surely come soon again to Hischildren who needed Him so terribly. * * * * * She had the good fortune to be alone in a crowd. Her neighbour, agrizzled old man with his daughters beyond, was her only neighbour, anda stranger. At her left rose up the red-covered barricade over which shecould see the sanctuary and the curtain; and her seat in the tribune, raised some eight feet above the floor, removed her from any possibilityof conversation. She was thankful for that: she did not want to talk;she wanted only to control her faculties in silence, to reassert herfaith, to look out over this enormous throng gathered to pay homage tothe great Spirit whom they had betrayed, to renew her own courage andfaithfulness. She wondered what the preacher would say, whether therewould be any note of penitence. Maternity was his subject--that benignaspect of universal life--tenderness, love, quiet, receptive, protectivepassion, the spirit that soothes rather than inspires, that busiesitself with peaceful tasks, that kindles the lights and fires of home, that gives sleep, food and welcome. .. . The bell stopped, and in the instant before the music began she heard, clear above the murmur within, the roar of the crowds outside, who stilldemanded their God. Then, with a crash, the huge organ awoke, pierced bythe cry of the trumpets and the maddening throb of drums. There was nodelicate prelude here, no slow stirring of life rising throughlabyrinths of mystery to the climax of sight--here rather was full-orbedday, the high noon of knowledge and power, the dayspring from on high, dawning in mid-heaven. Her heart quickened to meet it, and her revivingconfidence, still convalescent, stirred and smiled, as the tremendouschords blared overhead, telling of triumph full-armed. God was man, then, after all--a God who last night had faltered for an hour, but whorose again on this morning of a new year, scattering mists, dominantover his own passion, all-compelling and all-beloved. God was man, andFelsenburgh his Incarnation! Yes, she must believe that! She didbelieve that! Then she saw how already the long procession was winding up beneath thescreen, and by imperceptible art the light grew yet more acutelybeautiful. They were coming, then, those ministers of a pure worship;grave men who knew in what they believed, and who, even if they did notat this moment thrill with feeling (for she knew that in this respecther husband for one did not), yet believed the principles of thisworship and recognised their need of expression for the majority ofmankind--coming slowly up in fours and pairs and units, led by robedvergers, rippling over the steps, and emerging again into the colouredsunlight in all their bravery of Masonic apron, badge and jewel. Surelyhere was reassurance enough. * * * * * The sanctuary now held a figure or two. Anxious-faced Mr. Francis, inhis robes of office, came gravely down the steps and stood awaiting theprocession, directing with almost imperceptible motions his satelliteswho hovered about the aisles ready to point this way and that to theadvancing stream; and the western-most seats were already beginning tofill, when on a sudden she recognised that something had happened. Just now the roaring of the mob outside had provided a kind of underbassto the music within, imperceptible except to sub-consciousness, butclearly discernible in its absence; and this absence was now a fact. At first she thought that the signal of beginning worship had hushedthem; and then, with an indescribable thrill, she remembered that in allher knowledge only one thing had ever availed to quiet a turbulentcrowd. Yet she was not sure; it might be an illusion. Even now the mobmight be roaring still, and she only deaf to it; but again with anecstasy that was very near to agony she perceived that the murmur ofvoices even within the building had ceased, and that some great wave ofemotion was stirring the sheets and slopes of faces before her as a windstirs wheat. A moment later, and she was on her feet, gripping the rail, with her heart like an over-driven engine beating pulses of blood, furious and insistent, through every vein; for with great rushing surgethat sounded like a sigh, heard even above the triumphant tumultoverhead, the whole enormous assemblage had risen to its feet. Confusion seemed to break out in the orderly procession. She saw Mr. Francis run forward quickly, gesticulating like a conductor, and at hissignal the long line swayed forward, split, recoiled, and again slidswiftly forward, breaking as it did so into twenty streams that pouredalong the seats and filled them in a moment. Men ran and pushed, apronsflapped, hands beckoned, all without coherent words. There was aknocking of feet, the crash of an overturned chair, and then, as if agod had lifted his hand for quiet, the music ceased abruptly, sending awild echo that swooned and died in a moment; a great sigh filled itsplace, and, in the coloured sunshine that lay along the immense lengthof the gangway that ran open now from west to east, far down in thedistant nave, a single figure was seen advancing. III What Mabel saw and heard and felt from eleven o'clock to half-an-hourafter noon on that first morning of the New Year she could neveradequately remember. For the time she lost the continuous consciousnessof self, the power of reflection, for she was still weak from herstruggle; there was no longer in her the process by which events arestored, labelled and recorded; she was no more than a being who observedas it were in one long act, across which considerations played atuncertain intervals. Eyes and ear seemed her sole functions, communicating direct with a burning heart. * * * * * She did not even know at what point her senses told her that this wasFelsenburgh. She seemed to have known it even before he entered, and shewatched Him as in complete silence He came deliberately up the redcarpet, superbly alone, rising a step or two at the entrance of thechoir, passing on and up before her. He was in his English judicialdress of scarlet and black, but she scarcely noticed it. For her, too, no one else existed but, He; this vast assemblage was gone, poised andtransfigured in one vibrating atmosphere of an immense human emotion. There was no one, anywhere, but Julian Felsenburgh. Peace and lightburned like a glory about Him. For an instant after passing he disappeared beyond the speaker'stribune, and the instant after reappeared once more, coming up thesteps. He reached his place--she could see His profile beneath her andslightly to the left, pure and keen as the blade of a knife, beneath Hiswhite hair. He lifted one white-furred sleeve, made a single motion, andwith a surge and a rumble, the ten thousand were seated. He motionedagain and with a roar they were on their feet. Again there was a silence. He stood now, perfectly still, His hands laidtogether on the rail, and His face looking steadily before Him; itseemed as if He who had drawn all eyes and stilled all sounds werewaiting until His domination were complete, and there was but one will, one desire, and that beneath His hand. Then He began to speak. .. . * * * * * In this again, as Mabel perceived afterwards, there was no precise orverbal record within her of what he said; there was no conscious processby which she received, tested, or approved what she heard. The nearestimage under which she could afterwards describe her emotions to herself, was that when He spoke it was she who was speaking. Her own thoughts, her predispositions, her griefs, her disappointment, her passion, herhopes--all these interior acts of the soul known scarcely even toherself, down even, it seemed, to the minutest whorls and eddies ofthought, were, by this man, lifted up, cleansed, kindled, satisfied andproclaimed. For the first time in her life she became perfectly aware ofwhat human nature meant; for it was her own heart that passed out uponthe air, borne on that immense voice. Again, as once before for a fewmoments in Paul's House, it seemed that creation, groaning so long, hadspoken articulate words at last--had come to growth and coherent thoughtand perfect speech. Yet then He had spoken to men; now it was ManHimself speaking. It was not one man who spoke there, it was Man--Manconscious of his origin, his destiny, and his pilgrimage between, Mansane again after a night of madness--knowing his strength, declaring hislaw, lamenting in a voice as eloquent as stringed instruments his ownfailure to correspond. It was a soliloquy rather than an oration. Romehad fallen, English and Italian streets had run with blood, smoke andflame had gone up to heaven, because man had for an instant sunk back tothe tiger. Yet it was done, cried the great voice, and there was norepentance; it was done, and ages hence man must still do penance andflush scarlet with shame to remember that once he turned his back onthe risen light. There was no appeal to the lurid, no picture of the tumbling palaces, the running figures, the coughing explosions, the shaking of the earthand the dying of the doomed. It was rather with those hot heartsshouting in the English and German streets, or aloft in the winter airof Italy, the ugly passions that warred there, as the volors rocked attheir stations, generating and fulfilling revenge, paying back plot withplot, and violence with violence. For there, cried the voice, was man ashe had been, fallen in an instant to the cruel old ages before he hadlearned what he was and why. There was no repentance, said the voice again, but there was somethingbetter; and as the hard, stinging tones melted, the girl's dry eyes ofshame filled in an instant with tears. There was something better--theknowledge of what crimes man was yet capable of, and the will to usethat knowledge. Rome was gone, and it was a lamentable shame; Rome wasgone, and the air was the sweeter for it; and then in an instant, likethe soar of a bird, He was up and away--away from the horrid gulf whereHe had looked just now, from the fragments of charred bodies, andtumbled houses and all the signs of man's disgrace, to the pure air andsunlight to which man must once more set his face. Yet He bore with Himin that wonderful flight the dew of tears and the aroma of earth. He hadnot spared words with which to lash and whip the naked human heart, andHe did not spare words to lift up the bleeding, shrinking thing, andcomfort it with the divine vision of love. .. . Historically speaking, it was about forty minutes before He turned tothe shrouded image behind the altar. "Oh! Maternity!" he cried. "Mother of us all---" And then, to those who heard Him, the supreme miracle took place. .. . Forit seemed now in an instant that it was no longer man who spoke, but Onewho stood upon the stage of the superhuman. The curtain ripped back, asone who stood by it tore, panting, at the strings; and there, it seemed, face to face stood the Mother above the altar, huge, white andprotective, and the Child, one passionate incarnation of love, crying toher from the tribune. "Oh! Mother of us all, and Mother of Me!" So He praised her to her face, that sublime principle of life, declaredher glories and her strength, her Immaculate Motherhood, her sevenswords of anguish driven through her heart by the passion and thefollies of her Son--He promised her great things, the recognition of hercountless children, the love and service of the unborn, the welcome ofthose yet quickening within the womb. He named her the Wisdom of theMost High, that sweetly orders all things, the Gate of Heaven, House ofIvory, Comforter of the afflicted, Queen of the World; and, to thedelirious eyes of those who looked on her it seemed that the grave facesmiled to hear Him. .. . A great panting as of some monstrous life began to fill the air as themob swayed behind Him, and the torrential voice poured on. Waves ofemotion swept up and down; there were cries and sobs, the yelping of aman beside himself at last, from somewhere among the crowded seats, thecrash of a bench, and another and another, and the gangways were full, for He no longer held them passive to listen; He was rousing them tosome supreme act. The tide crawled nearer, and the faces stared nolonger at the Son but the Mother; the girl in the gallery tore at theheavy railing, and sank down sobbing upon her knees. And above all thevoice pealed on--and the thin hands blanched to whiteness strained fromthe wide and sumptuous sleeves as if to reach across the sanctuaryitself. It was a new tale He was telling now, and all to her glory. He was fromthe East, now they knew, come from some triumph. He had been hailed asKing, adored as Divine, as was meet and right--He, the humble superhumanson of a Human Mother--who bore not a sword but peace, not a cross but acrown. So it seemed He was saying; yet no man there knew whether He saidit or not--whether the voice proclaimed it, or their hearts asserted it. He was on the steps of the sanctuary now, still with outstretched handsand pouring words, and the mob rolled after him to the rumble of tenthousand feet and the sighing of ten thousand hearts. .. . He was at thealtar; He was upon it. Again in one last cry, as the crowd broke againstthe steps beneath, He hailed her Queen and Mother. The end came in a moment, swift and inevitable. And for an instant, before the girl in the gallery sank down, blind with tears, she saw thetiny figure poised there at the knees of the huge image, beneath theexpectant hands, silent and transfigured in the blaze of light. TheMother, it seemed, had found her Son at last. For an instant she saw it, the soaring columns, the gilding and thecolours, the swaying heads, the tossing hands. It was a sea that heavedbefore her, lights went up and down, the rose window whirled overhead, presences filled the air, heaven flashed away, and the earth shook itecstasy. Then in the heavenly light, to the crash of drums, above thescreaming of the women and the battering of feet, in one thunder-peal ofworship ten thousand voices hailed Him Lord and God. BOOK III-THE VICTORY CHAPTER I I The little room where the new Pope sat reading was a model ofsimplicity. Its walls were whitewashed, its roof unpolished rafters, andits floor beaten mud. A square table stood in the centre, with a chairbeside it; a cold brazier laid for lighting, stood in the wide hearth; abookshelf against the wall held a dozen volumes. There were three doors, one leading to the private oratory, one to the ante-room, and the thirdto the little paved court. The south windows were shuttered, but throughthe ill-fitting hinges streamed knife-blades of fiery light from the hotEastern day outside. It was the time of the mid-day siesta, and except for the brisk scythingof the _cicade_ from the hill-slope behind the house, all was in deepsilence. * * * * * The Pope, who had dined an hour before, had hardly shifted His attitudein all that time, so intent was He upon His reading. For the while, allwas put away, His own memory of those last three months, the bitteranxiety, the intolerable load of responsibility. The book He held was acheap reprint of the famous biography of Julian Felsenburgh, issued amonth before, and He was now drawing to an end. It was a terse, well-written book, composed by an unknown hand, and someeven suspected it to be the disguised work of Felsenburgh himself. More, however, considered that it was written at least with Felsenburgh'sconsent by one of that small body of intimates whom he had admitted tohis society--that body which under him now conducted the affairs of Westand East. From certain indications in the book it had been argued thatits actual writer was a Westerner. The main body of the work dealt with his life, or rather with those twoor three years known to the world, from his rapid rise in Americanpolitics and his mediation in the East down to the event of five monthsago, when in swift succession he had been hailed Messiah in Damascus, had been formally adored in London, and finally elected by anextraordinary majority to the Tribuniciate of the two Americas. The Pope had read rapidly through these objective facts, for He knewthem well enough already, and was now studying with close attention thesummary of his character, or rather, as the author rather sententiouslyexplained, the summary of his self-manifestation to the world. He readthe description of his two main characteristics, his grasp upon wordsand facts; "words, the daughters of earth, were wedded in this man tofacts, the sons of heaven, and Superman was their offspring. " His minorcharacteristics, too, were noticed, his appetite for literature, hisastonishing memory, his linguistic powers. He possessed, it appeared, both the telescopic and the microscopic eye--he discerned world-widetendencies and movements on the one hand; he had a passionate capacityfor detail on the other. Various anecdotes illustrated these remarks, and a number of terse aphorisms of his were recorded. "No man forgives, "he said; "he only understands. " "It needs supreme faith to renounce atranscendent God. " "A man who believes in himself is almost capable ofbelieving in his neighbour. " Here was a sentence that to the Pope's mindwas significant of that sublime egotism that is alone capable ofconfronting the Christian spirit: and again, "To forgive a wrong is tocondone a crime, " and "The strong man is accessible to no one, but allare accessible to him. " There was a certain pompousness in this array of remarks, but it lay, asthe Pope saw very well, not in the speaker but in the scribe. To him whohad seen the speaker it was plain how they had been uttered--with nopontifical solemnity, but whirled out in a fiery stream of eloquence, orspoken with that strangely moving simplicity that had constituted hisfirst assault on London. It was possible to hate Felsenburgh, and tofear him; but never to be amused at him. But plainly the supreme pleasure of the writer was to trace the analogybetween his hero and nature. In both there was the same apparentcontradictoriness--the combination of utter tenderness and utterruthlessness. "The power that heals wounds also inflicts them: thatclothes the dungheap with sweet growths and grasses, breaks, too, intofire and earthquake; that causes the partridge to die for her young, also makes the shrike with his living larder. " So, too, withFelsenburgh; He who had wept over the Fall of Rome, a month later hadspoken of extermination as an instrument that even now might bejudicially used in the service of humanity. Only it must be used withdeliberation, not with passion. The utterance had aroused extraordinary interest, since it seemed soparadoxical from one who preached peace and toleration; and argumenthad broken out all over the world. But beyond enforcing the dispersal ofthe Irish Catholics, and the execution of a few individuals, so far thatutterance had not been acted upon. Yet the world seemed as a whole tohave accepted it, and even now to be waiting for its fulfilment. As the biographer pointed out, the world enclosed in physical natureshould welcome one who followed its precepts, one who was indeed thefirst to introduce deliberately and confessedly into human affairs suchlaws as those of the Survival of the Fittest and the immorality offorgiveness. If there was mystery in the one, there was mystery in theother, and both must be accepted if man was to develop. And the secret of this, it seemed, lay in His personality. To see Himwas to believe in Him, or rather to accept Him as inevitably true. "Wedo not explain nature or escape from it by sentimental regrets: the barecries like a child, the wounded stag weeps great tears, the robin killshis parents; life exists only on condition of death; and these thingshappen however we may weave theories that explain nothing. Life must beaccepted on those terms; we cannot be wrong if we follow nature; ratherto accept them is to find peace--our great mother only reveals hersecrets to those who take her as she is. " So, too, with Felsenburgh. "Itis not for us to discriminate: His personality is of a kind that doesnot admit it. He is complete and sufficing for those who trust Him andare willing to suffer; an hostile and hateful enigma to those who arenot. We must prepare ourselves for the logical outcome of this doctrine. Sentimentality must not be permitted to dominate reason. " Finally, then, the writer showed how to this Man belonged properly allthose titles hitherto lavished upon imagined Supreme Beings. It was inpreparation for Him that these types came into the realms of thought andinfluenced men's lives. He was the _Creator_, for it was reserved for Him to bring into beingthe perfect life of union to which all the world had hitherto groaned invain; it was in His own image and likeness that He had made man. Yet He was the _Redeemer_ too, for that likeness had in one sense alwaysunderlain the tumult of mistake and conflict. He had brought man