{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_14021/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_14021","id":"gutenberg_14021","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14021","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Science fiction","Second Advent -- Fiction"],"text":"LORD OF THE WORLD\n\nBY ROBERT HUGH BENSON\n\nDedication\n\nCLAVI DOMUS DAVID\n\nPREFACE\n\nI am perfectly aware that this is a terribly sensational book, and open\nto innumerable criticisms on that account, as well as on many others.\nBut I did not know how else to express the principles I desired (and\nwhich I passionately believe to be true) except by producing their lines\nto a sensational point. I have tried, however, not to scream unduly\nloud, and to retain, so far as possible, reverence and consideration for\nthe opinions of other people. Whether I have succeeded in that attempt\nis quite another matter.\n\nRobert Hugh Benson.\n\nCAMBRIDGE 1907.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nPROLOGUE\n\nBOOK I\n\nTHE ADVENT\n\nBOOK II\n\nTHE ENCOUNTER\n\nBOOK III\n\nTHE VICTORY\n\n\nPersons who do not like tiresome prologues, need not read this one. It\nis essential only to the situation, not to the story.\n\n\n\n\nPROLOGUE\n\n\u201cYou must give me a moment,\u201d said the old man, leaning back.\n\nPercy resettled himself in his chair and waited, chin on hand.\n\nIt was a very silent room in which the three men sat, furnished with the\nextreme common sense of the period. It had neither window nor door; for\nit was now sixty years since the world, recognising that space is not\nconfined to the surface of the globe, had begun to burrow in earnest.\nOld Mr. Templeton\u2019s house stood some forty feet below the level of the\nThames embankment, in what was considered a somewhat commodious\nposition, for he had only a hundred yards to walk before he reached the\nstation of the Second Central Motor-circle, and a quarter of a mile to\nthe volor-station at Blackfriars. He was over ninety years old, however,\nand seldom left his house now. The room itself was lined throughout with\nthe delicate green jade-enamel prescribed by the Board of Health, and\nwas suffused with the artificial sunlight discovered by the great Reuter\nforty years before; it had the colour-tone of a spring wood, and was\nwarmed and ventilated through the classical frieze grating to the exact\ntemperature of 18 degrees Centigrade. Mr. Templeton was a plain man,\ncontent to live as his father had lived before him. The furniture, too,\nwas a little old-fashioned in make and design, constructed however\naccording to the prevailing system of soft asbestos enamel welded over\niron, indestructible, pleasant to the touch, and resembling mahogany. A\ncouple of book-cases well filled ran on either side of the bronze\npedestal electric fire before which sat the three men; and in the\nfurther corners stood the hydraulic lifts that gave entrance, the one to\nthe bedroom, the other to the corridor fifty feet up which opened on to\nthe Embankment.\n\nFather Percy Franklin, the elder of the two priests, was rather a\nremarkable-looking man, not more than thirty-five years old, but with\nhair that was white throughout; his grey eyes, under black eyebrows,\nwere peculiarly bright and almost passionate; but his prominent nose and\nchin and the extreme decisiveness of his mouth reassured the observer as\nto his will. Strangers usually looked twice at him.\n\nFather Francis, however, sitting in his upright chair on the other side\nof the hearth, brought down the average; for, though his brown eyes were\npleasant and pathetic, there was no strength in his face; there was even\na tendency to feminine melancholy in the corners of his mouth and the\nmarked droop of his eyelids.\n\nMr. Templeton was just a very old man, with a strong face in folds,\nclean-shaven like the rest of the world, and was now lying back on his\nwater-pillows with the quilt over his feet.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt last he spoke, glancing first at Percy, on his left.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he said, \u201cit is a great business to remember exactly; but this\nis how I put it to myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn England our party was first seriously alarmed at the Labour\nParliament of 1917. That showed us how deeply Herveism had impregnated\nthe whole social atmosphere. There had been Socialists before, but none\nlike Gustave Herve in his old age--at least no one of the same power.\nHe, perhaps you have read, taught absolute Materialism and Socialism\ndeveloped to their logical issues. Patriotism, he said, was a relic of\nbarbarism; and sensual enjoyment was the only certain good. Of course,\nevery one laughed at him. It was said that without religion there could\nbe no adequate motive among the masses for even the simplest social\norder. But he was right, it seemed. After the fall of the French Church\nat the beginning of the century and the massacres of 1914, the\nbourgeoisie settled down to organise itself; and that extraordinary\nmovement began in earnest, pushed through by the middle classes, with no\npatriotism, no class distinctions, practically no army. Of course,\nFreemasonry directed it all. This spread to Germany, where the influence\nof Karl Marx had already---\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d put in Percy smoothly, \u201cbut what of England, if you don\u2019t\nmind---\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes; England. Well, in 1917 the Labour party gathered up the reins,\nand Communism really began. That was long before I can remember, of\ncourse, but my father used to date it from then. The only wonder was\nthat things did not go forward more quickly; but I suppose there was a\ngood deal of Tory leaven left. Besides, centuries generally run slower\nthan is expected, especially after beginning with an impulse. But the\nnew order began then; and the Communists have never suffered a serious\nreverse since, except the little one in \u201925. Blenkin founded \u2018The New\nPeople\u2019 then; and the \u2018Times\u2019 dropped out; but it was not, strangely\nenough, till \u201935 that the House of Lords fell for the last time. The\nEstablished Church had gone finally in \u201929.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the religious effect of that?\u201d asked Percy swiftly, as the old man\npaused to cough slightly, lifting his inhaler. The priest was anxious to\nkeep to the point.\n\n\u201cIt was an effect itself,\u201d said the other, \u201crather than a cause. You\nsee, the Ritualists, as they used to call them, after a desperate\nattempt to get into the Labour swim, came into the Church after the\nConvocation of \u201919, when the Nicene Creed dropped out; and there was no\nreal enthusiasm except among them. But so far as there was an effect\nfrom the final Disestablishment, I think it was that what was left of\nthe State Church melted into the Free Church, and the Free Church was,\nafter all, nothing more than a little sentiment. The Bible was\ncompletely given up as an authority after the renewed German attacks in\nthe twenties; and the Divinity of our Lord, some think, had gone all but\nin name by the beginning of the century. The Kenotic theory had provided\nfor that. Then there was that strange little movement among the Free\nChurchmen even earlier; when ministers who did no more than follow the\nswim--who were sensitive to draughts, so to speak--broke off from their\nold positions. It is curious to read in the history of the time how they\nwere hailed as independent thinkers. It was just exactly what they were\nnot.... Where was I? Oh, yes.... Well, that cleared the ground for us,\nand the Church made extraordinary progress for a while--extraordinary,\nthat is, under the circumstances, because you must remember, things were\nvery different from twenty, or even ten, years before. I mean that,\nroughly speaking, the severing of the sheep and the goats had begun. The\nreligious people were practically all Catholics and Individualists; the\nirreligious people rejected the supernatural altogether, and were, to a\nman, Materialists and Communists. But we made progress because we had a\nfew exceptional men--Delaney the philosopher, McArthur and Largent, the\nphilanthropists, and so on. It really seemed as if Delaney and his\ndisciples might carry everything before them. You remember his\n\u2018Analogy\u2019? Oh, yes, it is all in the text-books....\n\n\u201cWell, then, at the close of the Vatican Council, which had been called\nin the nineteenth century, and never dissolved, we lost a great number\nthrough the final definitions. The \u2018Exodus of the Intellectuals\u2019 the\nworld called it---\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Biblical decisions,\u201d put in the younger priest.\n\n\u201cThat partly; and the whole conflict that began with the rise of\nModernism at the beginning of the century but much more the condemnation\nof Delaney, and of the New Transcendentalism generally, as it was then\nunderstood. He died outside the Church, you know. Then there was the\ncondemnation of Sciotti\u2019s book on Comparative Religion.... After that\nthe Communists went on by strides, although by very slow ones. It seems\nextraordinary to you, I dare say, but you cannot imagine the excitement\nwhen the _Necessary Trades Bill_ became law in \u201960. People thought that\nall enterprise would stop when so many professions were nationalised;\nbut, you know, it didn\u2019t. Certainly the nation was behind it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat year was the _Two-Thirds Majority Bill_ passed?\u201d asked Percy.\n\n\u201cOh! long before--within a year or two of the fall of the House of\nLords. It was necessary, I think, or the Individualists would have gone\nraving mad.... Well, the _Necessary Trades Bill_ was inevitable: people\nhad begun to see that even so far back as the time when the railways\nwere municipalised. For a while there was a burst of art; because all\nthe Individualists who could went in for it (it was then that the Toller\nschool was founded); but they soon drifted back into Government\nemployment; after all, the six-per-cent limit for all individual\nenterprise was not much of a temptation; and Government paid well.