out ofdarkness and the shadow of death, guiding their feet into the way ofpeace. He was the _Saviour_ for the same reason--the _Son of Man_, forHe alone was perfectly human; He was the _Absolute_, for He was thecontent of Ideals; the _Eternal_, for He had lain always in nature'spotentiality and secured by His being the continuity of that order; the_Infinite_, for all finite things fell short of Him who was more thantheir sum. He was _Alpha_, then, and _Omega_, the beginning and the end, the firstand the last. He was _Dominus et Deus noster_ (as Domitian had been, thePope reflected). He was as simple and as complex as life itself--simplein its essence, complex in its activities. And last of all, the supreme proof of His mission lay in the immortalnature of His message. There was no more to be added to what He hadbrought to light--for in Him all diverging lines at last found theirorigin and their end. As to whether or no He would prove to bepersonally immortal was an wholly irrelevant thought; it would be indeedfitting if through His means the vital principle should disclose itslast secret; but no more than fitting. Already His spirit was in theworld; the individual was no more separate from his fellows; death nomore than a wrinkle that came and went across the inviolable sea. Forman had learned at last that the race was all and self was nothing; thecell had discovered the unity of the body; even, the greatest thinkersdeclared, the consciousness of the individual had yielded the title ofPersonality to the corporate mass of man--and the restlessness of theunit had sunk into the peace of a common Humanity, for nothing but thiscould explain the cessation of party strife and nationalcompetition--and this, above all, had been the work of Felsenburgh. "_Behold I am with you always_, " quoted the writer in a passionateperoration, "_even now in the consummation of the world; and, theComforter is come unto you. I am the Door--the Way, the Truth and theLife--the Bread of Life and the Water of Life. My name is Wonderful, thePrince of Peace, the Father Everlasting. It is I who am the Desire ofall nations, the fairest among the children of men--and of my Kingdomthere shall be no end_. " The Pope laid down the book, and leaned back, closing his eyes. II And as for Himself, what had He to say to all this? A Transcendent GodWho hid Himself, a Divine Saviour Who delayed to come, a Comforter heardno longer in wind nor seen in fire! There, in the next room, was a little wooden altar, and above it an ironbox, and within that box a silver cup, and within that cup--Something. Outside the house, a hundred yards away, lay the domes and plaster roofsof a little village called Nazareth; Carmel was on the right, a mile ortwo away, Thabor on the left, the plain of Esdraelon in front; andbehind, Cana and Galilee, and the quiet lake, and Hermon. And far awayto the south lay Jerusalem. .. . It was to this tiny strip of holy land that the Pope had come--the landwhere a Faith had sprouted two thousand years ago, and where, unless Godspoke in fire from heaven, it would presently be cut down as a cumbererof the ground. It was here on this material earth that One had walkedWhom all men had thought to have been He Who would redeem Israel--inthis village that He had fetched water and made boxes and chairs, onthat long lake that His Feet had walked, on that high hill that He hadflamed in glory, on that smooth, low mountain to the north that He haddeclared that the meek were blessed and should inherit the earth, thatpeacemakers were the children of God, that they who hungered andthirsted should be satisfied. And now it was come to this. Christianity had smouldered away fromEurope like a sunset on darkening peaks; Eternal Rome was a heap ofruins; in East and West alike a man had been set upon the throne of God, had been acclaimed as divine. The world had leaped forward; socialscience was supreme; men had learned consistency; they had learned, too, the social lessons of Christianity apart from a Divine Teacher, or, rather, they said, in spite of Him. There were left, perhaps, threemillions, perhaps five, at the utmost ten millions--it was impossible toknow--throughout the entire inhabited globe who still worshipped JesusChrist as God. And the Vicar of Christ sat in a whitewashed room inNazareth, dressed as simply as His master, waiting for the end. * * * * * He had done what He could. There had been a week five months ago whenit had been doubtful whether anything at all could be done. There wereleft three Cardinals alive, Himself, Steinmann, and the Patriarch ofJerusalem; the rest lay mangled somewhere in the ruins of Rome. Therewas no precedent to follow; so the two Europeans had made their way outto the East, and to the one town in it where quiet still reigned. Withthe disappearance of Greek Christianity there had also vanished the lastremnants of internecine war in Christendom; and by a kind of tacitconsent of the world, Christians were allowed a moderate liberty inPalestine. Russia, which now held the country as a dependency, hadsufficient sentiment left to leave it alone; it was true that the holyplaces had been desecrated, and remained now only as spots ofantiquarian interest; the altars were gone but the sites were yetmarked, and, although mass could no longer be said there, it wasunderstood that private oratories were not forbidden. It was in this state that the two European Cardinals had found the HolyCity; it was not thought wise to wear insignia of any description inpublic; and it was practically certain even now that the civilised worldwas unaware of their existence; for within three days of their arrivalthe old Patriarch had died, yet not before Percy Franklin, surely underthe strangest circumstances since those of the first century, had beenelected to the Supreme Pontificate. It had all been done in a fewminutes by the dying man's bedside. The two old men had insisted. TheGerman bad even recurred once more to the strange resemblance betweenPercy and Julian Felsenburgh, and had murmured his old half-heardremarks about the antithesis, and the Finger of God; and Percy, marvelling at his superstition, had accepted, and the election wasrecorded. He had taken the name of Silvester, the last saint in theyear, and was the third of that title. He had then retired to Nazarethwith his chaplain; Steinmann had gone back to Germany, and been hangedin a riot within a fortnight of his arrival. The next matter was the creation of new cardinals, and to twentypersons, with infinite precautions, briefs had been conveyed. Of these, nine had declined; three more had been approached, of whom only one hadaccepted. There were therefore at this moment twelve persons in theworld who constituted the Sacred College--two Englishmen, of whomCorkran was one; two Americans, a Frenchman, a German, an Italian, aSpaniard, a Pole, a Chinaman, a Greek, and a Russian. To these wereentrusted vast districts over which their control was supreme, subjectonly to the Holy Father Himself. As regarded the Pope's own life very little need be said. It resembled, He thought, in its outward circumstances that of such a man as Leo theGreat, without His worldly importance or pomp. Theoretically, theChristian world was under His dominion; practically, Christian affairswere administered by local authorities. It was impossible for a hundredreasons for Him to do what He wished with regard to the exchange ofcommunications. An elaborate cypher had been designed, and a privatetelegraphic station organised on His roof communicating with another inDamascus where Cardinal Corkran had fixed his residence; and from thatcentre messages occasionally were despatched to ecclesiasticalauthorities elsewhere; but, for the most part, there was little to bedone. The Pope, however, had the satisfaction of knowing that, withincredible difficulty, a little progress had been made towards thereorganisation of the hierarchy in all countries. Bishops were beingconsecrated freely; there were not less than two thousand of them alltold, and of priests an unknown number. The Order of Christ Crucifiedwas doing excellent work, and the tales of not less than four hundredmartyrdoms had reached Nazareth during the last two months, accomplishedmostly at the hands of the mobs. In other respects, also, as well as in the primary object of the Order'sexistence (namely, the affording of an opportunity to all who loved Godto dedicate themselves to Him more perfectly), the new Religious weredoing good work. The more perilous tasks--the work of communicationbetween prelates, missions to persons of suspected integrity--all thebusiness, in fact, which was carried on now at the vital risk of theagent were entrusted solely to members of the Order. Stringentinstructions had been issued from Nazareth that no bishop was to exposehimself unnecessarily; each was to regard himself as the heart of hisdiocese to be protected at all costs save that of Christian honour, andin consequence each had surrounded himself with a group of the newReligious--men and women--who with extraordinary and generous obedienceundertook such dangerous tasks as they were capable of performing. Itwas plain enough by now that had it not been for the Order, the Churchwould have been little better than paralysed under these new conditions. Extraordinary facilities were being issued in all directions. Everypriest who belonged to the Order received universal jurisdiction subjectto the bishop, if any, of the diocese in which he might be; mass mightbe said on any day of the year of the Five Wounds, or the Resurrection, or Our Lady; and all had the privilege of the portable altar, nowpermitted to be wood. Further ritual requirements were relaxed; massmight be said with any decent vessels of any material capable ofdestruction, such as glass or china; bread of any description might beused; and no vestments were obligatory except the thin thread that nowrepresented the stole; lights were non-essential; none need wear theclerical habit; and rosary, even without beads, was always permissibleinstead of the Office. In this manner priests were rendered capable of giving the sacramentsand offering the holy sacrifice at the least possible risk tothemselves; and these relaxations had already proved of enormous benefitin the European prisons, where by this time many thousands of Catholicswere undergoing the penalty of refusing public worship. * * * * * The Pope's private life was as simple as His room. He had one Syrianpriest for His chaplain, and two Syrian servants. He said His mass eachmorning, Himself wearing vestments and His white habit beneath, andheard a mass after. He then took His coffee, after changing into thetunic and burnous of the country, and spent the morning over business. He dined at noon, slept, and rode out, for the country by reason of itsindeterminate position was still in the simplicity of a hundred yearsago. He returned at dusk, supped, and worked again till late into thenight. That was all. His chaplain sent what messages were necessary toDamascus; His servants, themselves ignorant of His dignity, dealt withthe secular world so far as was required, and the utmost that seemed tobe known to His few neighbours was that there lived in the late Sheikh'slittle house on the hill an eccentric European with a telegraph office. His servants, themselves devout Catholics, knew Him for a bishop, but nomore than that. They were told only that there was yet a Pope alive, andwith that and the sacraments were content. To sum up, therefore--the Catholic world knew that their Pope livedunder the name of Silvester; and thirteen persons of the entire humanrace knew that Franklin had been His name, and that the throne of Peterrested for the time in Nazareth. It was, as a Frenchman had said, just a hundred years ago. Catholicismsurvived; but no more. III And as for His inner life, what can be said of that? He lay now back inhis wooden chair, thinking with closed eyes. He could not have described it consistently even to Himself, for indeedHe scarcely knew it: He acted rather than indulged in reflex thought. But the centre of His position was simple faith. The Catholic Religion, He knew well enough, gave the only adequate explanation of the universe;it did not unlock all mysteries, but it unlocked more than any other keyknown to man; He knew, too, perfectly well, that it was the only systemof thought that satisfied man as a whole, and accounted for him in hisessential nature. Further, He saw well enough that the failure ofChristianity to unite all men one to another rested not upon itsfeebleness but its strength; its lines met in eternity, not in time. Besides, He happened to believe it. But to this foreground there were other moods whose shifting was out ofhis control. In his _exalt_ moods, which came upon Him like a breezefrom Paradise, the background was bright with hope and drama--He sawHimself and His companions as Peter and the Apostles must have regardedthemselves, as they proclaimed through the world, in temples, slums, market-places and private houses, the faith that was to shake andtransform the world. They had handled the Lord of Life, seen the emptysepulchre, grasped the pierced hands of Him Who was their brother andtheir God. It was radiantly true, though not a man believed it; the hugesuperincumbent weight of incredulity could not disturb a fact that wasas the sun in heaven. Moreover, the very desperateness of the cause wastheir inspiration. There was no temptation to lean upon the arm offlesh, for there was none that fought for them but God. Their nakednesswas their armour, their slow tongues their persuasiveness, theirweakness demanded God's strength, and found it. Yet there was thisdifference, and it was a significant one. For Peter the spiritual worldhad an interpretation and a guarantee in the outward events he hadwitnessed. He had handled the Risen Christ, the external corroboratedthe internal. But for Silvester it was not so. For Him it was necessaryso to grasp spiritual truths in the supernatural sphere that theexternal events of the Incarnation were proved by rather than proved thecertitude of His spiritual apprehension. Certainly, historicallyspeaking, Christianity was true--proved by its records--yet to see thatneeded illumination. He apprehended the power of the Resurrection, therefore Christ was risen. Therefore in heavier moods it was different with him. There wereperiods, lasting sometimes for days together, clouding Him when Heawoke, stifling Him as He tried to sleep, dulling the very savour of theSacrament and the thrill of the Precious Blood; times in which thedarkness was so intolerable that even the solid objects of faithattenuated themselves to shadow, when half His nature was blind not onlyto Christ, but to God Himself, and the reality of His ownexistence--when His own awful dignity seemed as the insignia of a fool. And was it conceivable, His earthly mind demanded, that He and Hiscollege of twelve and His few thousands should be right, and the entireconsensus of the civilised world wrong? It was not that the world hadnot heard the message of the Gospel; it had heard little else for twothousand years, and now pronounced it false--false in its externalcredentials, and false therefore in its spiritual claims. It was a lostcause for which He suffered; He was not the last of an august line, Hewas the smoking wick of a candle of folly; He was the _reductio adabsurdam_ of a ludicrous syllogism based on impossible premises. He wasnot worth killing, He and His company of the insane--they were no morethan the crowned dunces of the world's school. Sanity sat on the solidbenches of materialism. And this heaviness waxed so dark sometimes thatHe almost persuaded Himself that His faith was gone; the clamours ofmind so loud that the whisper of the heart was unheard, the desires forearthly peace so fierce that supernatural ambitions were silenced--sodense was the gloom, that, hoping against hope, believing againstknowledge, and loving against truth, He cried as One other had cried onanother day like this--_Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!_ . .. But that, atleast, He never failed to cry. One thing alone gave Him power to go on, so far at least as Hisconsciousness was concerned, and that was His meditation. He hadtravelled far in the mystical life since His agonies of effort. Now Heused no deliberate descents into the spiritual world: He threw, as itwere, His hands over His head, and dropped into spacelessness. Consciousness would draw Him up, as a cork, to the surface, but He woulddo no more than repeat His action, until by that cessation of activity, which is the supreme energy, He floated in the twilight realm oftranscendence; and there God would deal with Him--now by an articulatesentence, now by a sword of pain, now by an air like the vivifyingbreath of the sea. Sometimes after Communion He would treat Him so, sometimes as He fell asleep, sometimes in the whirl of work. Yet Hisconsciousness did not seem to retain for long such experiences; fiveminutes later, it might be, He would be wrestling once more with the allbut sensible phantoms of the mind and the heart. There He lay, then, in the chair, revolving the intolerable blasphemiesthat He had read. His white hair was thin upon His browned temples, Hishands were as the hands of a spirit, and His young face lined andpatched with sorrow. His bare feet protruded from beneath His stainedtunic, and His old brown burnous lay on the floor beside Him. .. . It was an hour before He moved, and the sun had already lost half itsfierceness, when the steps of the horses sounded in the paved courtoutside. Then He sat up, slipped His feet into their shoes, and liftedthe burnous from the floor, as the door opened and the lean sun-burnedpriest came through. "The horses, Holiness, " said the man. * * * * * The Pope spoke not one word that afternoon, until the two came towardssunset up the bridle-path that leads between Thabor and Nazareth. Theyhad taken their usual round through Cana, mounting a hillock from whichthe long mirror of Gennesareth could be seen, and passing on, alwaysbearing to the right, under the shadow of Thabor until once moreEsdraelon spread itself beneath like a grey-green carpet, a vast circle, twenty miles across, sprinkled sparsely with groups of huts, white wallsand roofs, with Nain visible on the other side, Carmel heaving its longform far off on the right, and Nazareth nestling a mile or two away onthe plateau on which they had halted. It was a sight of extraordinary peace, and seemed an extract from someold picture-book designed centuries ago. Here was no crowd of roofs, nopressure of hot humanity, no terrible evidences of civilisation andmanufactory and strenuous, fruitless effort. A few tired Jews had comeback to this quiet little land, as old people may return to their nativeplace, with no hope of renewing their youth, or refinding their ideals, but with a kind of sentimentality that prevails so often over morelogical motives, and a few more barrack-like houses had been added hereand there to the obscure villages in sight. But it was very much as ithad been a hundred years ago. The plain was half shadowed by Carmel, and half in dusty golden light. Overhead the clear Eastern sky was flushed with rose, as it had flushedfor Abraham, Jacob, and the Son of David. There was no little cloudhere, as a man's hand, over the sea, charged with both promise andterror; no sound of chariot-wheels from earth or heaven, no vision ofheavenly horses such as a young man had seen thirty centuries ago inthis very sky. Here was the old earth and the old heaven, unchanged andunchangeable; the patient, returning spring had starred the thin soilwith flowers of Bethlehem, and those glorious lilies to which Solomon'sscarlet garments might not be compared. There was no whisper from theThrone as when Gabriel had once stooped through this very air to hailHer who was blessed among women, no breath of promise or hope beyondthat which God sends through every movement of His created robe of life. As the two halted, and the horses looked out with steady, inquisitiveeyes at the immensity of light and air beneath them, a soft hooting crybroke out, and a shepherd passed below along the hillside a hundredyards away, trailing his long shadow behind him, and to the mellowtinkle of bells his flock came after, a troop of obedient sheep andwilful goats, cropping and following and cropping again as they went onto the fold, called by name in that sad minor voice of him who kneweach, and led instead of driving. The soft clanking grew fainter, theshadow of the shepherd shot once to their very feet, as he topped therise, and vanished again as he stepped down once more; and the call grewfainter yet, and ceased. * * * * * The Pope lifted His hand to His eyes for an instant, then smoothed itdown His face. He nodded across to a dim patch of white walls glimmering through theviolet haze of the falling twilight. "That place, father, " He said, "what is its name?" The Syrian priest looked across, back once more at the Pope, and acrossagain. "That among the palms, Holiness?" "Yes. " "That is Megiddo, " he said. "Some call it Armageddon. " CHAPTER II I At twenty-three o'clock that night the Syrian priest went out to watchfor the coming of the messenger from Tiberias. Nearly two hourspreviously he had heard the cry of the Russian volor that plied fromDamascus to Tiberias, and Tiberias to Jerusalem, and even as it was themessenger was a little late. These were very primitive arrangements, but Palestine was out of theworld--a slip of useless country--and it was necessary for a man to ridefrom Tiberias to Nazareth each night with papers from Cardinal Corkranto the Pope, and to return with correspondence. It was a dangerous task, and the members of the New Order who surrounded the Cardinal undertookit by turns. In this manner all matters for which the Pope's personalattention was required, and which were too long and not too urgent, could be dealt with at leisure by him, and an answer returned within thetwenty-four hours. It was a brilliant moonlit night. The great golden shield was ridinghigh above Thabor, shedding its strange metallic light down the longslopes and over the moor-like country that rose up from before thehouse-door--casting too heavy black shadows that seemed far moreconcrete and solid than the brilliant pale surfaces of the rock slabs oreven than the diamond flashes from the quartz and crystal that here andthere sparkled up the stony pathway. Compared with this clear splendour, the yellow light from the shuttered house seemed a hot and tawdry thing;and the priest, leaning against the door-post, his eyes alone alight inhis dark face, sank down at last with a kind of Eastern sensuousness tobathe himself in the glory, and to spread his lean, brown hands out toit. This was a very simple man, in faith as well as in life. For him therewere neither the ecstasies nor the desolations of his master. It was animmense and solemn joy to him to live here at the spot of God'sIncarnation and in attendance upon His Vicar. As regarded the movementsof the world, he observed them as a man in a ship watches the heaving ofthe waves far beneath. Of course the world was restless, he halfperceived, for, as the Latin Doctor had said, all hearts were restlessuntil they found their rest in God. _Quare fremuerunt gentes?. .. Adversus Dominum, et adversus Christum ejus!_ As to the end--he was notgreatly concerned. It might well be that the ship would be overwhelmed, but the moment of the catastrophe would be the end of all thingsearthly. The gates of hell shall not prevail: when Rome falls, the worldfalls; and when the world falls, Christ is manifest in power. Forhimself, he imagined that the end was not far away. When he had namedMegiddo this afternoon it had been in his mind; to him it seemed naturalthat at the consummation of all things Christ's Vicar should dwell atNazareth where His King had come on earth--and that the Armageddon ofthe Divine John should be within sight of the scene where Christ hadfirst taken His earthly sceptre and should take it again. After all, itwould not be the first battle that Megiddo had seen. Israel and Amalekhad met here; Israel and Assyria; Sesostris had ridden here andSennacherib. Christian and Turk had contended here, like Michael andSatan, over the place where God's Body had lain. As to the exact methodof that end, he had no clear views; it would be a battle of some kind, and what field could be found more evidently designed for that than thishuge flat circular plain of Esdraelon, twenty miles across, sufficientto hold all the armies of the earth in its embrace? To his view oncemore, ignorant as he was of present statistics, the world was dividedinto two large sections, Christians and heathens, and he supposed themvery much of a size. Something would happen, troops would land atKhaifa, they would stream southwards from Tiberias, Damascus and remoteAsia, northwards from Jerusalem, Egypt and Africa; eastwards fromEurope; westwards from Asia again and the far-off Americas. And, surely, the time could not be far away, for here was Christ's Vicar; and, as HeHimself had said in His gospel of the Advent, _Ubicumque fuerit corpus, illie congregabuntur et aquilae. _ Of more subtle interpretations ofprophecy he had no knowledge. For him words were things, not merelylabels upon ideas. What Christ and St. Paul and St. John had said--thesethings were so. He had escaped, owing chiefly to his isolation from theworld, that vast expansion of Ritschlian ideas that during the lastcentury had been responsible for the desertion by so many of anyintelligible creed. For others this had been the supreme struggle--thedifficulty of decision between the facts that words were not things, andyet that the things they represented were in themselves objective. Butto this man, sitting now in the moonlight, listening to the far-off tapof hoofs over the hill as the messenger came up from Cana, faith was assimple as an exact science. Here Gabriel had descended on wide featheredwings from the Throne of God set beyond the stars, the Holy Ghost hadbreathed in a beam of ineffable light, the Word had become Flesh as Maryfolded her arms and bowed her head to the decree of the Eternal. Andhere once more, he thought, though it was no more than a guess--yet hethought that already the running of chariot-wheels was audible--thetumult of the hosts of God gathering about the camp of the saints--hethought that already beyond the bars of the dark Gabriel set to his lipsthe trumpet of doom and heaven was astir. He might be wrong at thistime, as others had been wrong at other times, but neither he nor theycould be wrong for ever; there must some day be an end to the patienceof God, even though that patience sprang from the eternity of Hisnature. He stood up, as down the pale moonlit path a hundred yards awaycame a pale figure of one who rode, with a leather bag strapped to hisgirdle. II It would be about three o'clock in the morning that the priest awoke inhis little mud-walled room next to that of the Holy Father's, and hearda footstep coming up the stairs. Last evening he had left his master asusual beginning to open the pile of letters arrived from CardinalCorkran, and himself had gone straight to his bed and slept. He lay nowa moment or two, still drowsy, listening to the pad of feet, and aninstant later sat up abruptly, for a deliberate tap had sounded on thedoor. Again it came; he sprang out of bed in his long night-tunic, drewit up hastily in his girdle, went to the door and opened it. The Pope was standing there, with a little lamp in one hand, for thedawn had scarcely yet begun, and a paper in the other. "I beg your pardon, Father; but there is a message I must have sent atonce to his Eminence. " Together they went out through the Pope's room, the priest, stillhalf-blind with sleep, passed up the stairs, and emerged into the clearcold air of the upper roof. The Pope blew out His lamp, and set it onthe parapet. "You will be cold, Father; fetch your cloak. " "And you, Holiness?" The other made a little gesture of denial, and went across to the tinytemporary shed where the wireless telegraphic instrument stood. "Fetch your cloak, Father, " He said again over His shoulder. "I willring up meanwhile. " When the priest came back three minutes later, in his slippers andcloak, carrying another cloak also for his master, the Pope was stillseated at the table. He did not even move His head as the other came up, but once more pressed on the lever that, communicating with thetwelve-foot pole that rose through the pent-house overhead, shot out thequivering energy through the eighty miles of glimmering air that laybetween Nazareth and Damascus. This simple priest had scarcely even by now become accustomed to thisextraordinary device invented a century ago and perfected through allthose years to this precise exactness--that device by which with thehelp of a stick, a bundle of wires, and a box of wheels, something, atlast established to be at the root of all matter, if not at the veryroot of physical life, spoke across the spaces of the world to a tinyreceiver tuned by a hair's breadth to the vibration with which it wasset in relations. The air was surprisingly cold, considering the heat that had precededand would follow it, and the priest shivered a little as he stood clearof the roof, and stared, now at the motionless figure in the chairbefore him, now at the vast vault of the sky passing, even as he looked, from a cold colourless luminosity to a tender tint of yellow, as faraway beyond Thabor and Moab the dawn began to deepen. From the villagehalf-a-mile away arose the crowing of a cock, thin and brazen as atrumpet; a dog barked once and was silent again; and then, on a sudden, a single stroke upon a bell hung in the roof recalled him in an instant, and told him that his work was to begin. The Pope pressed the lever again at the sound, twice, and then, after apause, once more--waited a moment for an answer, and then when it came, rose and signed to the priest to take his place. The Syrian sat down, handing the extra cloak to his master, and waiteduntil the other had settled Himself in a chair set in such a position atthe side of the table that the face of each was visible to the other. Then he waited, with his brown fingers poised above the row of keys, looking at the other's face as He arranged himself to speak. That face, he thought, looking out from the hood, seemed paler than ever in thiscold light of dawn; the black arched eyebrows accentuated this, and eventhe steady lips, preparing to speak, seemed white and bloodless. He hadHis paper in His hand, and His eyes were fixed upon this. "Make sure it is the Cardinal, " he said abruptly. The priest tapped off an enquiry, and, with moving lips, raid off theprinted message, as like magic it precipitated itself on to the tallwhite sheet of paper that faced him. "It is his Eminence, Holiness, " he said softly. "He is alone at theinstrument. " "Very well. Now then; begin. " "We have received your Eminence's letter, and have noted the news. .. . Itshould have been forwarded by telegraphy--why was that not done?" The voice paused, and the priest who had snapped off the message, morequickly than a man could write it, read aloud the answer. "'I did not understand that it was urgent. I thought it was but onemore assault. I had intended to communicate more so soon as I heardmore. "' "Of course it was urgent, " came the voice again in the deliberateintonation that was used between these two in the case of messages fortransmission. "Remember that all news of this kind is always urgent. " "'I will remember, ' read the priest. " `I regret my mistake. '" "You tell us, " went on the Pope, His eyes still downcast on the paper, "that this measure is decided upon; you name only three authorities. Give me, now, all the authorities you have, if you have more. " There was a moment's pause. Then the priest began to read off the names. "Besides the three Cardinals whose names I sent, the Archbishops ofThibet, Cairo, Calcutta and Sydney have all asked if the news was true, and for directions if it is true; besides others whose names I cancommunicate if I may leave the table for a moment. '" "Do so, " said the Pope. Again there was a pause. Then once more the names began. "'The Bishops of Bukarest, the Marquesas Islands and Newfoundland. TheFranciscans in Japan, the Crutched Friars in Morocco, the Archbishops ofManitoba and Portland, and the Cardinal-Archbisbop of Pekin. I havedespatched two members of Christ Crucified to England. '" "Tell us when the news first arrived, and how. " "'I was called up to the instrument yesterday evening at about twentyo'clock. The Archbishop of Sydney was asking, through our station atBombay, whether the news was true. I replied I had heard nothing of it. Within ten minutes four more inquiries had come to the same effect; andthree minutes later Cardinal Ruspoli sent the positive news from Turin. This was accompanied by a similar message from Father Petrovski inMoscow. Then--- '" "Stop. Why did not Cardinal Dolgorovski communicate it?" "'He did communicate it three hours later. '" "Why not at once?" "'His Eminence had not heard it. '" "Find out at what hour the news reached Moscow--not now, but within theday. " "'I will. '" "Go on, then. " "'Cardinal Malpas communicated it within five minutes of CardinalRuspoli, and the rest of the inquiries arrived before midnight. Chinareported it at twenty-three. '" "Then when do you suppose the news was made public?" "'It was decided first at the secret London conference, yesterday, atabout sixteen o'clock by our time. The Plenipotentiaries appear to havesigned it at that hour. After that it was communicated to the world. Itwas published here half an hour past midnight. '" "Then Felsenburgh was in London?" "'I am not yet sure. Cardinal Malpas tells me that Felsenburgh gave hisprovisional consent on the previous day. '" "Very good. That is all you know, then?" "'I was called up an hour ago by Cardinal Ruspoli again. He tells methat he fears a riot in Florence; it will be the first of manyrevolutions, he says. '" "Does he ask for anything?" "'Only for directions. '" "Tell him that we send him the Apostolic Benediction, and will forwarddirections within the course of two hours. Select twelve members of theOrder for immediate service. " "'I will. '" "Communicate that message also, as soon as we have finished, to all theSacred College, and bid them communicate it with all discretion to allmetropolitans and bishops, that priests and people may know that We bearthem in our heart. " "'I will, Holiness. '" "Tell them, finally, that We had foreseen this long ago; that We commendthem to the Eternal Father without Whose Providence no sparrow falls tothe ground. Bid them be quiet and confident; to do nothing, save confesstheir faith when they are questioned. All other directions shall beissued to their pastors immediately!" "'I will, Holiness. '" * * * * * There was again a pause. The Pope had been speaking with the utmost tranquillity as one in adream. His eyes were downcast upon the paper, His whole body asmotionless as an image. Yet to the priest who listened, despatching theLatin messages, and reading aloud the replies, it seemed, although solittle intelligible news had reached him, as if something very strangeand great was impending. There was the sense of a peculiar strain in theair, and although he drew no deductions from the fact that apparentlythe whole Catholic world was in frantic communication with Damascus, yethe remembered his meditations of the evening before as he had waited forthe messenger. It seemed as if the powers of this world werecontemplating one more step--with its nature he was not greatlyconcerned. The Pope spoke again in His natural voice. "Father, " he said, "what I am about to say now is as if I told it inconfession. You understand?--Very well. Now begin. " Then again the intonation began. "Eminence. We shall say mass of the Holy Ghost in one hour from now. Atthe end of that time, you will cause that all the Sacred College shallbe in touch with yourself, and waiting for our commands. This newdecision is unlike any that have preceded it. Surely you understandthat now. Two or three plans are in our mind, yet We are not sure yetwhich it is that our Lord intends. After mass We shall communicate toyou that which He shall show Us to be according to His Will. We beg ofyou to say mass also, immediately, for Our intention. Whatever must bedone must be done quickly. The matter of Cardinal Dolgorovski you mayleave until later. But we wish to hear the result of your inquiries, especially in London, before mid-day. _Benedicat te Omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus. _" "'Amen!'" murmured the priest, reading it from the sheet. III The little chapel in the house below was scarcely more dignified thanthe other rooms. Of ornaments, except those absolutely essential toliturgy and devotion, there were none. In the plaster of the walls wereindented in slight relief the fourteen stations of the Cross; a smallstone image of the Mother of God stood in a corner, with an iron-workcandlestick before it, and on the solid uncarved stone altar, raised ona stone step, stood six more iron candlesticks and an iron crucifix. Atabernacle, also of iron, shrouded by linen curtains, stood beneath thecross; a small stone slab projecting from the wall served as a credence. There was but one window, and this looked into the court, so that theeyes of strangers might not penetrate. It seemed to the Syrian priest as he went about his business--laying outthe vestments in the little sacristy that opened out at one side of thealtar, preparing the cruets and stripping the covering from thealtar-cloth--that even that slight work was wearying. There seemed acertain oppression in the air. As to how far that was the result of hisbroken rest he did not know, but he feared that it was one more of thosescirocco days that threatened. That yellowish tinge of dawn had notpassed with the sun-rising; even now, as he went noiselessly on his barefeet between the predella and the _prie-dieu_ where the silent whitefigure was still motionless, he caught now and again, above the roofacross the tiny court, a glimpse of that faint sand-tinged sky that wasthe promise of beat and heaviness. He finished at last, lighted the candles, genuflected, and stood withbowed head waiting for the Holy Father to rise from His knees. Aservant's footstep sounded in the court, coming across to hear mass, andsimultaneously the Pope rose and went towards the sacristy, where thered vestments of God who came by fire were laid ready for the Sacrifice. * * * * * Silvester's bearing at mass was singularly unostentatious. He moved asswiftly as any young priest, His voice was quite even and quite low, andhis pace neither rapid nor pompous. According to tradition, He occupiedhalf-an-hour _ab amictu ad amictum_; and even in the tiny empty chapelHe observed to keep His eyes always downcast. And yet this Syrian neverserved His mass without a thrill of something resembling fear; it wasnot only his knowledge of the awful dignity of this simple celebrant;but, although he could not have expressed it so, there was an aroma ofan emotion about the vestmented figure that affected him almostphysically--an entire absence of self-consciousness, and in its placethe consciousness of some other Presence, a perfection of manner even inthe smallest details that could only arise from absolute recollection. Even in Rome in the old days it had been one of the sights of Rome tosee Father Franklin say mass; seminary students on the eve of ordinationwere sent to that sight to learn the perfect manner and method. To-day all was as usual, but at the Communion the priest looked upsuddenly at the moment when the Host had been consumed, with a halfimpression that either a sound or a gesture had invited it; and, as helooked, his heart began to beat thick and convulsive at the base of histhroat. Yet to the outward eyes there was nothing unusual. The figurestood there with bowed head, the chin resting on the tips of the longfingers, the body absolutely upright, and standing with that curiouslight poise as if no weight rested upon the feet. But to the inner sensesomething was apparent the Syrian could not in the least formulate it tohimself; but afterwards he reflected that he had stared expecting somevisible or audible manifestation to take place. It was an impressionthat might be described under the terms of either light or sound; at anyinstant that delicate vivid force, that to the eyes of the soul burnedbeneath the red chasuble and the white alb, might have suddenly welledoutwards under the appearance of a gush of radiant light renderingluminous not only the clear brown flesh seen beneath the white hair, butthe very texture of the coarse, dead, stained stuffs that swathed therest of the body. Or it might have shown itself in the strain of a longchord on strings or wind, as if the mystical union of the dedicated soulwith the ineffable Godhead and Humanity of Jesus Christ generated such asound as ceaselessly flows out with the river of life from beneath theThrone of the Lamb. Or yet once more it might have declared itself underthe guise of a perfume--the very essence of distilled sweetness--such ascent as that which, streaming out through the gross tabernacle of asaint's body, is to those who observe it as the breath of heavenlyroses. .. . The moments passed in that hush of purity and peace; sounds came andwent outside, the rattle of a cart far away, the sawing of the firstcicada in the coarse grass twenty yards away beyond the wall; some onebehind