\u201d\n\nPercy shook his head.\n\n\u201cYes; but I cannot understand the present state of affairs. You said\njust now that things went slowly?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the old man, \u201cbut you must remember the Poor Laws. That\nestablished the Communists for ever. Certainly Braithwaite knew his\nbusiness.\u201d\n\nThe younger priest looked up inquiringly.\n\n\u201cThe abolition of the old workhouse system,\u201d said Mr. Templeton. \u201cIt is\nall ancient history to you, of course; but I remember as if it was\nyesterday. It was that which brought down what was still called the\nMonarchy and the Universities.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh,\u201d said Percy. \u201cI should like to hear you talk about that, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cPresently, father.... Well, this is what Braithwaite did. By the old\nsystem all paupers were treated alike, and resented it. By the new\nsystem there were the three grades that we have now, and the\nenfranchisement of the two higher grades. Only the absolutely worthless\nwere assigned to the third grade, and treated more or less as\ncriminals--of course after careful examination. Then there was the\nreorganisation of the Old Age Pensions. Well, don\u2019t you see how strong\nthat made the Communists? The Individualists--they were still called\nTories when I was a boy--the Individualists have had no chance since.\nThey are no more than a worn-out drag now. The whole of the working\nclasses--and that meant ninety-nine of a hundred--were all against\nthem.\u201d\n\nPercy looked up; but the other went on.\n\n\u201cThen there was the Prison Reform Bill under Macpherson, and the\nabolition of capital punishment; there was the final Education Act of\n\u201959, whereby dogmatic secularism was established; the practical\nabolition of inheritance under the reformation of the Death Duties---\u201d\n\n\u201cI forget what the old system was,\u201d said Percy.\n\n\u201cWhy, it seems incredible, but the old system was that all paid alike.\nFirst came the Heirloom Act, and then the change by which inherited\nwealth paid three times the duty of earned wealth, leading up to the\nacceptance of Karl Marx\u2019s doctrines in \u201989--but the former came in\n\u201977.... Well, all these things kept England up to the level of the\nContinent; she had only been just in time to join in with the final\nscheme of Western Free Trade. That was the first effect, you remember,\nof the Socialists\u2019 victory in Germany.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how did we keep out of the Eastern War?\u201d asked Percy anxiously.\n\n\u201cOh! that\u2019s a long story; but, in a word, America stopped us; so we lost\nIndia and Australia. I think that was the nearest to the downfall of the\nCommunists since \u201925. But Braithwaite got out of it very cleverly by\ngetting us the protectorate of South Africa once and for all. He was an\nold man then, too.\u201d\n\nMr. Templeton stopped to cough again. Father Francis sighed and shifted\nin his chair.\n\n\u201cAnd America?\u201d asked Percy.\n\n\u201cAh! all that is very complicated. But she knew her strength and annexed\nCanada the same year. That was when we were at our weakest.\u201d\n\nPercy stood up.\n\n\u201cHave you a Comparative Atlas, sir?\u201d he asked.\n\nThe old man pointed to a shelf.\n\n\u201cThere,\u201d he said.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPercy looked at the sheets a minute or two in silence, spreading them on\nhis knees.\n\n\u201cIt is all much simpler, certainly,\u201d he murmured, glancing first at the\nold complicated colouring of the beginning of the twentieth century, and\nthen at the three great washes of the twenty-first.\n\nHe moved his finger along Asia. The words EASTERN EMPIRE ran across the\npale yellow, from the Ural Mountains on the left to the Behring Straits\non the right, curling round in giant letters through India, Australia,\nand New Zealand. He glanced at the red; it was considerably smaller, but\nstill important enough, considering that it covered not only Europe\nproper, but all Russia up to the Ural Mountains, and Africa to the\nsouth. The blue-labelled AMERICAN REPUBLIC swept over the whole of that\ncontinent, and disappeared right round to the left of the Western\nHemisphere in a shower of blue sparks on the white sea.\n\n\u201cYes, it\u2019s simpler,\u201d said the old man drily.\n\nPercy shut the book and set it by his chair.\n\n\u201cAnd what next, sir? What will happen?\u201d\n\nThe old Tory statesman smiled.\n\n\u201cGod knows,\u201d he said. \u201cIf the Eastern Empire chooses to move, we can do\nnothing. I don\u2019t know why they have not moved. I suppose it is because\nof religious differences.\u201d\n\n\u201cEurope will not split?\u201d asked the priest.\n\n\u201cNo, no. We know our danger now. And America would certainly help us.\nBut, all the same, God help us--or you, I should rather say--if the\nEmpire does move! She knows her strength at last.\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a moment or two. A faint vibration trembled\nthrough the deep-sunk room as some huge machine went past on the broad\nboulevard overhead.\n\n\u201cProphesy, sir,\u201d said Percy suddenly. \u201cI mean about religion.\u201d\n\nMr. Templeton inhaled another long breath from his instrument. Then\nagain he took up his discourse.\n\n\u201cBriefly,\u201d he said, \u201cthere are three forces--Catholicism,\nHumanitarianism, and the Eastern religions. About the third I cannot\nprophesy, though I think the Sufis will be victorious. Anything may\nhappen; Esotericism is making enormous strides--and that means\nPantheism; and the blending of the Chinese and Japanese dynasties throws\nout all our calculations. But in Europe and America, there is no doubt\nthat the struggle lies between the other two. We can neglect everything\nelse. And, I think, if you wish me to say what I think, that, humanly\nspeaking, Catholicism will decrease rapidly now. It is perfectly true\nthat Protestantism is dead. Men do recognise at last that a supernatural\nReligion involves an absolute authority, and that Private Judgment in\nmatters of faith is nothing else than the beginning of disintegration.\nAnd it is also true that since the Catholic Church is the only\ninstitution that even claims supernatural authority, with all its\nmerciless logic, she has again the allegiance of practically all\nChristians who have any supernatural belief left. There are a few\nfaddists left, especially in America and here; but they are negligible.\nThat is all very well; but, on the other hand, you must remember that\nHumanitarianism, contrary to all persons\u2019 expectations, is becoming an\nactual religion itself, though anti-supernatural. It is Pantheism; it is\ndeveloping a ritual under Freemasonry; it has a creed, \u2018God is Man,\u2019 and\nthe rest. It has therefore a real food of a sort to offer to religious\ncravings; it idealises, and yet it makes no demand upon the spiritual\nfaculties. Then, they have the use of all the churches except ours, and\nall the Cathedrals; and they are beginning at last to encourage\nsentiment. Then, they may display their symbols and we may not: I think\nthat they will be established legally in another ten years at the\nlatest.\n\n\u201cNow, we Catholics, remember, are losing; we have lost steadily for more\nthan fifty years. I suppose that we have, nominally, about one-fortieth\nof America now--and that is the result of the Catholic movement of the\nearly twenties. In France and Spain we are nowhere; in Germany we are\nless. We hold our position in the East, certainly; but even there we\nhave not more than one in two hundred--so the statistics say--and we are\nscattered. In Italy? Well, we have Rome again to ourselves, but nothing\nelse; here, we have Ireland altogether and perhaps one in sixty of\nEngland, Wales and Scotland; but we had one in forty seventy years ago.\nThen there is the enormous progress of psychology--all clean against us\nfor at least a century. First, you see, there was Materialism, pure and\nsimple that failed more or less--it was too crude--until psychology came\nto the rescue. Now psychology claims all the rest of the ground; and the\nsupernatural sense seems accounted for. That\u2019s the claim. No, father, we\nare losing; and we shall go on losing, and I think we must even be ready\nfor a catastrophe at any moment.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut---\u201d began Percy.\n\n\u201cYou think that weak for an old man on the edge of the grave. Well, it\nis what I think. I see no hope. In fact, it seems to me that even now\nsomething may come on us quickly. No; I see no hope until---\u201d\n\nPercy looked up sharply.\n\n\u201cUntil our Lord comes back,\u201d said the old statesman.\n\nFather Francis sighed once more, and there fell a silence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\u201cAnd the fall of the Universities?\u201d said Percy at last.\n\n\u201cMy dear father, it was exactly like the fall of the Monasteries under\nHenry VIII--the same results, the same arguments, the same incidents.\nThey were the strongholds of Individualism, as the Monasteries were the\nstrongholds of Papalism; and they were regarded with the same kind of\nawe and envy. Then the usual sort of remarks began about the amount of\nport wine drunk; and suddenly people said that they had done their work,\nthat the inmates were mistaking means for ends; and there was a great\ndeal more reason for saying it. After all, granted the supernatural,\nReligious Houses are an obvious consequence; but the object of secular\neducation is presumably the production of something visible--either\ncharacter or competence; and it became quite impossible to prove that\nthe Universities produced either--which was worth having. The\ndistinction between \u03bf\u03c5 and \u03bc\u03b5 is not an end in itself;\nand the kind of person produced by its study was not one which appealed\nto England in the twentieth century. I am not sure that it appealed even\nto me much (and I was always a strong Individualist)--except by way of\npathos---\u201d\n\n\u201cYes?\u201d said Percy.