the priest was breathing short and thick as under the pressure ofan intolerable emotion, and yet the figure stood there still, without amovement or sway to break the carved motionlessness of the alb-folds orthe perfect poise of the white-shod feet. When He moved at last touncover the Precious Blood, to lay His hands on the altar and adore, itwas as if a statue had stirred into life; to the server it was verynearly as a shock. Again, when the chalice was empty, that first impression reasserteditself; the human and the external died in the embrace of the Divine andInvisible, and once more silence lived and glowed. .. . And again as thespiritual energy sank back again into its origin, Silvester stretchedout the chalice. With knees that shook and eyes wide in expectation, the priest rose, adored, and went to the credence. * * * * * It was customary after the Pope's mass that the priest himself shouldoffer the Sacrifice in his presence, but to-day so soon as the vestmentshad been laid one by one on the rough chest, Silvester turned to thepriest. "Presently, " he said softly. "Go up, father, at once to the roof, andtell the Cardinal to be ready. I shall come in five minutes. " It was surely a scirocco-day, thought the priest, as he came up on tothe flat roof. Overhead, instead of the clear blue proper to that hourof the morning, lay a pale yellow sky darkening even to brown at thehorizon. Thabor, before him, hung distant and sombre seen through theimpalpable atmosphere of sand, and across the plain, as he glancedbehind him, beyond the white streak of Nain nothing was visible exceptthe pale outline of the tops of the hills against the sky. Even at thismorning hour, too, the air was hot and breathless, broken only by theslow-stifling lift of the south-western breeze that, blowing acrosscountless miles of sand beyond far-away Egypt, gathered up the heat ofthe huge waterless continent and was pouring it, with scarcely a streakof sea to soften its malignity, on this poor strip of land. Carmel, too, as he turned again, was swathed about its base with mist, half dry andhalf damp, and above showed its long bull-head running out defiantlyagainst the western sky. The very table as he touched it was dry and hotto the hand, by mid-day the steel would be intolerable. He pressed the lever, and waited; pressed it again, and waited again. There came the answering ring, and he tapped across the eighty miles ofair that his Eminence's presence was required at once. A minute or twopassed, and then, after another rap of the bell, a line flicked out onthe new white sheet. "'I am here. Is it his Holiness?'" He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and turned to see Silvester, hoodedand in white, behind his chair. "Tell him yes. Ask him if there is further news. " The Pope went to the chair once more and sat down, and a minute laterthe priest, with growing excitement, read out the answer. "'Inquiries are pouring in. Many expect your Holiness to issue achallenge. My secretaries have been occupied since four o'clock. Theanxiety is indescribable. Some are denying that they have a Pope. Something must be done at once. '" "Is that all?" asked the Pope. Again the priest read out the answer. "'Yes and no. The news is true. Itwill be inforced immediately. Unless a step is taken immediately therewill be widespread and final apostasy. '" "Very good, " murmured the Pope, in his official voice. "Now listencarefully, Eminence. " He was silent for a moment, his fingers joinedbeneath his chin as just now at mass. Then he spoke. "We are about to place ourselves unreservedly in the hands of God. Humanprudence must no longer restrain us. We command you then, using alldiscretion that is possible, to communicate these wishes of ours to thefollowing persons under the strictest secrecy, and to no otherswhatsoever. And for this service you are to employ messengers, takenfrom the Order of Christ Crucified, two for each message, which is notto be committed to writing in any form. The members of the SacredCollege, numbering twelve; the metropolitans and Patriarchs through theentire world, numbering twenty-two; the Generals of the ReligiousOrders: the Society of Jesus, the Friars, the Monks Ordinary, and theMonks Contemplative four. These persons, thirty-eight in number, withthe chaplain of your Eminence, who shall act as notary, and my own whoshall assist him, and Ourself--forty-one all told--these persons are topresent themselves here at our palace of Nazareth not later than the Eveof Pentecost. We feel Ourselves unwilling to decide the steps necessaryto be taken with reference to the new decree, except we first hear thecounsel of our advisers, and give them an opportunity of communicatingfreely one with another. These words, as we have spoken them, are to beforwarded to all those persons whom we have named; and your Eminencewill further inform them that our deliberations will not occupy morethan four days. "As regards the questions of provisioning the council and all matters ofthat kind, your Eminence will despatch to-day the chaplain of whom wehave spoken, who with my own chaplain will at once set aboutpreparations, and your Eminence will yourself follow, appointing FatherMarabout to act in your absence, not later than four days hence. "Finally, to all who have asked explicit directions in the face of thisnew decree, communicate this one sentence, and no more. "_Lose not your confidence which hath a great reward. For yet a littlewhile, and, He that is to come will come and will not delay_. --Silvesterthe Bishop, Servant of the Servants of God. " CHAPTER III I Oliver Brand stepped out from the Conference Hall in Westminster on theFriday evening, so soon as the business was over and thePlenipotentiaries had risen from the table, more concerned as to theeffect of the news upon his wife than upon the world. He traced the beginning of the change to the day five months ago whenthe President of the World had first declared the development of hispolicy, and while Oliver himself had yielded to that development, andfrom defending it in public had gradually convinced himself of itsnecessity, Mabel, for the first time in her life, had shown herselfabsolutely obstinate. The woman to his mind seemed to him to have fallen into some kind ofinsanity. Felsenburgh's declaration had been made a week or two afterhis Acclamation at Westminster, and Mabel had received the news of it atfirst with absolute incredulity. Then, when there was no longer any doubt that he had declared theextermination of the Supernaturalists to be a possible necessity, therehad been a terrible scene between husband and wife. She had said thatshe had been deceived; that the world's hope was a monstrous mockery;that the reign of universal peace was as far away as ever; thatFelsenburgh had betrayed his trust and broken his word. There had beenan appalling scene. He did not even now like to recall it to hisimagination. She had quieted after a while, but his arguments, deliveredwith infinite patience, seemed to produce very little effect. Shesettled down into silence, hardly answering him. One thing only seemedto touch her, and that was when he spoke of the President himself. Itwas becoming plain to him that she was but a woman after all at themercy of a strong personality, but utterly beyond the reach of logic. Hewas very much disappointed. Yet he trusted to time to cure her. The Government of England had taken swift and skilful steps to reassurethose who, like Mabel, recoiled from the inevitable logic of the newpolicy. An army of speakers traversed the country, defending andexplaining; the press was engineered with extraordinary adroitness, andit was possible to say that there was not a person among the millions ofEngland who had not easy access to the Government's defence. Briefly, shorn of rhetoric, their arguments were as follows, and therewas no doubt that, on the whole, they had the effect of quieting theamazed revolt of the more sentimental minds. Peace, it was pointed out, had for the first time in the world's historybecome an universal fact. There was no longer one State, however small, whose interests were not identical with those of one of the threedivisions of the world of which it was a dependency, and that firststage had been accomplished nearly half-a-century ago. But the secondstage--the reunion of these three divisions under a common head--aninfinitely greater achievement than the former, since the conflictinginterests were incalculably more vast--this had been consummated by asingle Person, Who, it appeared, had emerged from humanity at the veryinstant when such a Character was demanded. It was surely not much toask that those on whom these benefits had come should assent to the willand judgment of Him through whom they had come. This, then, was anappeal to faith. The second main argument was addressed to reason. Persecution, as allenlightened persons confessed, was the method of a majority of savageswho desired to force a set of opinions upon a minority who did notspontaneously share them. Now the peculiar malevolence of persecution inthe past lay, not in the employment of force, but in the abuse of it. That any one kingdom should dictate religious opinions to a minority ofits members was an intolerable tyranny, for no one State possessed theright to lay down universal laws, the contrary to which might be held byits neighbour. This, however, disguised, was nothing else than theIndividualism of Nations, a heresy even more disastrous to thecommonwealth of the world than the Individualism of the Individual. Butwith the arrival of the universal community of interests the wholesituation was changed. The single personality of the human race hadsucceeded to the incoherence of divided units, and with thatconsummation--which might be compared to a coming of age, an entirelynew set of rights had come into being. The human race was now a singleentity with a supreme responsibility towards itself; there were nolonger any private rights at all, such as had certainly existed, in theperiod previous to this. Man now possessed dominion over every cellwhich composed His Mystical Body, and where any such cell asserteditself to the detriment of the Body, the rights of the whole wereunqualified. And there was no religion but one that claimed the equal rights ofuniversal jurisdiction--and that the Catholic. The sects of the East, while each retained characteristics of its own, had yet found in the NewMan the incarnation of their ideals, and had therefore given in theirallegiance to the authority of the whole Body of whom He was Head. Butthe very essence of the Catholic Religion was treason to the very ideaof man. Christians directed their homage to a supposed supernaturalBeing who was not only--so they claimed--outside of the world butpositively transcended it. Christians, then--leaving aside the mad fableof the Incarnation, which might very well be suffered to die of its ownfolly--deliberately severed themselves from that Body of which by humangeneration they had been made members. They were as mortified limbsyielding themselves to the domination of an outside force other thanthat which was their only life, and by that very act imperilled theentire Body. This madness, then, was the one crime which still deservedthe name. Murder, theft, rape, even anarchy itself, were as triflingfaults compared to this monstrous sin, for while these injured indeedthe Body they did not strike at its heart--individuals suffered, andtherefore those minor criminals deserved restraint; but the very Lifewas not struck at. But in Christianity there was a poison actuallydeadly. Every cell that became infected with it was infected in thatvery fibre that bound it to the spring of life. This, and this alone, was the supreme crime of High Treason against man--and nothing butcomplete removal from the world could be an adequate remedy. These, then, were the main arguments addressed to that section of theworld which still recoiled from the deliberate utterance of Felsenburgh, and their success had been remarkable. Of course, the logic, in itselfindisputable, had been dressed in a variety of costumes gilded withrhetoric, flushed with passion, and it had done its work in such amanner that as summer drew on Felsenburgh had announced privately thathe proposed to introduce a bill which should carry out to its logicalconclusion the policy of which he had spoken. Now, this too, had been accomplished. II Oliver let himself into his house, and went straight upstairs to Mabel'sroom. It would not do to let her hear the news from any but his ownlips. She was not there, and on inquiry he heard that she had gone outan hour before. He was disconcerted at this. The decree had been signed half-an-hourearlier, and in answer to an inquiry from Lord Pemberton it had beenstated that there was no longer any reason for secrecy, and that thedecision might be communicated to the press. Oliver had hurried awayimmediately in order to make sure that Mabel should hear the news fromhim, and now she was out, and at any moment the placards might tell herof what had been done. He felt extremely uneasy, but for another hour or so was ashamed to act. Then be went to the tube and asked another question or two, but theservant had no idea of Mabel's movements; it might be she had gone tothe church; sometimes she did at this hour. He sent the woman off tosee, and himself sat down again in the window-seat of his wife's room, staring out disconsolately at the wide array of roofs in the goldensunset light, that seemed to his eyes to be strangely beautiful thisevening. The sky was not that pure gold which it had been every nightduring this last week; there was a touch of rose in it, and thisextended across the entire vault so far as he could see from west toeast. He reflected on what he had lately read in an old book to theeffect that the abolition of smoke had certainly changed evening coloursfor the worse. .. . There had been a couple of severe earthquakes, too, inAmerica--he wondered whether there was any connection. .. . Then histhoughts flew back to Mabel. .. . It was about ten minutes before he heard her footstep on the stairs, andas he stood up she came in. There was something in her face that told him that she knew everything, and his heart sickened at her pale rigidity. There was no furythere--nothing but white, hopeless despair, and an immensedetermination. Her lips showed a straight line, and her eyes, beneathher white summer hat, seemed contracted to pinpricks. She stood there, closing the door mechanically behind her, and made no further movementtowards him. "Is it true?" she said. Oliver drew one steady breath, and sat down again. "Is what true, my dear?" "Is it true, " she said again, "that all are to be questioned as towhether they believe in God, and to be killed if they confess it?" Oliver licked his dry lips. "You put it very harshly, " he said. "The question is, whether the worldhas a right---" She made a sharp movement with her head. "It is true then. And you signed it?" "My dear, I beg you not to make a scene. I am tired out. And I will notanswer that until you have heard what I have to say. " "Say it, then. " "Sit down, then. " She shook her head. "Very well, then. .. . Well, this is the point. The world is one now, notmany. Individualism is dead. It died when Felsenburgh became Presidentof the World. You surely see that absolutely new conditions prevailnow--there has never been anything like it before. You know all this aswell as I do. " Again came that jerk of impatience. "You will please to hear me out, " he said wearily. "Well, now that thishas happened, there is a new morality; it is exactly like a child comingto the age of reason. We are obliged, therefore, to see that thiscontinues--that there is no going back--no mortification--that all thelimbs are in good health. 'If thy hand offend thee, cut it off, ' saidJesus Christ. Well, that is what we say. .. . Now, for any one to say thatthey believe in God--I doubt very much whether there is any one whoreally does believe, or understand what it means--but for any one evento say so is the very worst crime conceivable: it is high treason. Butthere is going to be no violence; it will all be quite quiet andmerciful. Why, you have always approved of Euthanasia, as we all do. Well, it is that that will be used; and---" Once more she made a little movement with her hand. The rest of her waslike an image. "Is this any use?" she asked. Oliver stood up. He could not bear the hardness of her voice. "Mabel, my darling---" For an instant her lips shook; then again she looked at him with eyes ofice. "I don't want that, " she said. "It is of no use. . Then you did sign it?" Oliver had a sense of miserable desperation as he looked back at her. He would infinitely have preferred that she had stormed and wept. "Mabel---" he cried again. "Then you did sign it?" "I did sign it, " he said at last. She turned and went towards the door. He sprang after her. "Mabel, where are you going?" Then, for the first time in her life, she lied to her husband franklyand fully. "I am going to rest a little, " she said. "I shall see you presently atsupper. " He still hesitated, but she met his eyes, pale indeed, but so honestthat he fell back. "Very well, my dear. .. . Mabel, try to understand. " * * * * * He came down to supper half-an-hour later, primed with logic, and evenkindled with emotion. The argument seemed to him now so utterlyconvincing; granted the premises that they both accepted and lived by, the conclusion was simply inevitable. He waited a minute or two, and at last went to the tube thatcommunicated with the servants' quarters. "Where is Mrs. Brand?" he asked. There was an instant's silence, and then the answer came: "She left the house half-an-hour ago, sir. I thought you knew. " III That same evening Mr. Francis was very busy in his office over thedetails connected with the festival of Sustenance that was to becelebrated on the first of July. It was the first time that theparticular ceremony had taken place, and he was anxious that it shouldbe as successful as its predecessors. There were a few differencesbetween this and the others, and it was necessary that the_ceremoniarii_ should be fully instructed. So, with his model before him--a miniature replica of the interior ofthe Abbey, with tiny dummy figures on blocks that could be shifted thisway and that, he was engaged in adding in a minute ecclesiastical handrubrical notes to his copy of the Order of Proceedings. When the porter therefore rang up a little after twenty-one o'clock, that a lady wished to see him, he answered rather brusquely down thetube that it was impossible. But the bell rang again, and to hisimpatient question, the reply came up that it was Mrs. Brand below, andthat she did not ask for more than ten minutes' conversation. This wasquite another matter. Oliver Brand was an important personage, and hiswife therefore had significance, and Mr. Francis apologised, gavedirections that she was to come to his ante-room, and rose, sighing, from his dummy Abbey and officials. She seemed very quiet this evening, he thought, as he shook hands withher a minute later; she wore her veil down, so that he could not see herface very well, but her voice seemed to lack its usual vivacity. "I am so sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Francis, " she said. "I only want toask you one or two questions. " He smiled at her encouragingly. "Mr. Brand, no doubt---" "No, " she said, "Mr. Brand has not sent me. It is entirely my ownaffair. You will see my reasons presently. I will begin at once. I knowI must not keep you. " It all seemed rather odd, he thought, but no doubt he would understandsoon. "First, " she said, "I think you used to know Father Franklin. He becamea Cardinal, didn't he?" Mr. Francis assented, smiling. "Do you know if he is alive?" "No, " he said. "He is dead. He was in Rome, you know, at the time of itsdestruction. " "Ah! You are sure?" "Quite sure. Only one Cardinal escaped--Steinmann. He was hanged inBerlin; and the Patriarch of Jerusalem died a week or two later. " "Ah! very well. Well, now, here is a very odd question. I ask for aparticular reason, which I cannot explain, but you will soonunderstand. .. . It is this--Why do Catholics believe in God?" He was so much taken aback that for a moment he sat staring. "Yes, " she said tranquilly, "it is a very odd question. But---" shehesitated. "Well, I will tell you, " she said. "The fact is, that I havea friend who is--is in danger from this new law. I want to be able toargue with her; and I must know her side. You are the only priest--Imean who has been a priest--whom I ever knew, except Father Franklin. SoI thought you would not mind telling me. " Her voice was entirely natural; there was not a tremor or a falter init. Mr. Francis smiled genially, rubbing his hands softly