\n\n\u201cOh, it was pathetic enough. The Science Schools of Cambridge and the\nColonial Department of Oxford were the last hope; and then those went.\nThe old dons crept about with their books, but nobody wanted them--they\nwere too purely theoretical; some drifted into the poorhouses, first or\nsecond grade; some were taken care of by charitable clergymen; there was\nthat attempt to concentrate in Dublin; but it failed, and people soon\nforgot them. The buildings, as you know, were used for all kinds of\nthings. Oxford became an engineering establishment for a while, and\nCambridge a kind of Government laboratory. I was at King\u2019s College, you\nknow. Of course it was all as horrible as it could be--though I am glad\nthey kept the chapel open even as a museum. It was not nice to see the\nchantries filled with anatomical specimens. However, I don\u2019t think it\nwas much worse than keeping stoves and surplices in them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat happened to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I was in Parliament very soon; and I had a little money of my own,\ntoo. But it was very hard on some of them; they had little pensions, at\nleast all who were past work. And yet, I don\u2019t know: I suppose it had\nto come. They were very little more than picturesque survivals, you\nknow; and had not even the grace of a religious faith about them.\u201d\n\nPercy sighed again, looking at the humorously reminiscent face of the\nold man. Then he suddenly changed the subject again.\n\n\u201cWhat about this European parliament?\u201d he said.\n\nThe old man started.\n\n\u201cOh!... I think it will pass,\u201d he said, \u201cif a man can be found to push\nit. All this last century has been leading up to it, as you see.\nPatriotism has been dying fast; but it ought to have died, like slavery\nand so forth, under the influence of the Catholic Church. As it is, the\nwork has been done without the Church; and the result is that the world\nis beginning to range itself against us: it is an organised antagonism--\na kind of Catholic anti-Church. Democracy has done what the Divine\nMonarchy should have done. If the proposal passes I think we may expect\nsomething like persecution once more.... But, again, the Eastern\ninvasion may save us, if it comes off.... I do not know....\u201d\n\nPercy sat still yet a moment; then he stood up suddenly.\n\n\u201cI must go, sir,\u201d he said, relapsing into Esperanto. \u201cIt is past\nnineteen o\u2019clock. Thank you so much. Are you coming, father?\u201d\n\nFather Francis stood up also, in the dark grey suit permitted to\npriests, and took up his hat.\n\n\u201cWell, father,\u201d said the old man again, \u201ccome again some day, if I\nhaven\u2019t been too discursive. I suppose you have to write your letter\nyet?\u201d\n\nPercy nodded.\n\n\u201cI did half of it this morning,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I felt I wanted another\nbird\u2019s-eye view before I could understand properly: I am so grateful to\nyou for giving it me. It is really a great labour, this daily letter to\nthe Cardinal-Protector. I am thinking of resigning if I am allowed.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear father, don\u2019t do that. If I may say so to your face, I think\nyou have a very shrewd mind; and unless Rome has balanced information\nshe can do nothing. I don\u2019t suppose your colleagues are as careful as\nyourself.\u201d\n\nPercy smiled, lifting his dark eyebrows deprecatingly.\n\n\u201cCome, father,\u201d he said.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe two priests parted at the steps of the corridor, and Percy stood for\na minute or two staring out at the familiar autumn scene, trying to\nunderstand what it all meant. What he had heard downstairs seemed\nstrangely to illuminate that vision of splendid prosperity that lay\nbefore him.\n\nThe air was as bright as day; artificial sunlight had carried all before\nit, and London now knew no difference between dark and light. He stood\nin a kind of glazed cloister, heavily floored with a preparation of\nrubber on which footsteps made no sound. Beneath him, at the foot of the\nstairs, poured an endless double line of persons severed by a partition,\ngoing to right and left, noiselessly, except for the murmur of Esperanto\ntalking that sounded ceaselessly as they went. Through the clear,\nhardened glass of the public passage showed a broad sleek black roadway,\nribbed from side to side, and puckered in the centre, significantly\nempty, but even as he stood there a note sounded far away from Old\nWestminster, like the hum of a giant hive, rising as it came, and an\ninstant later a transparent thing shot past, flashing from every angle,\nand the note died to a hum again and a silence as the great Government\nmotor from the south whirled eastwards with the mails. This was a\nprivileged roadway; nothing but state-vehicles were allowed to use it,\nand those at a speed not exceeding one hundred miles an hour.\n\nOther noises were subdued in this city of rubber; the passenger-circles\nwere a hundred yards away, and the subterranean traffic lay too deep for\nanything but a vibration to make itself felt. It was to remove this\nvibration, and silence the hum of the ordinary vehicles, that the\nGovernment experts had been working for the last twenty years.\n\nOnce again before he moved there came a long cry from overhead,\nstartlingly beautiful and piercing, and, as he lifted his eyes from the\nglimpse of the steady river which alone had refused to be transformed,\nhe saw high above him against the heavy illuminated clouds, a long\nslender object, glowing with soft light, slide northwards and vanish on\noutstretched wings. That musical cry, he told himself, was the voice of\none of the European line of volors announcing its arrival in the capital\nof Great Britain.\n\n\u201cUntil our Lord comes back,\u201d he thought to himself; and for an instant\nthe old misery stabbed at his heart. How difficult it was to hold the\neyes focussed on that far horizon when this world lay in the foreground\nso compelling in its splendour and its strength! Oh, he had argued with\nFather Francis an hour ago that size was not the same as greatness, and\nthat an insistent external could not exclude a subtle internal; and he\nhad believed what he had then said; but the doubt yet remained till he\nsilenced it by a fierce effort, crying in his heart to the Poor Man of\nNazareth to keep his heart as the heart of a little child.\n\nThen he set his lips, wondering how long Father Francis would bear the\npressure, and went down the steps.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I-THE ADVENT\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nI\n\nOliver Brand, the new member for Croydon (4), sat in his study, looking\nout of the window over the top of his typewriter.\n\nHis house stood facing northwards at the extreme end of a spur of the\nSurrey Hills, now cut and tunnelled out of all recognition; only to a\nCommunist the view was an inspiriting one. Immediately below the wide\nwindows the embanked ground fell away rapidly for perhaps a hundred\nfeet, ending in a high wall, and beyond that the world and works of men\nwere triumphant as far as eye could see. Two vast tracks like streaked\nrace-courses, each not less than a quarter of a mile in width, and sunk\ntwenty feet below the surface of the ground, swept up to a meeting a\nmile ahead at the huge junction. Of those, that on his left was the\nFirst Trunk road to Brighton, inscribed in capital letters in the\nRailroad Guide, that to the right the Second Trunk to the Tunbridge and\nHastings district. Each was divided length-ways by a cement wall, on one\nside of which, on steel rails, ran the electric trams, and on the other\nlay the motor-track itself again divided into three, on which ran, first\nthe Government coaches at a speed of one hundred and fifty miles an\nhour, second the private motors at not more than sixty, third the cheap\nGovernment line at thirty, with stations every five miles. This was\nfurther bordered by a road confined to pedestrians, cyclists and\nordinary cars on which no vehicle was allowed to move at more than\ntwelve miles an hour.\n\nBeyond these great tracks lay an immense plain of house-roofs, with\nshort towers here and there marking public buildings, from the Caterham\ndistrict on the left to Croydon in front, all clear and bright in\nsmokeless air; and far away to the west and north showed the low\nsuburban hills against the April sky.\n\nThere was surprisingly little sound, considering the pressure of the\npopulation; and, with the exception of the buzz of the steel rails as a\ntrain fled north or south, and the occasional sweet chord of the great\nmotors as they neared or left the junction, there was little to be heard\nin this study except a smooth, soothing murmur that filled the air like\nthe murmur of bees in a garden.\n\nOliver loved every hint of human life--all busy sights and sounds--and\nwas listening now, smiling faintly to himself as he stared out into the\nclear air. Then he set his lips, laid his fingers on the keys once more,\nand went on speech-constructing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe was very fortunate in the situation of his house. It stood in an\nangle of one of those huge spider-webs with which the country was\ncovered, and for his purposes was all that he could expect. It was close\nenough to London to be extremely cheap, for all wealthy persons had\nretired at least a hundred miles from the throbbing heart of England;\nand yet it was as quiet as he could wish. He was within ten minutes of\nWestminster on the one side, and twenty minutes of the sea on the other,\nand his constituency lay before him like a raised map. Further, since\nthe great London termini were but ten minutes away, there were at his\ndisposal the First Trunk lines to every big town in England. For a\npolitician of no great means, who was asked to speak at Edinburgh on one\nevening and in Marseilles on the next, he was as well placed as any man\nin Europe.\n\nHe was a pleasant-looking man, not much over thirty years old; black\nwire-haired, clean-shaven, thin, virile, magnetic, blue-eyed and\nwhite-skinned; and he appeared this day extremely content with himself\nand the world. His lips moved slightly as he worked, his eyes enlarged\nand diminished with excitement, and more than once he paused and stared\nout again, smiling and flushed.\n\nThen a door opened; a middle-aged man came nervously in with a bundle of\npapers, laid them down on the table without a word, and turned to go\nout. Oliver lifted his hand for attention, snapped a lever, and spoke.\n\n\u201cWell, Mr. Phillips?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cThere is news from the East, sir,\u201d said the secretary.\n\nOliver shot a glance sideways, and laid his hand on the bundle.\n\n\u201cAny complete message?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cNo, sir; it is interrupted again. Mr. Felsenburgh\u2019s name is mentioned.\u201d\n\nOliver did not seem to hear; he lifted the flimsy printed sheets with a\nsudden movement, and began turning them.\n\n\u201cThe fourth from the top, Mr. Brand,\u201d said the secretary.\n\nOliver jerked his head impatiently, and the other went out as if at a\nsignal.\n\nThe fourth sheet from the top, printed in red on green, seemed to absorb\nOliver\u2019s attention altogether, for he read it through two or three\ntimes, leaning back motionless in his chair. Then he sighed, and stared\nagain through the window.\n\nThen once more the door opened, and a tall girl came in.\n\n\u201cWell, my dear?\u201d she observed.\n\nOliver shook his head, with compressed lips.\n\n\u201cNothing definite,\u201d he said. \u201cEven less than usual. Listen.\u201d\n\nHe took up the green sheet and began to read aloud as the girl sat down\nin a window-seat on his left.\n\nShe was a very charming-looking creature, tall and slender, with\nserious, ardent grey eyes, firm red lips, and a beautiful carriage of\nhead and shoulders. She had walked slowly across the room as Oliver took\nup the paper, and now sat back in her brown dress in a very graceful and\nstately attitude. She seemed to listen with a deliberate kind of\npatience; but her eyes flickered with interest.\n\n\u201c\u2018Irkutsk--April fourteen--Yesterday--as--usual--But--rumoured--\ndefection--from--Sufi--party--Troops--continue--gathering--\nFelsenburgh--addressed--Buddhist--crowd--Attempt--on--Llama--last--\nFriday--work--of--Anarchists--Felsenburgh--leaving--for--Moscow--as\n--arranged--he....\u2019 There--that is absolutely all,\u201d ended Oliver\ndispiritedly. \u201cIt\u2019s interrupted as usual.\u201d\n\nThe girl began to swing a foot.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand in the least,\u201d she said. \u201cWho is Felsenburgh, after\nall?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear child, that is what all the world is asking. Nothing is known\nexcept that he was included in the American deputation at the last\nmoment. The _Herald_ published his life last week; but it has been\ncontradicted. It is certain that he is quite a young man, and that he\nhas been quite obscure until now.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, he is not obscure now,\u201d observed the girl.\n\n\u201cI know; it seems as if he were running the whole thing. One never hears\na word of the others. It\u2019s lucky he\u2019s on the right side.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what do you think?\u201d\n\nOliver turned vacant eyes again out of the window.\n\n\u201cI think it is touch and go,\u201d he said. \u201cThe only remarkable thing is\nthat here hardly anybody seems to realise it. It\u2019s too big for the\nimagination, I suppose. There is no doubt that the East has been\npreparing for a descent on Europe for these last five years. They have\nonly been checked by America; and this is one last attempt to stop them.\nBut why Felsenburgh should come to the front---\u201d he broke off. \u201cHe must\nbe a good linguist, at any rate. This is at least the fifth crowd he has\naddressed; perhaps he is just the American interpreter. Christ! I wonder\nwho he is.\u201d\n\n\u201cHas he any other name?\u201d\n\n\u201cJulian, I believe. One message said so.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow did this come through?\u201d\n\nOliver shook his head.\n\n\u201cPrivate enterprise,\u201d he said. \u201cThe European agencies have stopped work.\nEvery telegraph station is guarded night and day. There are lines of\nvolors strung out on every frontier. The Empire means to settle this\nbusiness without us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd if it goes wrong?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear Mabel--if hell breaks loose---\u201d he threw out his hands\ndeprecatingly.\n\n\u201cAnd what is the Government doing?\u201d\n\n\u201cWorking night and day; so is the rest of Europe. It\u2019ll be Armageddon\nwith a vengeance if it comes to war.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat chance do you see?\u201d\n\n\u201cI see two chances,\u201d said Oliver slowly: \u201cone, that they may be afraid\nof America, and may hold their hands from sheer fear; the other that\nthey may be induced to hold their hands from charity; if only they can\nbe made to understand that co-operation is the one hope of the world.\nBut those damned religions of theirs---\u201d\n\nThe girl sighed, and looked out again on to the wide plain of\nhouse-roofs below the window.\n\nThe situation was indeed as serious as it could be. That huge Empire,\nconsisting of a federalism of States under the Son of Heaven (made\npossible by the merging of the Japanese and Chinese dynasties and the\nfall of Russia), had been consolidating its forces and learning its own\npower during the last thirty-five years, ever since, in fact, it had\nlaid its lean yellow hands upon Australia and India. While the rest of\nthe world had learned the folly of war, ever since the fall of the\nRussian republic under the combined attack of the yellow races, the last\nhad grasped its possibilities. It seemed now as if the civilisation of\nthe last century was to be swept back once more into chaos. It was not\nthat the mob of the East cared very greatly; it was their rulers who had\nbegun to stretch themselves after an almost eternal lethargy, and it was\nhard to imagine how they could be checked at this point. There was a\ntouch of grimness too in the rumour that religious fanaticism was behind\nthe movement, and that the patient East proposed at last to proselytise\nby the modern equivalents of fire and sword those who had laid aside for\nthe most part all religious beliefs except that in Humanity. To Oliver\nit was simply maddening. As he looked from his window and saw that vast\nlimit of London laid peaceably before him, as his imagination ran out\nover Europe and saw everywhere that steady triumph of common sense and\nfact over the wild fairy-stories of Christianity, it seemed intolerable\nthat there should be even a possibility that all this should be swept\nback again into the barbarous turmoil of sects and dogmas; for no less\nthan this would be the result if the East laid hands on Europe. Even\nCatholicism would revive, he told himself, that strange faith that had\nblazed so often as persecution had been dashed to quench it; and, of all\nforms of faith, to Oliver\u2019s mind Catholicism was the most grotesque and\nenslaving. And the prospect of all this honestly troubled him, far more\nthan the thought of the physical catastrophe and bloodshed that would\nfall on Europe with the advent of the East. There was but one hope on\nthe religious side, as he had told Mabel a dozen times, and that was\nthat the Quietistic Pantheism which for the last century had made such\ngiant strides in East and West alike, among Mohammedans, Buddhists,\nHindus, Confucianists and the rest, should avail to check the\nsupernatural frenzy that inspired their exoteric brethren. Pantheism, he\nunderstood, was what he held himself; for him \u201cGod\u201d was the developing\nsum of created life, and impersonal Unity was the essence of His being;\ncompetition then was the great heresy that set men one against another\nand delayed all progress; for, to his mind, progress lay in the merging\nof the individual in the family, of the family in the commonwealth, of\nthe commonwealth in the continent, and of the continent in the world.\nFinally, the world itself at any moment was no more than the mood of\nimpersonal life. It was, in fact, the Catholic idea with the\nsupernatural left out, a union of earthly fortunes, an abandonment of\nindividualism on the one side, and of supernaturalism on the other. It\nwas treason to appeal from God Immanent to God Transcendent; there was\nno God transcendent; God, so far as He could be known, was man.\n\nYet these two, husband and wife after a fashion--for they had entered\ninto that terminable contract now recognised explicitly by the\nState--these two were very far from sharing in the usual heavy dulness\nof mere materialists. The world, for them, beat with one ardent life\nblossoming in flower and beast and man, a torrent of beautiful vigour\nflowing from a deep source and irrigating all that moved or felt. Its\nromance was the more appreciable because it was comprehensible to the\nminds that sprang from it; there were mysteries in it, but mysteries\nthat enticed rather than baffled, for they unfolded new glories with\nevery discovery that man could make; even inanimate objects, the fossil,\nthe electric current, the far-off stars, these were dust thrown off by\nthe Spirit of the World--fragrant with His Presence and eloquent of His\nNature. For example, the announcement made by Klein, the astronomer,\ntwenty years before, that the inhabitation of certain planets had become\na certified fact--how vastly this had altered men\u2019s views of themselves.\nBut the one condition of progress and the building of Jerusalem, on the\nplanet that happened to be men\u2019s dwelling place, was peace, not the\nsword which Christ brought or that which Mahomet wielded; but peace that\narose from, not passed, understanding; the peace that sprang from a\nknowledge that man was all and was able to develop himself only by\nsympathy with his fellows. To Oliver and his wife, then, the last\ncentury seemed like a revelation; little by little the old superstitions\nhad died, and the new light broadened; the Spirit of the World had\nroused Himself, the sun had dawned in the west; and now with horror and\nloathing they had seen the clouds gather once more in the quarter whence\nall superstition had had its birth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMabel got up presently and came across to her husband.