together. "Ah!" he said. "Yes, I see. .. . Well, that is a very large question. Would not to-morrow, perhaps---?" "I only want just the shortest answer, " she said. "It is reallyimportant for me to know at once. You see, this new law comes intoforce---" He nodded. "Well--very briefly, I should say this: Catholics say that God can beperceived by reason; that from the arrangements of the world they candeduce that there must have been an Arranger--a Mind, you understand. Then they say that they deduce other things about God--that He is Love, for example, because of happiness---" "And the pain?" she interrupted. He smiled again. "Yes. That is the point--that is the weak point. " "But what do they say about that?" "Well, briefly, they say that pain is the result of sin---" "And sin? You see, I know nothing at all, Mr. Francis. " "Well, sin is the rebellion of man's will against God's. " "What do they mean by that?" "Well, you see, they say that God wanted to be loved by His creatures, so He made them free; otherwise they could not really love. But if theywere free, it means that they could if they liked refuse to love andobey God; and that is what is called Sin. You see what nonsense---" She jerked her head a little. "Yes, yes, " she said. "But I really want to get at what they think. .. . Well, then, that is all?" Mr. Francis pursed his lips. "Scarcely, " he said; "that is hardly more than what they call NaturalReligion. Catholics believe much more than that. " "Well?" "My dear Mrs. Brand, it is impossible to put it in a few words. But, inbrief, they believe that God became man--that Jesus was God, and that Hedid this in order to save them from sin by dying---" "By bearing pain, you mean?" "Yes; by dying. Well, what they call the Incarnation is really thepoint. Everything else flows from that. And, once a man believes that, Imust confess that all the rest follows--even down to scapulars and holywater. " "Mr. Francis, I don't understand a word you're saying. " He smiled indulgently. "Of course not, " he said; "it is all incredible nonsense. But, you know, I did really believe it all once. " "But it's unreasonable, " she said. He made a little demurring sound. "Yes, " he said, "in one sense, of course it is--utterly unreasonable. But in another sense---" She leaned forward suddenly, and he could catch the glint of her eyesbeneath her white veil. "Ah!" she said, almost breathlessly. "That is what I want to hear. Now, tell me how they justify it. " He paused an instant, considering. "Well, " he said slowly, "as far as I remember, they say that there areother faculties besides those of reason. They say, for example, thatthe heart sometimes finds out things that the reason cannot--intuitions, you see. For instance, they say that all things such as self-sacrificeand chivalry and even art--all come from the heart, that Reason comeswith them--in rules of technique, for instance--but that it cannot provethem; they are quite apart from that. " "I think I see. " "Well, they say that Religion is like that--in other words, theypractically confess that it is merely a matter of emotion. " He pausedagain, trying to be fair. "Well, perhaps they would not saythat--although it is true. But briefly---" "Well?" "Well, they say there is a thing called Faith--a kind of deep convictionunlike anything else--supernatural--which God is supposed to give topeople who desire it--to people who pray for it, and lead good lives, and so on---" "And this Faith?" "Well, this Faith, acting upon what they call Evidences--this Faithmakes them absolutely certain that there is a God, that He was made manand so on, with the Church and all the rest of it. They say too thatthis is further proved by the effect that their religion has had in theworld, and by the way it explains man's nature to himself. You see, itis just a case of self-suggestion. " He heard her sigh, and stopped. "Is that any clearer, Mrs. Brand?" "Thank you very much, " she said, "it certainly is clearer. . .. And it istrue that Christians have died for this Faith, whatever it is?" "Oh! yes. Thousands and thousands. Just as Mohammedans have for theirs. " "The Mohammedans believe in God, too, don't they?" "Well, they did, and I suppose that a few do now. But very few: the resthave become esoteric, as they say. " "And--and which would you say were the most highly evolved people--Eastor West?" "Oh! West undoubtedly. The East thinks a good deal, but it doesn't actmuch. And that always leads to confusion--even to stagnation ofthought. " "And Christianity certainly has been the Religion of the West up to ahundred years ago?" "Oh! yes. " She was silent then, and Mr. Francis had time again to reflect how veryodd all this was. She certainly must be very much attached to thisChristian friend of hers. Then she stood up, and he rose with her. "Thank you so much, Mr. Francis. .. . Then that is the kind of outline?" "Well, yes; so far as one can put it in a few words. " "Thank you. .. . I mustn't keep you. " He went with her towards the door. But within a yard of it she stopped. "And you, Mr. Francis. You were brought up in all this. Does it evercome back to you?" He smiled. "Never, " he said, "except as a dream. " "How do you account for that, then? If it is all self-suggestion, youhave had thirty years of it. " She paused; and for a moment he hesitated what to answer. "How would your old fellow-Catholics account for it?" "They would say that I bad forfeited light--that Faith was withdrawn. " "And you?" Again he paused. "I should say that I had made a stronger self-suggestion the other way. " "I see. .. . Good-night, Mr. Francis. " * * * * * She would not let him come down the lift with her, so when he had seenthe smooth box drop noiselessly below the level, he went back again tohis model of the Abbey and the little dummy figures. But, before hebegan to move these about again, he sat for a moment or two with pursedlips, staring. CHAPTER IV I A week later Mabel awoke about dawn; and for a moment or two forgotwhere she was. She even spoke Oliver's name aloud, staring round theunfamiliar room, wondering what she did here. Then she remembered, andwas silent. .. . It was the eighth day she had spent in this Home; her probation wasfinished: to-day she wits at liberty to do that for which she had come. On the Saturday of the previous week she had gone through her privateexamination before the magistrate, stating under the usual conditions ofsecrecy her name, age and home, as well as her reasons for making theapplication for Euthanasia; and all had passed off well. She hadselected Manchester as being sufficiently remote and sufficiently largeto secure her freedom from Oliver's molestation; and her secret had beenadmirably kept. There was not a hint that her husband knew anything ofher intentions; for, after all, in these cases the police were bound toassist the fugitive. Individualism was at least so far recognised as tosecure to those weary of life the right of relinquishing it. Shescarcely knew why she had selected this method, except that any otherseemed impossible. The knife required skill and resolution; firearmswere unthinkable, and poison, under the new stringent regulations, washard to obtain. Besides, she seriously wished to test her ownintentions, and to be quite sure that there was no other way thanthis. .. . Well, she was as certain as ever. The thought had first come to her inthe mad misery of the outbreak of violence on the last day of the oldyear. Then it had gone again, soothed away by the arguments that man wasstill liable to relapse. Then once more it had recurred, a cold andconvincing phantom, in the plain daylight revealed by Felsenburgh'sDeclaration. It had taken up its abode with her then, yet she controlledit, hoping against hope that the Declaration would not be carried intoaction, occasionally revolting against its horror. Yet it had never beenfar away; and finally when the policy sprouted into deliberate law, shehad yielded herself resolutely to its suggestion. That was eight daysago; and she had not had one moment of faltering since that. Yet she had ceased to condemn. The logic had silenced her. All that sheknew was that she could not bear it; that she had misconceived the NewFaith; that for her, whatever it was for others, there was no hope. .. . She had not even a child of her own. * * * * * Those eight days, required by law, had passed very peacefully. She hadtaken with her enough money to enter one of the private homes furnishedwith sufficient comfort to save from distractions those who had beenaccustomed to gentle living: the nurses had been pleasant andsympathetic; she had nothing to complain of. She had suffered, of course, to some degree from reactions. The secondnight after her arrival had been terrible, when, as she lay in bed inthe hot darkness, her whole sentient life had protested and struggledagainst the fate her will ordained. It had demanded the familiarthings--the promise of food and breath and human intercourse; it hadwrithed in horror against the blind dark towards which it moved soinevitably; and, in the agony had been pacified only by the half-hintedpromise of some deeper voice suggesting that death was not the end. Withmorning light sanity had come back; the will had reassumed the mastery, and, with it, had withdrawn explicitly the implied hope of continuedexistence. She had suffered again for an hour or two from a moreconcrete fear; the memory came back to her of those shocking revelationsthat ten years ago had convulsed England and brought about theestablishment of these Homes under Government supervision--thoseevidences that for years in the great vivisection laboratories humansubjects had been practised upon--persons who with the same intentionsas herself had cut themselves off from the world in privateeuthanasia-houses, to whom had been supplied a gas that suspendedinstead of destroying animation. .. . But this, too, had passed with thereturn of light. Such things were impossible now under the newsystem--at least, in England. She had refrained from making an end uponthe Continent for this very reason. There, where sentiment was weaker, and logic more imperious, materialism was more consistent. Since menwere but animals--the conclusion was inevitable. There had been but one physical drawback, the intolerable heat of thedays and nights. It seemed, scientists said, that an entirely unexpectedheat-wave had been generated; there were a dozen theories, most of whichwere mutually exclusive one of another. It was humiliating, she thought, that men who professed to have taken the earth under their charge shouldbe so completely baffled. The conditions of the weather had of coursebeen accompanied by disasters; there had been earthquakes of astonishingviolence, a ripple had wrecked not less than twenty-five towns inAmerica; an island or two had disappeared, and that bewildering Vesuviusseemed to be working up for a denouement. But no one knew really theexplanation. One man had been wild enough to say that some cataclysm hadtaken place in the centre of the earth. .. . So she had heard from hernurse; but she was not greatly interested. It was only tiresome that shecould not walk much in the garden, and had to be content with sitting inher own cool shaded room on the second floor. There was only one other matter of which she had asked, namely, theeffect of the new decree; but the nurse did not seem to know much aboutthat. It appeared that there had been an outrage or two, but the law hadnot yet been enforced to any great extent; a week, after all, was ashort time, even though the decree had taken effect at once, andmagistrates were beginning the prescribed census. * * * * * It seemed to her as she lay awake this morning, staring at the tintedceiling, and out now and again at the quiet little room, that the heatwas worse than ever. For a minute she thought she must have overslept;but, as she touched her repeater, it told her that it was scarcely afterfour o'clock. Well, well; she would not have to bear it much longer; shethought that about eight it would be time to make an end. There was herletter to Oliver yet to be written; and one or two final arrangements tobe made. As regarded the morality of what she was doing-the relation, that is tosay, which her act bore to the common life of man--she had no shadow ofdoubt. It was her belief, as of the whole Humanitarian world, that justas bodily pain occasionally justified this termination of life, so alsodid mental pain. There was a certain pitch of distress at which theindividual was no longer necessary to himself or the world; it was themost charitable act that could be performed. But she had never thoughtin old days that that state could ever be hers; Life had been much toointeresting. But it had come to this: there was no question of it. * * * * * Perhaps a dozen times in that week she had thought over her conversationwith Mr. Francis. Her going to him had been little more thaninstinctive; she did just wish to hear what the other side was--whetherChristianity was as ludicrous as she had always thought. It seemed thatit was not ludicrous; it was only terribly pathetic. It was just alovely dream--an exquisite piece of poetry. It would be heavenly tobelieve it, but she did not. No--a transcendent God was unthinkable, although not quite so unthinkable as a merely immeasurable Man. And asfor the Incarnation--well, well! There seemed no way out of it. The Humanity-Religion was the only one. Man was God, or at least His highest manifestation; and He was a Godwith which she did not wish to have anything more to do. These faint newinstincts after something other than intellect and emotion were, sheknew perfectly well, nothing but refined emotion itself. She had thought a great deal of Felsenburgh, however, and was astonishedat her own feelings. He was certainly the most impressive man she hadever seen; it did seem very probable indeed that He was what He claimedto be--the Incarnation of the ideal Man the first perfect product ofhumanity. But the logic of his position was too much for her. She sawnow that He was perfectly logical--that He had not been inconsistent indenouncing the destruction of Rome and a week later making Hisdeclaration. It was the passion of one man against another that Hedenounced--of kingdom against kingdom, and sect against sect--for thiswas suicidal for the race. He denounced passion, too, not judicialaction. Therefore, this new decree was as logical as Himself--it was ajudicial act on the part of an united world against a tiny majority thatthreatened the principle of life and faith: and it was to be carried outwith supreme mercy; there was no revenge or passion or partisan spiritin it from beginning to end; no more than a man is revengeful orpassionate when he amputates a diseased limb--Oliver had convinced herof that. Yes, it was logical and sound. And it was because it was so that shecould not bear it. .. . But ah! what a sublime man Felsenburgh was; it wasa joy to her even to recall his speeches and his personality. She wouldhave liked to see him again. But it was no good. She had better be donewith it as tranquilly as possible. And the world must go forward withouther. She was just tired out with Facts. * * * * * She dozed off again presently, and it seemed scarcely five minutesbefore she looked up to see a gentle smiling face of a white-cappednurse bending over her. "It is nearly six o'clock, my dear--the time you told me. I came to seeabout breakfast. " Mabel drew a long breath. Then she sat up suddenly, throwing back thesheet. II It struck a quarter-past six from the little clock on the mantel-shelfas she laid down her pen. Then she took up the closely written sheets, leaned back in her deep chair, and began to read. "HOME OF REST, "NO 3A MANCHESTER WEST. "MY DEAR: I am very sorry, but it has come back to me. I really cannotgo on any longer, so I am going to escape in the only way left, as Ionce told you. I have had a very quiet and happy time here; they havebeen most kind and considerate. You see, of course, from the heading onthis paper, what I mean. .. . "Well, you have always been very dear to me; you are still, even at thismoment. So you have a right to know my reasons so far as I know themmyself. It is very difficult to understand myself; but it seems to methat I am not strong enough to live. So long as I was pleased andexcited it was all very well--especially when He came. But I think I hadexpected it to be different; I did not understand as I do now how itmust come to this--how it is all quite logical and right. I could bearit, when I thought that they had acted through passion, but this isdeliberate. I did not realise that Peace must have its laws, and mustprotect itself. And, somehow, that Peace is not what I want. It is beingalive at all that is wrong. "Then there is this difficulty. I know how absolutely in agreement youare with this new state of affairs; of course you are, because you areso much stronger and more logical than I am. But if you have a wife shemust be of one mind with you. And I am not, any more, at least not withmy heart, though I see you are right. .. . Do you understand, my dear? "If we had had a child, it might have been different. I might have likedto go on living for his sake. But Humanity, somehow--Oh! Oliver! Ican't--I can't. "I know I am wrong, and that you are right--but there it is; I cannotchange myself. So I am quite sure that I must go. "Then I want to tell you this--that I am not at all frightened. I nevercan understand why people are--unless, of course, they are Christians. Ishould be horribly frightened if I was one of them. But, you see, weboth know that there is nothing beyond. It is life that I am frightenedof--not death. Of course, I should be frightened if there was any pain;but the doctors tell me there is absolutely none. It is simply going tosleep. The nerves are dead before the brain. I am going to do it myself. I don't want any one else in the room. In a few minutes the nursehere--Sister Anne, with whom I have made great friends--will bring inthe thing, and then she will leave me. "As regards what happens afterwards, I do not mind at all. Please doexactly what you wish. The cremation will take place to-morrow morningat noon, so that you can be here if you like. Or you can senddirections, and they will send on the urn to you. I know you liked tohave your mother's urn in the garden; so perhaps you will like mine. Please do exactly what you like. And with all my things too. Of course Ileave them to you. "Now, my dear, I want to say this--that I am very sorry indeed now thatI was so tiresome and stupid. I think I did really believe yourarguments all along. But I did not want to believe them. Do you see nowwhy I was so tiresome? "Oliver, my darling, you have been extraordinarily good to me. .. . Yes, Iknow I am crying, but I am really very happy. This is such a lovelyending. I wish I hadn't been obliged to make you so anxious during thislast week: but I had to--I knew you would persuade me against it, if youfound me, and that would have been worse than ever. I am sorry I toldyou that lie, too. Indeed, it is the first I ever did tell you. "Well, I don't think there is much more to say. Oliver, my dear, good-bye. I send you my love with all my heart. "MABEL. " * * * * * She sat still when she had read it through, and her eyes were still wetwith tears. Yet it was all perfectly true. She was far happier than shecould be if she had still the prospect of going back. Life seemedentirely blank: death was so obvious an escape; her soul ached for it, as a body for sleep. She directed the envelope, still with a perfectly steady hand, laid iton the table, and leaned back once more, glancing again at her untastedbreakfast. Then she suddenly began to think of her conversation with Mr. Francis;and, by a strange association of ideas, remembered the fall of the volorin Brighton, the busy-ness of the priest, and the Euthanasia boxes. .. . When Sister Anne came in a few minutes later, she was astonished at whatshe saw. The girl crouched at the window, her hands on the sill, staringout at the sky in an attitude of unmistakable horror. Sister Anne came across the room quickly, setting down something on thetable as she passed. She touched the girl on the shoulder. "My dear, what is it?" There was a long sobbing breath, and Mabel turned, rising as she turned, and clutched the nurse with one shaking hand, pointing out with theother. "There!" she said. "There--look!" "Well, my dear, what is it? I see nothing. It is a little dark!" "Dark!" said the other. "You call that dark! Why, why, it isblack--black!" The nurse drew her softly backwards to the chair, turning her from thewindow. She recognised nervous fear; but no more than that. But Mabeltore herself free, and wheeled again. "You call that a little dark, " she said. "Why, look, sister, look!" Yet there was nothing remarkable to be seen. In front rose up thefeathery hand of an elm, then the shuttered windows across the court, the roof, and above that the morning sky, a little heavy and dusky asbefore a storm; but no more than that. "Well, what is it, my dear? What do you see?" "Why, why . .. Look! look!