\n\n\u201cMy dear,\u201d she said, \u201cyou must not be downhearted. It all may pass as it\npassed before. It is a great thing that they are listening to America at\nall. And this Mr. Felsenburgh seems to be on the right side.\u201d\n\nOliver took her hand and kissed it.\n\n\nII\n\nOliver seemed altogether depressed at breakfast, half an hour later. His\nmother, an old lady of nearly eighty, who never appeared till noon,\nseemed to see it at once, for after a look or two at him and a word, she\nsubsided into silence behind her plate.\n\nIt was a pleasant little room in which they sat, immediately behind\nOliver\u2019s own, and was furnished, according to universal custom, in light\ngreen. Its windows looked out upon a strip of garden at the back, and\nthe high creeper-grown wall that separated that domain from the next.\nThe furniture, too, was of the usual sort; a sensible round table stood\nin the middle, with three tall arm-chairs, with the proper angles and\nrests, drawn up to it; and the centre of it, resting apparently on a\nbroad round column, held the dishes. It was thirty years now since the\npractice of placing the dining-room above the kitchen, and of raising\nand lowering the courses by hydraulic power into the centre of the\ndining-table, had become universal in the houses of the well-to-do. The\nfloor consisted entirely of the asbestos cork preparation invented in\nAmerica, noiseless, clean, and pleasant to both foot and eye.\n\nMabel broke the silence.\n\n\u201cAnd your speech to-morrow?\u201d she asked, taking up her fork.\n\nOliver brightened a little, and began to discourse.\n\nIt seemed that Birmingham was beginning to fret. They were crying out\nonce more for free trade with America: European facilities were not\nenough, and it was Oliver\u2019s business to keep them quiet. It was useless,\nhe proposed to tell them, to agitate until the Eastern business was\nsettled: they must not bother the Government with such details just now.\nHe was to tell them, too, that the Government was wholly on their side;\nthat it was bound to come soon.\n\n\u201cThey are pig-headed,\u201d he added fiercely; \u201cpig-headed and selfish; they\nare like children who cry for food ten minutes before dinner-time: it is\nbound to come if they will wait a little.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you will tell them so?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat they are pig-headed? Certainly.\u201d\n\nMabel looked at her husband with a pleased twinkle in her eyes. She knew\nperfectly well that his popularity rested largely on his outspokenness:\nfolks liked to be scolded and abused by a genial bold man who danced and\ngesticulated in a magnetic fury; she liked it herself.\n\n\u201cHow shall you go?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cVolor. I shall catch the eighteen o\u2019clock at Blackfriars; the meeting\nis at nineteen, and I shall be back at twenty-one.\u201d\n\nHe addressed himself vigorously to his _entree_, and his mother looked\nup with a patient, old-woman smile.\n\nMabel began to drum her fingers softly on the damask.\n\n\u201cPlease make haste, my dear,\u201d she said; \u201cI have to be at Brighton at\nthree.\u201d\n\nOliver gulped his last mouthful, pushed his plate over the line, glanced\nto see if all plates were there, and then put his hand beneath the\ntable.\n\nInstantly, without a sound, the centre-piece vanished, and the three\nwaited unconcernedly while the clink of dishes came from beneath.\n\nOld Mrs. Brand was a hale-looking old lady, rosy and wrinkled, with the\nmantilla head-dress of fifty years ago; but she, too, looked a little\ndepressed this morning. The _entree_ was not very successful, she\nthought; the new food-stuff was not up to the old, it was a trifle\ngritty: she would see about it afterwards. There was a clink, a soft\nsound like a push, and the centre-piece snapped into its place, bearing\nan admirable imitation of a roasted fowl.\n\nOliver and his wife were alone again for a minute or two after breakfast\nbefore Mabel started down the path to catch the 14\u00b9\u2044\u2082 o\u2019clock 4th grade\nsub-trunk line to the junction.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with mother?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cOh! it\u2019s the food-stuff again: she\u2019s never got accustomed to it; she\nsays it doesn\u2019t suit her.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing else?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, my dear, I am sure of it. She hasn\u2019t said a word lately.\u201d\n\nOliver watched his wife go down the path, reassured. He had been a\nlittle troubled once or twice lately by an odd word or two that his\nmother had let fall. She had been brought up a Christian for a few\nyears, and it seemed to him sometimes as if it had left a taint. There\nwas an old \u201cGarden of the Soul\u201d that she liked to keep by her, though\nshe always protested with an appearance of scorn that it was nothing but\nnonsense. Still, Oliver would have preferred that she had burned it:\nsuperstition was a desperate thing for retaining life, and, as the brain\nweakened, might conceivably reassert itself. Christianity was both wild\nand dull, he told himself, wild because of its obvious grotesqueness and\nimpossibility, and dull because it was so utterly apart from the\nexhilarating stream of human life; it crept dustily about still, he\nknew, in little dark churches here and there; it screamed with\nhysterical sentimentality in Westminster Cathedral which he had once\nentered and looked upon with a kind of disgusted fury; it gabbled\nstrange, false words to the incompetent and the old and the half-witted.\nBut it would be too dreadful if his own mother ever looked upon it again\nwith favour.\n\nOliver himself, ever since he could remember, had been violently opposed\nto the concessions to Rome and Ireland. It was intolerable that these\ntwo places should be definitely yielded up to this foolish, treacherous\nnonsense: they were hot-beds of sedition; plague-spots on the face of\nhumanity. He had never agreed with those who said that it was better\nthat all the poison of the West should be gathered rather than\ndispersed. But, at any rate, there it was. Rome had been given up wholly\nto that old man in white in exchange for all the parish churches and\ncathedrals of Italy, and it was understood that mediaeval darkness\nreigned there supreme; and Ireland, after receiving Home Rule thirty\nyears before, had declared for Catholicism, and opened her arms to\nIndividualism in its most virulent form. England had laughed and\nassented, for she was saved from a quantity of agitation by the\nimmediate departure of half her Catholic population for that island, and\nhad, consistently with her Communist-colonial policy, granted every\nfacility for Individualism to reduce itself there _ad absurdum_. All\nkinds of funny things were happening there: Oliver had read with a\nbitter amusement of new appearances there, of a Woman in Blue and\nshrines raised where her feet had rested; but he was scarcely amused at\nRome, for the movement to Turin of the Italian Government had deprived\nthe Republic of quite a quantity of sentimental prestige, and had haloed\nthe old religious nonsense with all the meretriciousness of historical\nassociation. However, it obviously could not last much longer: the world\nwas beginning to understand at last.\n\nHe stood a moment or two at the door after his wife had gone, drinking\nin reassurance from that glorious vision of solid sense that spread\nitself before his eyes: the endless house-roofs; the high glass vaults\nof the public baths and gymnasiums; the pinnacled schools where\nCitizenship was taught each morning; the spider-like cranes and\nscaffoldings that rose here and there; and even the few pricking spires\ndid not disconcert him. There it stretched away into the grey haze of\nLondon, really beautiful, this vast hive of men and women who had\nlearned at least the primary lesson of the gospel that there was no God\nbut man, no priest but the politician, no prophet but the schoolmaster.\n\nThen he went back once more to his speech-constructing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMabel, too, was a little thoughtful as she sat with her paper on her\nlap, spinning down the broad line to Brighton. This Eastern news was\nmore disconcerting to her than she allowed her husband to see; yet it\nseemed incredible that there could be any real danger of invasion. This\nWestern life was so sensible and peaceful; folks had their feet at last\nupon the rock, and it was unthinkable that they could ever be forced\nback on to the mud-flats: it was contrary to the whole law of\ndevelopment. Yet she could not but recognise that catastrophe seemed one\nof nature\u2019s methods....\n\nShe sat very quiet, glancing once or twice at the meagre little scrap\nof news, and read the leading article upon it: that too seemed\nsignificant of dismay. A couple of men were talking in the\nhalf-compartment beyond on the same subject; one described the\nGovernment engineering works that he had visited, the breathless haste\nthat dominated them; the other put in interrogations and questions.\nThere was not much comfort there. There were no windows through which\nshe could look; on the main lines the speed was too great for the eyes;\nthe long compartment flooded with soft light bounded her horizon. She\nstared at the moulded white ceiling, the delicious oak-framed paintings,\nthe deep spring-seats, the mellow globes overhead that poured out\nradiance, at a mother and child diagonally opposite her. Then the great\nchord sounded; the faint vibration increased ever so slightly; and an\ninstant later the automatic doors ran back, and she stepped out on to\nthe platform of Brighton station.