--There, listen to that. " A faint far-away rumble sounded as the rolling of a waggon--so faintthat it might almost be an aural delusion. But the girl's hands were ather ears, and her face was one white wide-eyed mask of terror. The nursethrew her arms round her. "My dear, " she said, "you are not yourself. That is nothing but a littleheat-thunder. Sit down quietly. " She could feel the girl's body shaking beneath her hands, but there wasno resistance as she drew her to the chair. "The lights! the lights!" sobbed Mabel. "Will you promise me to sit quietly, then?" She nodded; and the nurse went across to the door, smiling tenderly; shehad seen such things before. A moment later the room was full ofexquisite sunlight, as she switched the handle. As she turned, she sawthat Mabel had wheeled herself round in the chair, and with claspedhands was still staring out at the sky above the roofs; but she wasplainly quieter again now. The nurse came back, and put her hand on hershoulder. "You are overwrought, my dear. .. . Now you must believe me. There isnothing to be frightened of. It is just nervous excitement. .. . Shall Ipull down the blind?" Mabel turned her face. .. . Yes, certainly the light had reassured her. Her face was still white and bewildered, but the steady look was comingback to her eyes, though, even as she spoke, they wandered back morethan once to the window. "Nurse, " she said more quietly, "please look again and tell me if yousee nothing. If you say there is nothing I will believe that I am goingmad. No; you must not touch the blind. " No; there was nothing. The sky was a little dark, as if a blight werecoming on; but there was hardly more than a veil of cloud, and the lightwas scarcely more than tinged with gloom. It was just such a sky asprecedes a spring thunderstorm. She said so, clearly and firmly. Mabel's face steadied still more. "Very well, nurse. .. . Then---" She turned to the little table by the side on which Sister Anne had setdown what she had brought into the room. "Show me, please. " The nurse still hesitated. "Are you sure you are not too frightened, my dear? Shall I get youanything?" "I have no more to say, " said Mabel firmly. "Show me, please. " Sister Anne turned resolutely to the table. There rested upon it a white-enamelled box, delicately painted withflowers. From this box emerged a white flexible tube with a broadmouthpiece, fitted with two leather-covered steel clasps. From the sideof the box nearest the chair protruded a little china handle. "Now, my dear, " began the nurse quietly, watching the other's eyes turnonce again to the window, and then back--"now, my dear, you sit there, as you are now. Your head right back, please. When you are ready, youput this over your mouth, and clasp the springs behind your head. .. . So. .. . It works quite easily. Then you turn this handle, round that way, as far as it will go. And that is all. " Mabel nodded. She had regained her self-command, and understood plainlyenough, though even as she spoke once again her eyes strayed away to thewindow. "That is all, " she said. "And what then?" The nurse eyed her doubtfully for a moment. "I understand perfectly, " said Mabel. "And what then?" "There is nothing more. Breathe naturally. You will feel sleepy almostdirectly. Then you close your eyes, and that is all. " Mabel laid the tube on the table and stood up. She was completelyherself now. "Give me a kiss, sister, " she said. The nurse nodded and smiled to her once more at the door. But Mabelhardly noticed it; again she was looking towards the window. "I shall come back in half-an-hour, " said Sister Anne. Then her eyes caught a square of white upon the centre table. "Ah! thatletter!" she said. "Yes, " said the girl absently. "Please take it. " The nurse took it up, glanced at the address, and again at Mabel. Stillshe hesitated. "In half-an-hour, " she repeated. "There is no hurry at all. It doesn'ttake five minutes. .. . Good-bye, my dear. " But Mabel was still looking out of the window, and made no answer. III Mabel stood perfectly still until she heard the locking of the door andthe withdrawal of the key. Then once more she went to the window andclasped the sill. From where she stood there was visible to her first the courtyardbeneath, with its lawn in the centre, and a couple of trees growingthere--all plain in the brilliant light that now streamed from herwindow, and secondly, above the roofs, a tremendous pall of ruddy black. It was the more terrible from the contrast. Earth, it seemed, wascapable of light; heaven had failed. It appeared, too, that there was a curious stillness. The house was, usually, quiet enough at this hour: the inhabitants of that place werein no mood for bustle: but now it was more than quiet; it was deathlystill: it was such a hush as precedes the sudden crash of the sky'sartillery. But the moments went by, and there was no such crash: onlyonce again there sounded a solemn rolling, as of some great wain faraway; stupendously impressive, for with it to the girl's ears thereseemed mingled a murmur of innumerable voices, ghostly crying andapplause. Then again the hush settled down like wool. She had begun to understand now. The darkness and the sounds were notfor all eyes and ears. The nurse had seen and heard nothingextraordinary, and the rest of the world of men saw and heard nothing. To them it was no more than the hint of a coming storm. Mabel did not attempt to distinguish between the subjective and theobjective. It was nothing to her as to whether the sights and soundswere generated by her own brain or perceived by some faculty hithertounknown. She seemed to herself to be standing already apart from theworld which she had known; it was receding from her, or, rather, whilestanding where it had always done, it was melting, transforming itself, passing to some other mode of existence. The strangeness seemed no morestrange than anything else than that . .. That little painted box uponthe table. Then, hardly knowing what she said, looking steadily upon that appallingsky, she began to speak. .. . "O God!" she said. "If You are really there really there---" Her voice faltered, and she gripped the sill to steady herself. Shewondered vaguely why she spoke so; it was neither intellect nor emotionthat inspired her. Yet she continued. .. . "O God, I know You are not there--of course You are not. But if You werethere, I know what I would say to You. I would tell You how puzzled andtired I am. No--No--I need not tell You: You would know it. But I wouldsay that I was very sorry for all this. Oh! You would know that too. Ineed not say anything at all. O God! I don't know what I want to say. Iwould like You to look after Oliver, of course, and all Your poorChristians. Oh! they will have such a hard time. .. . God. God--You wouldunderstand, wouldn't You?" . .. * * * * * Again came the heavy rumble and the solemn bass of a myriad voices; itseemed a shade nearer, she thought. .. . She never liked thunderstorms orshouting crowds. They always gave her a headache . .. "Well, well, " she said. "Good-bye, everything---" Then she was in the chair. The mouthpiece--yes; that was it. .. . She was furious at the trembling of her hands; twice the spring slippedfrom her polished coils of hair. .. . Then it was fixed . .. And as if abreeze fanned her, her sense came back. .. . She found she could breathe quite easily; there was no resistance--thatwas a comfort; there would be no suffocation about it. .. . She put outher left hand and touched the handle, conscious less of its suddencoolness than of the unbearable heat in which the room seemed almostsuddenly plunged. She could hear the drumming pulses in her temples andthe roaring of the voices. .. . She dropped the handle once more, and withboth hands tore at the loose white wrapper that she had put on thismorning. .. . Yes, that was a little easier; she could breathe better so. Again herfingers felt for and found the handle, but the sweat streamed from herfingers, and for an instant she could not turn the knob. Then it yieldedsuddenly. .. . * * * * * For one instant the sweet languid smell struck her consciousness like ablow, for she knew it as the scent of death. Then the steady will thathad borne her so far asserted itself, and she laid her hands softly inher lap, breathing deeply and easily. She had closed her eyes at the turning of the handle, but now openedthem again, curious to watch the aspect of the fading world. She haddetermined to do this a week ago: she would at least miss nothing ofthis unique last experience. It seemed at first that there was no change. There was the feathery headof the elm, the lead roof opposite, and the terrible sky above. Shenoticed a pigeon, white against the blackness, soar and swoop again outof sight in an instant. .. . . .. Then the following things happened. .. . There was a sudden sensation of ecstatic lightness in all her limbs; sheattempted to lift a hand, and was aware that it was impossible; it wasno longer hers. She attempted to lower her eyes from that broad strip ofviolet sky, and perceived that that too was impossible. Then sheunderstood that the will had already lost touch with the body, that thecrumbling world had receded to an infinite distance--that was as she hadexpected, but what continued to puzzle her was that her mind was stillactive. It was true that the world she had known had withdrawn itselffrom the dominion of consciousness, as her body had done, except, thatwas, in the sense of hearing, which was still strangely alert; yet therewas still enough memory to be aware that there was such a world--thatthere were other persons in existence; that men went about theirbusiness, knowing nothing of what had happened; but faces, names, places had all alike gone. In fact, she was conscious of herself in sucha manner as she had never been before; it seemed as if she hadpenetrated at last into some recess of her being into which hitherto shehad only looked as through clouded glass. This was very strange, and yetit was familiar, too; she had arrived, it seemed, at a centre, round thecircumference of which she had been circling all her life; and it wasmore than a mere point: it was a distinct space, walled and enclosed. .. . At the same instant she knew that hearing, too, was gone. .. . Then an amazing thing happened--yet it appeared to her that she hadalways known it would happen, although her mind had never articulatedit. This is what happened. The enclosure melted, with a sound of breaking, and a limitless spacewas about her--limitless, different to everything else, and alive, andastir. It was alive, as a breathing, panting body is alive--self-evidentand overpowering--it was one, yet it was many; it was immaterial, yetabsolutely real--real in a sense in which she never dreamed ofreality. .. . Yet even this was familiar, as a place often visited in dreams isfamiliar; and then, without warning, something resembling sound orlight, something which she knew in an instant to be unique, tore acrossit. .. . * * * * * Then she saw, and understood. .. . CHAPTER V I Oliver had passed the days since Mabel's disappearance in anindescribable horror. He had done all that was possible: he had tracedher to the station and to Victoria, where he lost her clue; he hadcommunicated with the police, and the official answer, telling himnothing, had arrived to the effect that there was no news: and it wasnot until the Tuesday following her disappearance that Mr. Francis, hearing by chance of his trouble, informed him by telephone that he hadspoken with her on the Friday night. But there was no satisfaction to begot from him--indeed, the news was bad rather than good, for Olivercould not but be dismayed at the report of the conversation, in spite ofMr. Francis's assurances that Mrs. Brand had shown no kind ofinclination to defend the Christian cause. Two theories gradually emerged, in his mind; either she was gone to theprotection of some unknown Catholic, or--and he grew sick at thethought--she had applied somewhere for Euthanasia as she had oncethreatened, and was now under the care of the Law; such an event wassufficiently common since the passing of the Release Act in 1998. And itwas frightful that he could not condemn it. * * * * * On the Tuesday evening, as he sat heavily in his room, for the hundredthtime attempting to trace out some coherent line through the maze ofintercourse he had had with his wife during these past months, his bellsuddenly rang. It was the red label of Whitehall that had made itsappearance; and for an instant his heart leaped with hope that it wasnews of her. But at the first words it sank again. "Brand, " came the sharp fairy voice, "is that you?. .. Yes, I amSnowford. You are wanted at once--at once, you understand. There is anextraordinary meeting of the Council at twenty o'clock. The Presidentwill be there. You understand the urgency. No time for more. Comeinstantly to my room. " * * * * * Even this message scarcely distracted him. He, with the rest of theworld, was no longer surprised at the sudden descents of the President. He came and vanished again without warning, travelling and working withincredible energy, yet always, as it seemed, retaining his personalcalm. It was already after nineteen; Oliver supped immediately, and aquarter-of-an-hour before the hour presented himself in Snowford's room, where half a dozen of his colleagues were assembled. That minister came forward to meet him, with a strange excitement in hisface. He drew him aside by a button. "See here, Brand, you are wanted to speak first--immediately after thePresident's Secretary who will open; they are coming from Paris. It isabout a new matter altogether. He has had information of the whereaboutsof the Pope. .. . It seems that there is one. .. . Oh, you will understandpresently. Oh, and by the way, " he went on, looking curiously at thestrained face, "I am sorry to hear of your anxiety. Pemberton told mejust now. " Oliver lifted a hand abruptly. "Tell me, " he said. "What am I wanted to say?" "Well, the President will have a proposal, we imagine. You know ourminds well enough. Just explain our attitude towards the Catholics. " Oliver's eyes shrank suddenly to two bright lines beneath the lids. Henodded. Cartwright came up presently, an immense, bent old man with a face ofparchment, as befitted the Lord Chief Justice. "By the way, Brand, what do you know of a man called Phillips? He seemsto have mentioned your name. " "He was my secretary, " said Oliver slowly. "What about him?" "I think he must be mad. He has given himself up to a magistrate, entreating to be examined at once. The magistrate has applied forinstructions. You see, the Act has scarcely begun to move yet. " "But what has he done?" "That's the difficulty. He says he cannot deny God, neither can heaffirm Him. --He was your secretary, then?" "Certainly. I knew he was inclined to Christianity. I had to get rid ofhim for that. " "Well, he is to be remanded for a week. Perhaps he will be able to makeup his mind. " Then the talk shifted off again. Two or three more came up, and all eyedOliver with a certain curiosity; the story was gone about that his wifehad left him. They wished to see how he took it. At five minutes before the hour a bell rang, and the door into thecorridor was thrown open. "Come, gentlemen, " said the Prime Minister. The Council Chamber was a long high room on the first floor; its wallsfrom floor to ceiling were lined with books. A noiseless rubber carpetwas underfoot. There were no windows; the room was lighted artificially. A long table, set round with armed chairs, ran the length of the floor, eight on either side; and the Presidential chair, raised on a dais, stood at the head. Each man went straight to his chair in silence, and remained there, waiting. * * * * * The room was beautifully cool, in spite of the absence of windows, andwas a pleasant contrast to the hot evening outside through which most ofthese men had come. They, too, had wondered at the surprising weather, and had smiled at the conflict of the infallible. But they were notthinking about that now: the coming of the President was a matter whichalways silenced the most loquacious. Besides, this time, they understoodthat the affair was more serious than usual. At one minute before the hour, again a bell sounded, four times, andceased; and at the signal each man turned instinctively to the highsliding door behind the Presidential chair. There was dead silencewithin and without: the huge Government offices were luxuriouslyprovided with sound-deadening apparatus, and not even the rolling of thevast motors within a hundred yards was able to send a vibration throughthe layers of rubber on which the walls rested. There was only one noisethat could penetrate, and that the sound of thunder. The experts were atpresent unable to exclude this. Again the silence seemed to fall in one yet deeper veil. Then the dooropened, and a figure came swiftly through, followed by Another in blackand scarlet. II He passed straight up to the chair, followed by two secretaries, bowedslightly to this side and that, sat down and made a little gesture. Thenthey, too, were in their chairs, upright and intent. For perhaps thehundredth time, Oliver, staring upon the President, marvelled at thequietness and the astounding personality of Him. He was in the Englishjudicial dress that had passed down through centuries--black and scarletwith sleeves of white fur and a crimson sash--and that had lately beenadopted as the English presidential costume of him who stood at the headof the legislature. But it was in His personality, in the atmospherethat flowed from Him, that the marvel lay. It was as the scent of thesea to the physical nature--it exhilarated, cleansed, kindled, intoxicated. It was as inexplicably attractive as a cherry orchard inspring, as affecting as the cry of stringed instruments, as compellingas a storm. So writers had said. They compared it to a stream of clearwater, to the flash of a gem, to the love of woman. They lost alldecency sometimes; they said it fitted all moods, as the voice of manywaters; they called it again and again, as explicitly as possible, theDivine Nature perfectly Incarnate at last. .. . Then Oliver's reflections dropped from him like a mantle, for thePresident, with downcast eyes and head thrown back, made a littlegesture to the ruddy-faced secretary on His right; and this man, withouta movement, began to speak like an impersonal actor repeating his part. * * * * * "Gentlemen, " he said, in an even, resonant voice, "the President is comedirect from Paris. This afternoon His Honour was in Berlin; thismorning, early, in Moscow. Yesterday in New York. To-night His Honourmust be in Turin; and to-morrow will begin to return through Spain, North Africa, Greece and the southeastern states. " This was the usual formula for such speeches. The President spoke butlittle himself now; but was careful for the information of his subjectson occasions like this. His secretaries were perfectly trained, and thisspeaker was no exception. After a slight pause, he continued: "This is the business, gentlemen. "Last Thursday, as you are aware, the Plenipotentaries signed the TestAct in this room, and it was immediately communicated all over theworld. At sixteen o'clock His Honour received a message from a man namedDolgorovski--who is, it is understood, one of the Cardinals of theCatholic Church. This he claimed; and on inquiry it was found to be afact. His information confirmed what was already suspected--namely, thatthere was a man claiming to be Pope, who had created (so the phrase is)other cardinals, shortly after the destruction of Rome, subsequent towhich his own election took place in Jerusalem. It appears that thisPope, with a good deal of statesmanship, has chosen to keep his own nameand place of residence a secret from even his own followers, with theexception of the twelve cardinals; that he has done a great deal, through the instrumentality of one of his cardinals in particular, andthrough his new Order in general, towards the reorganisation of theCatholic Church; and that at this moment he is living, apart from theworld, in complete security. "His Honour blames Himself that He did not do more than suspectsomething of the kind--misled, He thinks, by a belief that if there hadbeen a Pope, news would have been heard of it from other quarters, for, as is well known, the entire structure of the Christian Church restsupon him as upon a rock. Further, His Honour thinks inquiries shouldhave been made in the very place where now it is