\n\nAs she went down the steps leading to the station square she noticed a\npriest going before her. He seemed a very upright and sturdy old man,\nfor though his hair was white he walked steadily and strongly. At the\nfoot of the steps he stopped and half turned, and then, to her surprise,\nshe saw that his face was that of a young man, fine-featured and strong,\nwith black eyebrows and very bright grey eyes. Then she passed on and\nbegan to cross the square in the direction of her aunt\u2019s house.\n\nThen without the slightest warning, except one shrill hoot from\noverhead, a number of things happened.\n\nA great shadow whirled across the sunlight at her feet, a sound of\nrending tore the air, and a noise like a giant\u2019s sigh; and, as she\nstopped bewildered, with a noise like ten thousand smashed kettles, a\nhuge thing crashed on the rubber pavement before her, where it lay,\nfilling half the square, writhing long wings on its upper side that beat\nand whirled like the flappers of some ghastly extinct monster, pouring\nout human screams, and beginning almost instantly to crawl with broken\nlife.\n\nMabel scarcely knew what happened next; but she found herself a moment\nlater forced forward by some violent pressure from behind, till she\nstood shaking from head to foot, with some kind of smashed body of a man\nmoaning and stretching at her feet. There was a sort of articulate\nlanguage coming from it; she caught distinctly the names of Jesus and\nMary; then a voice hissed suddenly in her ears:\n\n\u201cLet me through. I am a priest.\u201d\n\nShe stood there a moment longer, dazed by the suddenness of the whole\naffair, and watched almost unintelligently the grey-haired young priest\non his knees, with his coat torn open, and a crucifix out; she saw him\nbend close, wave his hand in a swift sign, and heard a murmur of a\nlanguage she did not know. Then he was up again, holding the crucifix\nbefore him, and she saw him begin to move forward into the midst of the\nred-flooded pavement, looking this way and that as if for a signal. Down\nthe steps of the great hospital on her right came figures running now,\nhatless, each carrying what looked like an old-fashioned camera. She\nknew what those men were, and her heart leaped in relief. They were the\nministers of euthanasia. Then she felt herself taken by the shoulder and\npulled back, and immediately found herself in the front rank of a crowd\nthat was swaying and crying out, and behind a line of police and\ncivilians who had formed themselves into a cordon to keep the pressure\nback.\n\n\nIII\n\nOliver was in a panic of terror as his mother, half an hour later, ran\nin with the news that one of the Government volors had fallen in the\nstation square at Brighton just after the 14\u00b9\u2044\u2082 train had discharged\nits passengers. He knew quite well what that meant, for he remembered\none such accident ten years before, just after the law forbidding\nprivate volors had been passed. It meant that every living creature in\nit was killed and probably many more in the place where it fell--and\nwhat then? The message was clear enough; she would certainly be in the\nsquare at that time.\n\nHe sent a desperate wire to her aunt asking for news; and sat, shaking\nin his chair, awaiting the answer. His mother sat by him.\n\n\u201cPlease God---\u201d she sobbed out once, and stopped confounded as he turned\non her.\n\nBut Fate was merciful, and three minutes before Mr. Phillips toiled up\nthe path with the answer, Mabel herself came into the room, rather pale\nand smiling.\n\n\u201cChrist!\u201d cried Oliver, and gave one huge sob as he sprang up.\n\nShe had not a great deal to tell him. There was no explanation of the\ndisaster published as yet; it seemed that the wings on one side had\nsimply ceased to work.\n\nShe described the shadow, the hiss of sound, and the crash.\n\nThen she stopped.\n\n\u201cWell, my dear?\u201d said her husband, still rather white beneath the eyes\nas he sat close to her patting her hand.\n\n\u201cThere was a priest there,\u201d said Mabel. \u201cI saw him before, at the\nstation.\u201d\n\nOliver gave a little hysterical snort of laughter.\n\n\u201cHe was on his knees at once,\u201d she said, \u201cwith his crucifix, even before\nthe doctors came. My dear, do people really believe all that?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, they think they do,\u201d said her husband.\n\n\u201cIt was all so--so sudden; and there he was, just as if he had been\nexpecting it all. Oliver, how can they?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, people will believe anything if they begin early enough.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the man seemed to believe it, too--the dying man, I mean. I saw his\neyes.\u201d\n\nShe stopped.\n\n\u201cWell, my dear?\u201d\n\n\u201cOliver, what do you say to people when they are dying?\u201d\n\n\u201cSay! Why, nothing! What can I say? But I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever seen any\none die.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor have I till to-day,\u201d said the girl, and shivered a little. \u201cThe\neuthanasia people were soon at work.\u201d\n\nOliver took her hand gently.\n\n\u201cMy darling, it must have been frightful. Why, you\u2019re trembling still.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; but listen.... You know, if I had had anything to say I could have\nsaid it too. They were all just in front of me: I wondered; then I knew\nI hadn\u2019t. I couldn\u2019t possibly have talked about Humanity.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, it\u2019s all very sad; but you know it doesn\u2019t really matter. It\u2019s\nall over.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd--and they\u2019ve just stopped?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, yes.\u201d\n\nMabel compressed her lips a little; then she sighed. She had an agitated\nsort of meditation in the train. She knew perfectly that it was sheer\nnerves; but she could not just yet shake them off. As she had said, it\nwas the first time she had seen death.\n\n\u201cAnd that priest--that priest doesn\u2019t think so?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, I\u2019ll tell you what he believes. He believes that that man whom\nhe showed the crucifix to, and said those words over, is alive\nsomewhere, in spite of his brain being dead: he is not quite sure where;\nbut he is either in a kind of smelting works being slowly burned; or, if\nhe is very lucky, and that piece of wood took effect, he is somewhere\nbeyond the clouds, before Three Persons who are only One although They\nare Three; that there are quantities of other people there, a Woman in\nBlue, a great many others in white with their heads under their arms,\nand still more with their heads on one side; and that they\u2019ve all got\nharps and go on singing for ever and ever, and walking about on the\nclouds, and liking it very much indeed. He thinks, too, that all these\nnice people are perpetually looking down upon the aforesaid\nsmelting-works, and praising the Three Great Persons for making them.\nThat\u2019s what the priest believes. Now you know it\u2019s not likely; that kind\nof thing may be very nice, but it isn\u2019t true.\u201d\n\nMabel smiled pleasantly. She had never heard it put so well.\n\n\u201cNo, my dear, you\u2019re quite right. That sort of thing isn\u2019t true. How can\nhe believe it? He looked quite intelligent!\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear girl, if I had told you in your cradle that the moon was green\ncheese, and had hammered at you ever since, every day and all day, that\nit was, you\u2019d very nearly believe it by now. Why, you know in your heart\nthat the euthanatisers are the real priests. Of course you do.\u201d\n\nMabel sighed with satisfaction and stood up.\n\n\u201cOliver, you\u2019re a most comforting person. I do like you! There! I must\ngo to my room: I\u2019m all shaky still.\u201d\n\nHalf across the room she stopped and put out a shoe.\n\n\u201cWhy---\u201d she began faintly.\n\nThere was a curious rusty-looking splash upon it; and her husband saw\nher turn white. He rose abruptly.\n\n\u201cMy dear,\u201d he said, \u201cdon\u2019t be foolish.\u201d\n\nShe looked at him, smiled bravely, and went out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen she was gone, he still sat on a moment where she had left him. Dear\nme! how pleased he was! He did not like to think of what life would have\nbeen without her. He had known her since she was twelve--that was seven\nyears ago-and last year they had gone together to the district official\nto make their contract. She had really become very necessary to him. Of\ncourse the world could get on without her, and he supposed that he could\ntoo; but he did not want to have to try. He knew perfectly well, for it\nwas his creed of human love, that there was between them a double\naffection, of mind as well as body; and there was absolutely nothing\nelse: but he loved her quick intuitions, and to hear his own thought\nechoed so perfectly. It was like two flames added together to make a\nthird taller than either: of course one flame could burn without the\nother--in fact, one would have to, one day--but meantime the warmth and\nlight were exhilarating. Yes, he was delighted that she happened to be\nclear of the falling volor.\n\nHe gave no more thought to his exposition of the Christian creed; it was\na mere commonplace to him that Catholics believed that kind of thing; it\nwas no more blasphemous to his mind so to describe it, than it would be\nto laugh at a Fijian idol with mother-of-pearl eyes, and a horse-hair\nwig; it was simply impossible to treat it seriously. He, too, had\nwondered once or twice in his life how human beings could believe such\nrubbish; but psychology had helped him, and he knew now well enough that\nsuggestion will do almost anything. And it was this hateful thing that\nhad so long restrained the euthanasia movement with all its splendid\nmercy.