understood that thisPope is living. "The man's name, gentlemen, is Franklin---" Oliver started uncontrollably, but relapsed again to bright-eyedintelligence as for an instant the President glanced up from hismotionlessness. "Franklin, " repeated the secretary, "and he is living in Nazareth, where, it is said, the Founder of Christianity passed His youth. "Now this, gentlemen, His Honour heard on Thursday in last week. Hecaused inquiries to be made, and on Friday morning received furtherintelligence from Dolgorovski that this Pope had summoned to Nazareth ameeting of his cardinals, and certain other officials, from all over theworld, to consider what steps should be taken in view of the new TestAct. This His Honour takes to show an extreme want of statesmanshipwhich seems hard to reconcile with his former action. These persons aresummoned by special messengers to meet on Saturday next, and will begintheir deliberations after some Christian ceremonies on the followingmorning. "You wish, gentlemen, no doubt, to know Dolgorovski's motives in makingall this known. His Honour is satisfied that they are genuine. The manhas been losing belief in his religion; in fact, he has come to see thatthis religion is the supreme obstacle to the consolidation of the race. He has esteemed it his duty, therefore, to lay this information beforeHis Honour. It is interesting as an historical parallel to reflect thatthe same kind of incident marked the rise of Christianity as will mark, it is thought, its final extinction--namely, the informing on the partof one of the leaders of the place and method by which the principalpersonage may be best approached. It is also, surely, very significantthat the scene of the extinction of Christianity is identical with thatof its inauguration. .. . "Well, gentlemen, His Honour's proposal is as follows, carrying out theDeclaration to which you all acceded. It is that a force should proceedduring the night of Saturday next to Palestine, and on the Sundaymorning, when these men will be all gathered together, that this forceshould finish as swiftly and mercifully as possible the work to whichthe Powers have set their hands. So far, the comment of the Governmentswhich have been consulted has been unanimous, and there is little doubtthat the rest will be equally so. His Honour felt that He could not actin on grave a matter on His own responsibility; it is not merely local;it is a catholic administration of justice, and will have results widerthan it is safe minutely to prophesy. "It is not necessary to enter into His Honour's reasons. They arealready well known to you; but before asking for your opinion, Hedesires me to indicate what He thinks, in the event of your approval, should be the method of action. "Each Government, it is proposed, should take part in the final scene, for it is something of a symbolic action; and for this purpose it isthought well that each of the three Departments of the World shoulddepute volors, to the number of the constituting States, one hundred andtwenty-two all told, to set about the business. These volors should haveno common meeting-ground, otherwise the news will surely penetrate toNazareth, for it is understood that, this new Order of Christ Crucifiedhas a highly organised system of espionage. The rendezvous, then, shouldbe no other than Nazareth itself; and the time of meeting should be, itis thought, not later than nine o'clock according to Palestinereckoning. These details, however, can be decided and communicated assoon as a determination has been formed as regards the entire scheme. "With respect to the exact method of carrying out the conclusion, HisHonour is inclined to think it will be more merciful to enter into nonegotiations with the persons concerned. An opportunity should be givento the inhabitants of the village to make their escape if they so desireit, and then, with the explosives that the force should carry, the endcan be practically instantaneous. "For Himself, His Honour proposes to be there in person, and furtherthat the actual discharge should take place from His own car. It seemsbut suitable that the world which has done His Honour the goodness toelect Him to its Presidentship should act through His hands; and thiswould be at least some slight token of respect to a superstition which, however infamous, is yet the one and only force capable of withstandingthe true progress of man. "His Honour promises you, gentlemen, that in the event of this planbeing carried out, we shall be no more troubled with Christianity. Already the moral effect of the Test Act has been prodigious. It isunderstood that, by tens of thousands, Catholics, numbering among themeven members of this new fanatical Religious Order, have been renouncingtheir follies even in these few days; and a final blow struck now at thevery heart and head of the Catholic Church, eliminating, as it would do, the actual body on which the entire organisation subsists, would renderits resurrection impossible. It is a well-known fact that, granted theextinction of the line of Popes, together with those necessary for itscontinuance, there could be no longer any question amongst even the mostignorant that the claim of Jesus had ceased to be either reasonable orpossible. Even the Order that has provided the sinews for this newmovement must cease to exist. "Dolgorovski, of course, is the difficulty, for it is not certainlyknown whether one Cardinal would be considered sufficient for thepropagation of the line; and, although reluctantly, His Honour feelsbound to suggest that at the conclusion of the affair, Dolgorovski, also, who will not, of course, be with his fellows at Nazareth, shouldbe mercifully removed from even the danger of a relapse. .. . "His Honour, then, asks you, gentlemen, as briefly as possible, to stateyour views on the points of which I have had the privilege of speaking. " The quiet business-like voice ceased. He had spoken throughout in the manner with which he had begun; his eyeshad been downcast throughout; his voice had been tranquil andrestrained. His deportment had been admirable. There was an instant's silence, and all eyes settled steadily again uponthe motionless figure in black and scarlet and the ivory face. Then Oliver stood up. His face was as white as paper; his eyes brightand dilated. "Sir, " he said, "I have no doubt that we are all of one mind. I need sayno more than that, so far as I am a representative of my colleagues, weassent to the proposal, and leave all details in your Honour's hands. " The President lifted his eyes, and ran them swiftly along the rigidfaces turned to him. Then, in the breathless hush, he spoke for the first time in his strangevoice, now as passionless as a frozen river. "Is there any other proposal?" There was a murmur of assent as the men rose to their feet. "Thank you, gentlemen, " said the secretary. III It was a little before seven o'clock on the morning of Saturday thatOliver stepped out of the motor that had carried him to WimbledonCommon, and began to go up the steps of the old volor-stage, abandonedfive years ago. It had been thought better, in view of the extremesecrecy that was to be kept, that England's representative in theexpedition should start from a comparatively unknown point, and this oldstage, in disuse now, except for occasional trials of new Governmentmachines, had been selected. Even the lift had been removed, and it wasnecessary to climb the hundred and fifty steps on foot. It was with a certain unwillingness that he had accepted this post amongthe four delegates, for nothing had been heard of his wife, and it wasterrible to him to leave London while her fate was as yet doubtful. Onthe whole, he was less inclined than ever now to accept the Euthanasiatheory; he had spoken to one or two of her friends, all of whom declaredthat she had never even hinted at such an end. And, again, although hewas well aware of the eight-day law in the matter, even if she haddetermined on such a step there was nothing to show that she was yet inEngland, and, in fact, it was more than likely that if she were bent onsuch an act she would go abroad for it, where laxer conditionsprevailed. In short, it seemed that he could do no good by remaining inEngland, and the temptation to be present at the final act of justice inthe East by which land, and, in fact, it was more than likely that ifshe were to be wiped out, and Franklin, too, among them--Franklin, thatparody of the Lord of the World--this, added to the opinion of hiscolleagues in the Government, and the curious sense, never absent fromhim now, that Felsenburgh's approval was a thing to die for ifnecessary--these things had finally prevailed. He left behind him athome his secretary, with instructions that no expense was to be sparedin communicating with him should any news of his wife arrive during hisabsence. It was terribly hot this morning, and, by the time that he reached thetop he noticed that the monster in the net was already fitted into itswhite aluminium casing, and that the fans within the corridor and saloonwere already active. He stepped inside to secure a seat in the saloon, set his bag down, and after a word or two with the guard, who, ofcourse, had not yet been informed of their destination, learning thatthe others were not yet come, he went out again on to the platform forcoolness' sake, and to brood in peace. London looked strange this morning, he thought. Here beneath him was thecommon, parched somewhat with the intense heat of the previous week, stretching for perhaps half-a-mile--tumbled ground, smooth stretches ofturf, and the heads of heavy trees up to the first house-roofs, set, too, it seemed, in bowers of foliage. Then beyond that began the serriedarray, line beyond line, broken in one spot by the gleam of ariver-reach, and then on again fading beyond eyesight. But whatsurprised him was the density of the air; it was now, as old booksrelated it had been in the days of smoke. There was no freshness, notranslucence of morning atmosphere; it was impossible to point in anyone direction to the source of this veiling gloom, for on all sides itwas the same. Even the sky overhead lacked its blue; it appeared paintedwith a muddy brush, and the sun shewed the same faint tinge of red. Yes, it was like that, he said wearily to himself--like a second-rate sketch;there was no sense of mystery as of a veiled city, but rather unreality. The shadows seemed lacking in definiteness, the outlines and grouping incoherence. A storm was wanted, he reflected; or even, it might be, onemore earthquake on the other side of the world would, in wonderfulillustration of the globe's unity, relieve the pressure on this side. Well, well; the journey would be worth taking even for the interest ofobserving climatic changes; but it would be terribly hot, he mused, bythe time the south of France was reached. Then his thoughts leaped back to their own gnawing misery. * * * * * It was another ten minutes before he saw the scarlet Government motor, with awnings out, slide up the road from the direction of Fulham; andyet five minutes more before the three men appeared with their servantsbehind them--Maxwell, Snowford and Cartwright, all alike, as was Oliver, in white duck from head to foot. They did not speak one word of their business, for the officials weregoing to and fro, and it was advisable to guard against even thesmallest possibility of betrayal. The guard had been told that the volorwas required for a three days' journey, that provisions were to be takenin for that period, and that the first point towards which the coursewas to lie was the centre of the South Downs. There would be no stoppingfor at least a day and a night. Further instructions had reached them from the President on the previousmorning, by which time He had completed His visitation, and received theassent of the Emergency Councils of the world. This Snowford commentedupon in an undertone, and added a word or two as to details, as the fourstood together looking out over the city. Briefly, the plan was as follows, at least so far as it concernedEngland. The volor was to approach Palestine from the direction of theMediterranean, observing to get into touch with France on her left andSpain on her right within ten miles of the eastern end of Crete. Theapproximate hour was fixed at twenty-three (eastern time). At this pointshe was to show her night signal, a scarlet line on a white field; andin the event of her failing to observe her neighbours was to circle atthat point, at a height of eight hundred feet, until either the two weresighted or further instructions were received. For the purpose ofdealing with emergencies, the President's car, which would finally makeits entrance from the south, was to be accompanied by an _aide-de-camp_capable of moving at a very high speed, whose signals were to be takenas Felsenburgh's own. So soon as the circle was completed, having Esdraelon as its centre witha radius of five hundred and forty miles, the volors were to advance, dropping gradually to within five hundred feet of sea-level, anddiminishing their distance one from another from the twenty-five milesor so at which they would first find themselves, until they were as nearas safety allowed. In this manner the advance at a pace of fifty milesan hour from the moment that the circle was arranged would bring themwithin sight of Nazareth at about nine o'clock on the Sunday morning. * * * * * The guard came up to the four as they stood there silent. "We are ready, gentlemen, " he said. "What do you think of the weather?" asked Snowford abruptly. The guard pursed his lips. "A little thunder, I expect, sir, " he said. Oliver looked at him curiously. "No more than that?" he asked. "I should say a storm, sir, " observed the guard shortly. Snowford turned towards the gangway. "Well, we had best be off: we can lose time further on, if we wish. " It was about five minutes more before all was ready. From the stern ofthe boat came a faint smell of cooking, for breakfast would be servedimmediately, and a white-capped cook protruded his head for an instant, to question the guard. The four sat down in the gorgeous saloon in thebows; Oliver silent by himself, the other three talking in low voicestogether. Once more the guard passed through to his compartment at theprow, glancing as he went to see that all were seated; and an instantlater came the clang of the signal. Then through all the length of theboat--for she was the fastest ship that England possessed--passed thethrill of the propeller beginning to work up speed; and simultaneouslyOliver, staring sideways through the plate-glass window, saw the raildrop away, and the long line of London, pale beneath the tinged sky, surge up suddenly. He caught a glimpse of a little group of personsstaring up from below, and they, too, dropped in a great swirl, andvanished. Then, with a flash of dusty green, the Common bad vanished, and a pavement of house-roofs began to stream beneath, the long lines ofstreets on this side and that turning like spokes of a gigantic wheel;once more this pavement thinned, showing green again as betweeninfrequently laid cobble-stones; then they, too, were gone, and thecountry was open beneath. Snowford rose, staggering a little. "I may as well tell the guard now, " he said. "Then we need not beinterrupted again. " CHAPTER VI I The Syrian awoke from a dream that a myriad faces were looking into hisown, eager, attentive and horrible, in his corner of the roof-top, andsat up sweating and gasping aloud for breath. For an instant he thoughtthat he was really dying, and that the spiritual world was about him. Then, as he struggled, sense came back, and he stood up, drawing longbreaths of the stifling night air. Above him the sky was as the pit, black and empty; there was not aglimmer of light, though the moon was surely up. He had seen her fourhours before, a red sickle, swing slowly out from Thabor. Across theplain, as he looked from the parapet, there was nothing. For a few yardsthere lay across the broken ground a single crooked lance of light froma half-closed shutter; and beneath that, nothing. To the north again, nothing; to the west a glimmer, pale as a moth's wing, from thehouse-roofs of Nazareth; to the east, nothing. He might be on atower-top in space, except for that line of light and that grey glimmerthat evaded the eye. On the roof, however, it was possible to make out at least outlines, forthe dormer trap had been left open at the head of the stairs, and fromsomewhere within the depths of the house there stole up a faintrefracted light. There was a white bundle in that corner; that would be the pillow of theBenedictine abbot. He had seen him lay himself down there some time--wasit four hours or four centuries ago? There was a grey shape stretchedalong that pale wall--the Friar, he thought; there were other irregularoutlines breaking the face of the parapet, here and there along thesides. Very softly, for he knew the caprices of sleep, he stepped across thepaved roof to the opposite parapet and looked over, for there yet hungabout him a desire for reassurance that he was still in company withflesh and blood. Yes, indeed he was still on earth; for there was a realand distinct light burning among the tumbled rocks, and beside it, delicate as a miniature, the head and shoulders of a man, writing. Andin the circle of light were other figures, pale, broken patches on whichmen lay; a pole or two, erected with the thought of a tent to follow; alittle pile of luggage with a rug across it; and beyond the circle otheroutlines and shapes faded away into the stupendous blackness. Then the writing man moved his head, and a monstrous shadow fled acrossthe ground; a yelp as of a strangling dog broke out suddenly closebehind him, and, as he turned, a moaning figure sat up on the roof, sobbing itself awake. Another moved at the sound, and then as, sighing, the former relapsed heavily against the wall, once more the priest wentback to his place, still doubtful as to the reality of all that he saw, and the breathless silence came down again as a pall. * * * * * He woke again from dreamless sleep, and there was a change. From hiscorner, as he raised his heavy eyes, there met them what seemed anunbearable brightness; then, as he looked, it resolved itself into acandle-flame, and beyond it a white sleeve, and higher yet a white faceand throat. He understood, and rose reeling; it was the messenger cometo fetch him as had been arranged. As he passed across the space, once he looked round him, and it seemedthat the dawn must have come, for that appalling sky overhead wasvisible at last. An enormous vault, smoke-coloured and opaque, seemed tocurve away to the ghostly horizons on either side where the far-awayhills raised sharp shapes as if cut in paper. Carmel was before him; atleast he thought it was that--a bull head and shoulders thrusting itselfforward and ending in an abrupt descent, and beyond that again theglimmering sky. There were no clouds, no outlines to break the huge, smooth, dusky dome beneath the centre of which this house-roof seemedpoised. Across the parapet, as he glanced to the right before descendingthe steps, stretched Esdraelon, sad-coloured and sombre, into themetallic distance. It was all as unreal as some fantastic picture by onewho had never looked upon clear sunlight. The silence was complete andprofound. Straight down through the wheeling shadows he went, following thewhite-hooded head and figure down the stairs, along the tiny passage, stumbling once against the feet of one who slept with limbs tossed looselike a tired dog; the feet drew back mechanically, and a little moanbroke from the shadows. Then he went on, passing the servant who stoodaside, and entered. There were half-a-dozen men gathered here, silent, white figuresstanding apart one from the other, who genuflected as the Pope came insimultaneously through the opposite door, and again stood white-facedand attentive. He ran his eyes over them as he stopped, waiting behindhis master's chair--there were two he knew, remembering them from lastnight--dark-faced Cardinal Ruspoli, and the lean Australian Archbishop, besides Cardinal Corkran, who stood by his chair at the Pope's owntable, with papers laid ready. Silvester sat down, and with a little gesture caused the others to sittoo. Then He began at once in that quiet tired voice that his servantknew so well. "Eminences-we are all here, I think. We need lose no more time, then. .. . Cardinal Corkran has something to communicate---" He turned a little. "Father, sit down, if you please. This will occupy a little while. " The priest went across to the stone window-seat, whence he could watchthe Pope's face in the light of the two candles that now stood on thetable between him and the Cardinal-Secretary. Then the Cardinal began, glancing up from his papers. "Holiness. I had better begin a little way back. Their Eminences havenot heard the details properly. .. . "I received at Damascus, on last Friday week, inquiries from variousprelates in different parts of the world, as to the actual measureconcerning the new policy of persecution. At first I could tell themnothing positively, for it was not until after twenty o'clock thatCardinal Ruspoli, in Turin, informed me of the facts. Cardinal Malpasconfirmed them a few minutes later, and the Cardinal Archbishop of Pekinat twenty-three. Before mid-day on Saturday I received finalconfirmation from my messengers in London. "I was at first surprised that Cardinal Dolgorovski did not communicateit; for almost simultaneously with the Turin message I received one froma priest of the Order of Christ Crucified in Moscow, to which, ofcourse, I paid no attention. (It is our rule, Eminences, to treatunauthorised communications in that way. ) His Holiness, however, bade memake inquiries, and I learned from Father Petrovoski and others that theGovernment placards published the news at twenty o'clock--by our time. It was curious, therefore, that the Cardinal had not seen it; if he hadseen it, it was, of course, his duty to acquaint me immediately. "Since that time, however, the following facts have come out. It isestablished beyond a doubt that Cardinal Dolgorovski received a visitorin the course of the evening. His own chaplain, who, your Eminences areperhaps aware, has been very active in Russia on behalf of the Church, informs me of this privately. Yet the Cardinal asserts, in explanationof his silence, that he was alone during those hours, and had givenorders that no one was to be admitted to his presence without urgentcause. This, of course, confirmed His Holiness's opinion, but I receivedorders from Him to act as if nothing had happened, and to command theCardinal's presence here with the rest of the Sacred College. To this Ireceived an intimation that he would be present. Yesterday, however, alittle before mid-day, I received a further message that his Eminencyhad met with a slight accident, but that he yet hoped to present himselfin time for the deliberations. Since then no further news has arrived. " There was a dead silence. Then the Pope turned to the Syrian priest. "Father, " he said, "it was you who received his Eminency's messages. Have you anything to add to this?" "No, Holiness. " He turned again. "My son, " he said, "report to Us publicly what you have alreadyreported to Us in private. " A small, bright-eyed man moved out of the shadows. "Holiness, it was I who conveyed the message to Cardinal Dolgorovski. Herefused at first to receive me. When I reached his presence andcommunicated the command he was silent; then he smiled; then he told meto carry back the message that he would obey. " Again the Pope was silent. Then suddenly the tall Australian stood up. "Holiness, " he said, "I was once intimate with that man. It was partlythrough my means that he sought reception into the Catholic Church. Thiswas not less than fourteen years ago, when the fortunes of the Churchseemed about to prosper. .. . Our friendly relations ceased two years ago, and I may say that, from what I know of him, I find no difficulty inbelieving---" As his voice shook with passion and he faltered, Silvester raised hishand. "We desire no recriminations. Even the evidence is now useless, for whatwas to be done has been done. For ourselves, we have no doubt as to itsnature. .. . It was to this man that Christ gave the morsel through ourhands, saying _Quod faces, fac cities. Cum ergo accepisset Me buccellam, exivit continuo. Erat autem nox. _" Again fell the silence, and in the pause sounded a long half-vocal sighfrom without the door. It came and went as a sleeper turned, for thepassage was crowded with exhausted men--as a soul might sigh that passedfrom light to darkness. Then Silvester spoke again. And as He spoke He began, as ifmechanically, to tear up a long paper, written with lists of names, thatlay before Him. "Eminences, it is three hours after dawn. In two hours more We shall saymass in your presence, and give Holy Communion. During those two hoursWe commission you to communicate this news to all who are assembledhere; and further, We bestow on each and all of you jurisdiction apartfrom all previous rules of time and place; we give a Plenary Indulgenceto all who confess and communicate this day. Father--" he turned to theSyrian--"Father, you will now expose the Blessed Sacrament in thechapel, after which you will proceed to the village and inform theinhabitants that if they wish to save their lives they had best be goneimmediately--immediately, you understand. " The Syrian started from his daze. "Holiness, " he stammered, stretching out a hand, "the lists, the lists!" (He had seen what these were. ) But Silvester only smiled as He tossed the fragments on to the table. Then He stood up. "You need not trouble, my son. .. . We shall not need these any more. .. . "One last word, Eminences. .. . If there is one heart here that doubts oris afraid, I have a word to say. " He paused, with an extraordinarily simple deliberateness, ran the eyesround the tense faces turned to Him. "I have had a Vision of God, " He said softly. "I walk no more by faith, but by sight. " II An hour later the priest toiled back in the hot twilight up the pathfrom the village, followed by half-a-dozen silent men, twenty yardsbehind, whose curiosity exceeded their credulousness. He had left a fewmore standing bewildered at the doors of the little mud-houses; and hadseen perhaps a hundred families, weighted with domestic articles, pourlike a stream down the rocky path that led to Khaifa. He had been cursedby some, even threatened; stared upon by others; mocked by a few. Thefanatical said that the Christians had brought God's wrath upon theplace, and the darkness upon the sky: the sun was dying, for thesehounds were too evil for him to look upon and live. Others again seemedto see nothing remarkable in the state of the weather. .. . There was no change in that sky from its state an hour before, exceptthat perhaps it had lightened a little as the sun climbed higher behindthat impenetrable dusky shroud. Hills, grass, men's faces--all bore tothe priest's eyes the look of unreality; they were as things seen in adream by eyes that roll with sleep through lids weighted with lead. Evento other physical senses that unreality was present; and once more heremembered his dream, thankful that that horror at least was absent. Butsilence seemed other than a negation of sound, it was a thing in itself, an affirmation, unruffled by the sound of footsteps, the thin barking ofdogs, the murmur of voices. It appeared as if the stillness of eternityhad descended and embraced the world's activities, and as if that world, in a desperate attempt to assert its own reality, was braced in a set, motionless, noiseless, breathless effort to hold itself in being. WhatSilvester had said just now was beginning to be true of this man also. The touch of the powdery soil and the warm pebbles beneath the priest'sbare feet seemed something apart from the consciousness that usuallyregards the things of sense as more real and more intimate than thethings of spirit. Matter still had a reality, still occupied space, butit was of a subjective nature, the result of internal rather thanexternal powers. He appeared to himself already to be scarcely more thana soul, intent and steady, united by a thread only to the body and theworld with which he was yet in relations. He knew that the appallingheat was there; once even, before his eyes a patch of beaten groundcracked and lisped as water that touches hot iron, as he trod upon it. He could feel the heat upon his forehead and hands, his whole body wasswathed and soaked in it; yet he regarded it as from an outsidestandpoint, as a man with neuritis perceives that the pain is no longerin his hand but in the pillow which supports it. So, too, with what hiseyes looked upon and his ears heard; so, too, with that faint bittertaste that lay upon his lips and nostrils. There was no longer in himfear or even hope--he regarded himself, the world, and even theenshrouding and awful Presence of spirit as facts with which he had butlittle to do. He was scarcely even interested; still less was hedistressed. There was Thabor before him--at least what once had beenThabor, now it was no more than a huge and dusky dome-shape whichimpressed itself upon his retina and informed his passive brain of itsexistence and outline, though that existence seemed no better than thatof a dissolving phantom. It seemed then almost natural--or at least as natural as all else--as hecame in through the passage and opened the chapel-door, to see that thefloor was crowded with prostrate motionless figures. There they lay, allalike in the white burnous which he had given out last night; and, withforehead on arms, as during the singing of the Litany of the Saints atan ordination, lay the figure he knew best and loved more than all theworld, the shoulders and white hair at a slight elevation upon thesingle altar step. Above the plain altar itself burned the six tallcandles; and in the midst, on the mean little throne, stood thewhite-metal monstrance, with its White Centre. .. . Then he, too, dropped, and lay as he was. .. . * * * * * He did not know how long it was before the circling observantconsciousness, the flow of slow images, the vibration of particularthoughts, ceased and stilled as a pool rocks quietly to peace after thedropped stone has long lain still. But it came at last--that superbtranquillity, possible only when the senses are physically awake, withwhich God, perhaps once in a lifetime, rewards the aspiring trustfulsoul--that point of complete rest in the heart of the Fount of allexistence with which one day He will reward eternally the spirits of Hischildren. There was no thought in him of articulating this experience, of analysing its elements, or fingering this or that strain of ecstaticjoy. The time for self-regarding was passed. It was enough that theexperience was there, although he was not even self-reflective enough totell himself so. He had passed from that circle whence the soul lookswithin, from that circle, too, whence it looks upon objective glory, tothat very centre where it reposes--and the first sign to him that timehad passed was the murmur of words, heard distinctly and understood, although with that apartness with which a drowsy man perceives a messagefrom without--heard as through a veil through which nothing but thinnestessence could transpire. _Spiritus Domini replevit orbem terrarum. .. . The Spirit of the Lord hathfulfilled all things, alleluia: and that which contains all things hathknowledge of the voice, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. _ _Exsurgat Deus_ (and the voice rose ever so slightly). "_Let God ariseand let His enemies be scattered; and let them who hate Him flee beforeHis face. _" _Gloria Patri. .. . _ Then he raised his heavy head; and a phantom figure stood there in redvestments, seeming to float rather than to stand, with thin handsoutstretched, and white cap on white hair seen in the gleam of thesteady candle-flames; another, also in white, kneeled on the step. .. . _Kyrie eleison . .. Gloria in excelsis Deo . .. _ those things passed likea shadow-show, with movements and rustlings, but he perceived rather thelight which cast them. He heard _Deus qui in hodierna die . .. _ but hispassive mind gave no pulse of reflex action, no stir of understandinguntil these words. _Cum complerentur dies Pentecostes. .. . _ "_When the day of Pentecost was fully come, all the disciples were withone accord in the same place; and there came from heaven suddenly asound, as of a mighty wind approaching, and it filled the house wherethey were sitting. .. . _" Then he remembered and understood. .. . It was Pentecost then! And withmemory a shred of reflection came back. Where then was the wind, and theflame, and the earthquake, and the secret voice? Yet the world wassilent, rigid in its last effort at self-assertion: there was no tremorto show that God remembered; no actual point of light, yet, breaking theappalling vault of gloom that lay over sea and land to reveal that Heburned there in eternity, transcendent and dominant; not even a voice;and at that he understood yet more. He perceived that that world, whosemonstrous parody his sleep had presented to him in the night, was otherthan that he had feared it to be; it was sweet, not terrible; friendly, not hostile; clear, not stifling; and home, not exile. There werepresences here, but not those gluttonous, lustful things that had lookedon him last night. .. . He dropped his head again upon his hands, at onceashamed and content; and again he sank down to depths of glimmeringinner peace. .. . * * * * * Not again, for a while, did he perceive what he did or thought, or whatpassed there, five yards away on the low step. Once only a ripple passedacross that sea of glass, a ripple of fire and sound like a rising starthat flicks a line of light across a sleeping lake, like a thin threadof vibration streaming from a quivering string across the stillness of adeep night--and be perceived for an instant as in a formless mirror thata lower nature was struck into existence and into union with the Divinenature at the same moment. .. . And then no more again but the greatencompassing hush, the sense of the innermost heart of reality, till hefound himself kneeling at the rail, and knew that That which alone trulyexisted on earth approached him with the swiftness of thought and theardour of Divine Love. .. . Then, as the mass ended, and he raised his passive happy soul to receivethe last gift of God, there was a cry, a sudden clamour in the passage, and a man stood in the doorway, gabbling Arabic. III Yet even at that sound and sight his soul scarcely tightened the languidthreads that united it through every fibre of his body with the world ofsense. He saw and heard the tumult in the passage, frantic eyes andmouths crying aloud, and, in strange contrast, the pale ecstatic facesof those princes who turned and looked; even within the tranquilpresence-chamber of the spirit where two beings, Incarnate God and allbut Discarnate Man, were locked in embrace, a certain mental processwent on. Yet all was still as apart from him as a lighted stage and itsdrama from a self-contained spectator. In the material world, now asattenuated as a mirage, events were at hand; but to his soul, balancednow on reality and awake to facts, these things were but a spectacle. .. . He turned to the altar again, and there, as he had known it would be, inthe midst of clear light, all was at peace: the celebrant, seen asthrough molten glass, adored as He murmured the mystery of theWord-made-Flesh, and once more passing to the centre, sank upon Hisknees. Again the priest understood; for thought was no longer the process of amind, rather it was the glance of a spirit. He knew all now; and, by aninevitable impulse, his throat began to sing aloud words that, as hesang, opened for the first time as flowers telling their secret to thesun. _O Salutaris HostiaQui coeli pandis ostium. . . . _ They were all singing now; even the Mohammedan catechumen who had burstin a moment ago sang with the rest, his lean head thrust out and hisarms tight across his breast; the tiny chapel rang with the fortyvoices, and the vast world thrilled to hear it. .. . Still singing, the priest saw the veil laid as by a phantom upon thePontiff's shoulders; there was a movement, a surge of figures--shadowsonly in the midst of substance, _ . .. Uni Trinoque Domino . .. . _ --and the Pope stood erect, Himself a pallor in the heart of light, withspectral folds of silk dripping from His shoulders, His hands swathed inthem, and His down-bent head hidden by the silver-rayed monstrance andThat which it bore. .. . _ . .. Qui vitam sine terminoNobis donet in patria . .. . _ . .. They were moving now, and the world of life swung with them; of somuch was he aware. He was out in the passage, among the white, frenziedfaces that with bared teeth stared up at that sight, silenced at last bythe thunder of _Pange Lingua_, and the radiance of those who passed outto eternal life. .. . At the corner he turned for an instant to see thesix pale flames move along a dozen yards behind, as spear-heads about aKing, and in the midst the silver rays and the White Heart of God. .. . Then he was out, and the battle lay in array. .. . That sky on which he had looked an hour ago had passed from darknesscharged with light to light overlaid with darkness--from glimmeringnight to Wrathful Day--and that light was red. .. . From behind Thabor on the left to Carmel on the far right, above thehills twenty miles away rested an enormous vault of colour; here were nogradations from zenith to horizon; all was the one deep smoulder ofcrimson as of the glow of iron. It was such a colour as men have seen atsunsets after rain, while the clouds, more translucent each instant, transmit the glory they cannot contain. Here, too, was the sun, pale asthe Host, set like a fragile wafer above the Mount of Transfiguration, and there, far down in the west where men had once cried upon Baal invain, hung the sickle of the white moon. Yet all was no more thanstained light that lies broken across carven work of stone. .. . _ . .. In suprema nocte coena, _ sang the myriad voices, _Recumbens cum fratribusObservata lege plenaCibis in legalibusCibum turbae duodenaeSe dat suis manibus . .. . _ He saw, too, poised as motes in light, that ring of strangefish-creatures, white as milk, except where the angry glory turned theirbacks to flame, white-winged like floating moths, from the tiny shapefar to the south to the monster at hand scarcely five hundred yardsaway; and even as he looked, singing as he looked, he understood thatthe circle was nearer, and perceived that these as yet knew nothing. .. . _Verbum caro, panem verumVerbo carnem efficit . .. . They were nearer still, until now even at his feet there slid along theground the shadow of a monstrous bird, pale and undefined, as betweenthe wan sun and himself moved out the vast shape that a moment ago hungabove the Hill. .. . Then again it backed across and waited . .. _Et si census deficitAd formandum cor sincerumSola fides sufficit . .. . _ He had halted and turned, going in the midst of his fellows, hearing, he thought, the thrill of harping and the throb of heavenly drums; and, across the space, moved now the six flames, steady as if cut of steel inthat stupendous poise of heaven and earth; and in their centre thesilver-rayed glory and the Whiteness of God made Man. .. . . .. Then, with a roar, came the thunder again, pealing in circle beyondcircle of those tremendous Presences--Thrones and Powers--who, themselves to the world as substance to shadow, are but shadows againbeneath the apex and within the ring of Absolute Deity. .. . The thunderbroke loose, shaking the earth that now cringed on the quivering edge ofdissolution. .. . TANTUM ERGO SACRAMENTUMVENEREMUR CERNUIET ANTIQUUM DOCUMENTUMNOVO CEDAT RITUI. Ah! yes; it was He for whom God waited now--He who far up beneath thattrembling shadow of a dome, itself but the piteous core of unimaginedsplendour, came in His swift chariot, blind to all save that on which Hehad fixed His eyes so long, unaware that His world corrupted about Him, His shadow moving like a pale cloud across the ghostly plain whereIsrael had fought and Sennacherib boasted--that plain lighted now with ayet deeper glow, as heaven, kindling to glory beyond glory of yetfiercer spiritual flame, still restrained the power knit at last to therelief of final revelation, and for the last time the voices sang. .. . PRAESTET FIDES SUPPLEMENTUMSENSUUM DEFECTUI . .. . . .. He was coming now, swifter than ever, the heir of temporal ages andthe Exile of eternity, the final piteous Prince of rebels, the creatureagainst God, blinder than the sun which paled and the earth that shook;and, as He came, passing even then through the last material stage tothe thinness of a spirit-fabric, the floating circle swirled behind Him, tossing like phantom birds in the wake of a phantom ship. .. . He wascoming, and the earth, rent once again in its allegiance, shrank andreeled in the agony of divided homage. .. . . .. He was coming--and already the shadow swept off the plain andvanished, and the pale netted wings were rising to the cheek; and thegreat bell clanged, and the long sweet chord rang out--not more thanwhispers heard across the pealing storm of everlasting praise. .. . . .. . GENITORI GENITOQUELAUS ET JUBILATIOSALUS HONOR VIRTUS QUOQUESIT ET BENEDICTIOPROCEDENTI AB UTROQUECOMPAR SIT LAUDATIO. and once more PROCEDENTI AB UTROQUECOMPAR SIT LAUDATIO . .. . Then this world passed, and the glory of it. THE END