\n\nHis brows wrinkled a little as he remembered his mother\u2019s exclamation,\n\u201cPlease God\u201d; then he smiled at the poor old thing and her pathetic\nchildishness, and turned once more to his table, thinking in spite of\nhimself of his wife\u2019s hesitation as she had seen the splash of blood on\nher shoe. Blood! Yes; that was as much a fact as anything else. How was\nit to be dealt with? Why, by the glorious creed of Humanity--that\nsplendid God who died and rose again ten thousand times a day, who had\ndied daily like the old cracked fanatic Saul of Tarsus, ever since the\nworld began, and who rose again, not once like the Carpenter\u2019s Son, but\nwith every child that came into the world. That was the answer; and was\nit not overwhelmingly sufficient?\n\nMr. Phillips came in an hour later with another bundle of papers.\n\n\u201cNo more news from the East, sir,\u201d he said.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nI\n\nPercy Franklin\u2019s correspondence with the Cardinal-Protector of England\noccupied him directly for at least two hours every day, and for nearly\neight hours indirectly.\n\nFor the past eight years the methods of the Holy See had once more been\nrevised with a view to modern needs, and now every important province\nthroughout the world possessed not only an administrative metropolitan\nbut a representative in Rome whose business it was to be in touch with\nthe Pope on the one side and the people he represented on the other. In\nother words, centralisation had gone forward rapidly, in accordance with\nthe laws of life; and, with centralisation, freedom of method and\nexpansion of power. England\u2019s Cardinal-Protector was one Abbot Martin, a\nBenedictine, and it was Percy\u2019s business, as of a dozen more bishops,\npriests and laymen (with whom, by the way, he was forbidden to hold any\nformal consultation), to write a long daily letter to him on affairs\nthat came under his notice.\n\nIt was a curious life, therefore, that Percy led. He had a couple of\nrooms assigned to him in Archbishop\u2019s House at Westminster, and was\nattached loosely to the Cathedral staff, although with considerable\nliberty. He rose early, and went to meditation for an hour, after which\nhe said his mass. He took his coffee soon after, said a little office,\nand then settled down to map out his letter. At ten o\u2019clock he was ready\nto receive callers, and till noon he was generally busy with both those\nwho came to see him on their own responsibility and his staff of\nhalf-a-dozen reporters whose business it was to bring him marked\nparagraphs in the newspapers and their own comments. He then breakfasted\nwith the other priests in the house, and set out soon after to call on\npeople whose opinion was necessary, returning for a cup of tea soon\nafter sixteen o\u2019clock. Then he settled down, after the rest of his\noffice and a visit to the Blessed Sacrament, to compose his letter,\nwhich though short, needed a great deal of care and sifting. After\ndinner he made a few notes for next day, received visitors again, and\nwent to bed soon after twenty-two o\u2019clock. Twice a week it was his\nbusiness to assist at Vespers in the afternoon, and he usually sang high\nmass on Saturdays.\n\nIt was, therefore, a curiously distracting life, with peculiar dangers.\n\nIt was one day, a week or two after his visit to Brighton, that he was\njust finishing his letter, when his servant looked in to tell him that\nFather Francis was below.\n\n\u201cIn ten minutes,\u201d said Percy, without looking up.\n\nHe snapped off his last lines, drew out the sheet, and settled down to\nread it over, translating it unconsciously from Latin to English.\n\n\u201cWESTMINSTER, May 14th.\n\n\u201cEMINENCE: Since yesterday I have a little more information. It appears\ncertain that the Bill establishing Esperanto for all State purposes will\nbe brought in in June. I have had this from Johnson. This, as I have\npointed out before, is the very last stone in our consolidation with the\ncontinent, which, at present, is to be regretted.... A great access of\nJews to Freemasonry is to be expected; hitherto they have held aloof to\nsome extent, but the \u2018abolition of the Idea of God\u2019 is tending to draw\nin those Jews, now greatly on the increase once more, who repudiate all\nnotion of a personal Messiah. It is \u2018Humanity\u2019 here, too, that is at\nwork. To-day I heard the Rabbi Simeon speak to this effect in the City,\nand was impressed by the applause he received.... Yet among others an\nexpectation is growing that a man will presently be found to lead the\nCommunist movement and unite their forces more closely. I enclose a\nverbose cutting from the _New People_ to that effect; and it is echoed\neverywhere. They say that the cause must give birth to one such soon;\nthat they have had prophets and precursors for a hundred years past, and\nlately a cessation of them. It is strange how this coincides\nsuperficially with Christian ideas. Your Eminence will observe that a\nsimile of the \u2018ninth wave\u2019 is used with some eloquence.... I hear to-day\nof the secession of an old Catholic family, the Wargraves of Norfolk,\nwith their chaplain Micklem, who it seems has been busy in this\ndirection for some while. The _Epoch_ announces it with satisfaction,\nowing to the peculiar circumstances; but unhappily such events are not\nuncommon now.... There is much distrust among the laity. Seven priests\nin Westminster diocese have left us within the last three months; on the\nother hand, I have pleasure in telling your Eminence that his Grace\nreceived into Catholic Communion this morning the ex-Anglican Bishop of\nCarlisle, with half-a-dozen of his clergy. This has been expected for\nsome weeks past. I append also cuttings from the _Tribune_, the _London\nTrumpet_, and the _Observer_, with my comments upon them. Your Eminence\nwill see how great the excitement is with regard to the last.\n\n\u201c_Recommendation._ That formal excommunication of the Wargraves and\nthese eight priests should be issued in Norfolk and Westminster\nrespectively, and no further notice taken.\u201d\n\nPercy laid down the sheet, gathered up the half dozen other papers that\ncontained his extracts and running commentary, signed the last, and\nslipped the whole into the printed envelope that lay ready.\n\nThen he took up his biretta and went to the lift.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe moment he came into the glass-doored parlour he saw that the crisis\nwas come, if not passed already. Father Francis looked miserably ill,\nbut there was a curious hardness, too, about his eyes and mouth, as he\nstood waiting. He shook his head abruptly.\n\n\u201cI have come to say good-bye, father. I can bear it no more.\u201d\n\nPercy was careful to show no emotion at all. He made a little sign to a\nchair, and himself sat down too. \u201cIt is an end of everything,\u201d said the\nother again in a perfectly steady voice. \u201cI believe nothing. I have\nbelieved nothing for a year now.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have felt nothing, you mean,\u201d said Percy.\n\n\u201cThat won\u2019t do, father,\u201d went on the other. \u201cI tell you there is nothing\nleft. I can\u2019t even argue now. It is just good-bye.\u201d\n\nPercy had nothing to say. He had talked to this man during a period of\nover eight months, ever since Father Francis had first confided in him\nthat his faith was going. He understood perfectly what a strain it had\nbeen; he felt bitterly compassionate towards this poor creature who had\nbecome caught up somehow into the dizzy triumphant whirl of the New\nHumanity. External facts were horribly strong just now; and faith,\nexcept to one who had learned that Will and Grace were all and emotion\nnothing, was as a child crawling about in the midst of some huge\nmachinery: it might survive or it might not; but it required nerves of\nsteel to keep steady. It was hard to know where blame could be assigned;\nyet Percy\u2019s faith told him that there was blame due. In the ages of\nfaith a very inadequate grasp of religion would pass muster; in these\nsearching days none but the humble and the pure could stand the test for\nlong, unless indeed they were protected by a miracle of ignorance. The\nalliance of Psychology and Materialism did indeed seem, looked at from\none angle, to account for everything; it needed a robust supernatural\nperception to understand their practical inadequacy. And as regards\nFather Francis\u2019s personal responsibility, he could not help feeling that\nthe other had allowed ceremonial to play too great a part in his\nreligion, and prayer too little. In him the external had absorbed the\ninternal.\n\nSo he did not allow his sympathy to show itself in his bright eyes.\n\n\u201cYou think it my fault, of course,\u201d said the other sharply.\n\n\u201cMy dear father,\u201d said Percy, motionless in his chair, \u201cI know it is\nyour fault. Listen to me. You say Christianity is absurd and impossible.\nNow, you know, it cannot be that! It may be untrue--I am not speaking of\nthat now, even though I am perfectly certain that it is absolutely\ntrue--but it cannot be absurd so long as educated and virtuous people\ncontinue to hold it. To say that it is absurd is simple pride; it is to\ndismiss all who believe in it as not merely mistaken, but unintelligent\nas well---\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, then,\u201d interrupted the other; \u201cthen suppose I withdraw that,\nand simply say that I do not believe it to be true.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do not withdraw it,\u201d continued Percy serenely; \u201cyou still really\nbelieve it to be absurd: you have told me so a dozen times. Well, I\nrepeat, that is pride, and quite sufficient to account for it all. It is\nthe moral attitude that matters. There may be other things too---\u201d\n\nFather Francis looked up sharply.\n\n\u201cOh! the old story!\u201d he said sneeringly.\n\n\u201cIf you tell me on your word of honour that there is no woman in the\ncase, or no particular programme of sin you propose to work out, I shall\nbelieve you. But it is an old story, as you say.\u201d\n\n\u201cI swear to you there is not,\u201d cried the other.\n\n\u201cThank God then!\u201d said Percy. \u201cThere are fewer obstacles to a return of\nfaith.\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a moment after that. Percy had really no more to\nsay. He had talked to him of the inner life again and again, in which\nverities are seen to be true, and acts of faith are ratified; he had\nurged prayer and humility till he was almost weary of the names; and had\nbeen met by the retort that this was to advise sheer self-hypnotism; and\nhe had despaired of making clear to one who did not see it for himself\nthat while Love and Faith may be called self-hypnotism from one angle,\nyet from another they are as much realities as, for example, artistic\nfaculties, and need similar cultivation; that they produce a conviction\nthat they are convictions, that they handle and taste things which when\nhandled and tasted are overwhelmingly more real and objective than the\nthings of sense. Evidences seemed to mean nothing to this man.\n\nSo he was silent now, chilled himself by the presence of this crisis,\nlooking unseeingly out upon the plain, little old-world parlour, its\ntall window, its strip of matting, conscious chiefly of the dreary\nhopelessness of this human brother of his who had eyes but did not see,\nears and was deaf. He wished he would say good-bye, and go. There was no\nmore to be done.\n\nFather Francis, who had been sitting in a lax kind of huddle, seemed to\nknow his thoughts, and sat up suddenly.\n\n\u201cYou are tired of me,\u201d he said. \u201cI will go.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not tired of you, my dear father,\u201d said Percy simply. \u201cI am only\nterribly sorry. You see I know that it is all true.\u201d\n\nThe other looked at him heavily.\n\n\u201cAnd I know that it is not,\u201d he said. \u201cIt is very beautiful; I wish I\ncould believe it. I don\u2019t think I shall be ever happy again--but--but\nthere it is.\u201d\n\nPercy sighed. He had told him so often that the heart is as divine a\ngift as the mind, and that to neglect it in the search for God is to\nseek ruin, but this priest had scarcely seen the application to himself.\nHe had answered with the old psychological arguments that the\nsuggestions of education accounted for everything.\n\n\u201cI suppose you will cast me off,\u201d said the other.\n\n\u201cIt is you who are leaving me,\u201d said Percy. \u201cI cannot follow, if you\nmean that.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut--but cannot we be friends?\u201d\n\nA sudden heat touched the elder priest\u2019s heart.\n\n\u201cFriends?\u201d he said. \u201cIs sentimentality all you mean by friendship? What\nkind of friends can we be?\u201d\n\nThe other\u2019s face became suddenly heavy.\n\n\u201cI thought so.\u201d\n\n\u201cJohn!\u201d cried Percy. \u201cYou see that, do you not? How can we pretend\nanything when you do not believe in God? For I do you the honour of\nthinking that you do not.\u201d\n\nFrancis sprang up.\n\n\u201cWell---\u201d he snapped. \u201cI could not have believed--I am going.\u201d\n\nHe wheeled towards the door.\n\n\u201cJohn!\u201d said Percy again. \u201cAre you going like this? Can you not shake\nhands?\u201d\n\nThe other wheeled again, with heavy anger in his face.\n\n\u201cWhy, you said you could not be friends with me!\u201d\n\nPercy\u2019s mouth opened. Then he understood, and smiled. \u201cOh! that is all\nyou mean by friendship, is it?--I beg your pardon. Oh! we can be polite\nto one another, if you like.\u201d\n\nHe still stood holding out his hand. Father Francis looked at it a\nmoment, his lips shook: then once more he turned, and went out without a\nword.\n\n\nII\n\nPercy stood motionless until he heard the automatic bell outside tell\nhim that Father Francis was really gone, then he went out himself and\nturned towards the long passage leading to the Cathedral. As he passed\nout through the sacristy he heard far in front the murmur of an organ,\nand on coming through into the chapel used as a parish church he\nperceived that Vespers were not yet over in the great choir. He came\nstraight down the aisle, turned to the right, crossed the centre and\nknelt down.\n\nIt was drawing on towards sunset, and the huge dark place was lighted\nhere and there by patches of ruddy London light that lay on the gorgeous\nmarble and gildings finished at last by a wealthy convert. In front of\nhim rose up the choir, with a line of white surpliced and furred canons\non either side, and the vast baldachino in the midst, beneath which\nburned the six lights as they had burned day by day for more than a\ncentury; behind that again lay the high line of the apse-choir with the\ndim, window-pierced vault above where Christ reigned in majesty. He let\nhis eyes wander round for a few moments before beginning his deliberate\nprayer, drinking in the glory of the place, listening to the thunderous\nchorus, the peal of the organ, and the thin mellow voice of the priest.\nThere on the left shone the refracted glow of the lamps that burned\nbefore the Lord in the Sacrament, on the right a dozen candles winked\nhere and there at the foot of the gaunt images, high overhead hung the\ngigantic cross with that lean, emaciated Poor Man Who called all who\nlooked on Him to the embraces of a God.\n\nThen he hid his face in his hands, drew a couple of long breaths, and\nset to work.\n\nHe began, as his custom was in mental prayer, by a deliberate act of\nself-exclusion from the world of sense. Under the image of sinking\nbeneath a surface he forced himself downwards and inwards, till the peal\nof the organ, the shuffle of footsteps, the rigidity of the chair-back\nbeneath his wrists--all seemed apart and external, and he was left a\nsingle person with a beating heart, an intellect that suggested image\nafter image, and emotions that were too languid to stir themselves. Then\nhe made his second descent, renounced all that he possessed and was, and\nbecame conscious that even the body was left behind, and that his mind\nand heart, awed by the Presence in which they found themselves, clung\nclose and obedient to the will which was their lord and protector. He\ndrew another long breath, or two, as he felt that Presence surge about\nhim; he repeated a few mechanical words, and sank to that peace which\nfollows the relinquishment of thought.\n\nThere he rested for a while. Far above him sounded the ecstatic music,\nthe cry of trumpets and the shrilling of the flutes; but they were as\ninsignificant street-noises to one who was falling asleep. He was within\nthe veil of things now, beyond the barriers of sense and reflection, in\nthat secret place to which he had learned the road by endless effort, in\nthat strange region where realities are evident, where perceptions go to\nand fro with the swiftness of light, where the swaying will catches now\nthis, now that act, moulds it and speeds it; where all things meet,\nwhere truth is known and handled and tasted, where God Immanent is one\nwith God Transcendent, where the meaning of the external world is\nevident through its inner side, and the Church and its mysteries are\nseen from within a haze of glory.\n\nSo he lay a few moments, absorbing and resting.\n\nThen he aroused himself to consciousness and began to speak.\n\n\u201cLord, I am here, and Thou art here. I know Thee. There is nothing else\nbut Thou and I.... I lay this all in Thy hands--Thy apostate priest, Thy\npeople, the world, and myself. I spread it before Thee--I spread it\nbefore Thee.\u201d\n\nHe paused, poised in the act, till all of which he thought lay like a\nplain before a peak.\n\n... \u201cMyself, Lord--there but for Thy grace should I be going, in\ndarkness and misery. It is Thou Who dost preserve me. Maintain and\nfinish Thy work within my soul. Let me not falter for one instant. If\nThou withdraw Thy hand I fall into utter nothingness.\u201d\n\nSo his soul stood a moment, with outstretched appealing hands, helpless\nand confident. Then the will flickered in self-consciousness, and he\nrepeated acts of faith, hope and love to steady it. Then he drew another\nlong breath, feeling the Presence tingle and shake about him, and began\nagain.\n\n\u201cLord; look on Thy people. Many are falling from Thee. _Ne in aeternum\nirascaris nobis. Ne in aeternum irascaris nobis_.... I unite myself with\nall saints and angels and Mary Queen of Heaven; look on them and me, and\nhear us. _Emitte lucem tuam et veritatem tuam._ Thy light and Thy truth!\nLay not on us heavier burdens than we can bear. Lord, why dost Thou not\nspeak!\u201d\n\nHe writhed himself forward in a passion of expectant desire, hearing his\nmuscles crack in the effort. Once more he relaxed himself; and the swift\nplay of wordless acts began which he knew to be the very heart of\nprayer. The eyes of his soul flew hither and thither, from Calvary to\nheaven and back again to the tossing troubled earth. He saw Christ dying\nof desolation while the earth rocked and groaned; Christ reigning as a\npriest upon His Throne in robes of light, Christ patient and inexorably\nsilent within the Sacramental species; and to each in turn he directed\nthe eyes of the Eternal Father....\n\nThen he waited for communications, and they came, so soft and delicate,\npassing like shadows, that his will sweated blood and tears in the\neffort to catch and fix them and correspond....\n\nHe saw the Body Mystical in its agony, strained over the world as on a\ncross, silent with pain; he saw this and that nerve wrenched and\ntwisted, till pain presented it to himself as under the guise of flashes\nof colour; he saw the life-blood drop by drop run down from His head and\nhands and feet. The world was gathered mocking and good-humoured\nbeneath. \u201c_He saved others: Himself He cannot save.... Let Christ come\ndown from the Cross and we will believe._\u201d Far away behind bushes and\nin holes of the ground the friends of Jesus peeped and sobbed; Mary\nherself was silent, pierced by seven swords; the disciple whom He loved\nhad no words of comfort.\n\nHe saw, too, how no word would be spoken from heaven; the angels\nthemselves were bidden to put sword into sheath, and wait on the eternal\npatience of God, for the agony was hardly yet begun; there were a\nthousand horrors yet before the end could come, that final sum of\ncrucifixion.... He must wait and watch, content to stand there and do\nnothing; and the Resurrection must seem to him no more than a dreamed-of\nhope. There was the Sabbath yet to come, while the Body Mystical must\nlie in its sepulchre cut off from light, and even the dignity of the\nCross must be withdrawn and the knowledge that Jesus lived. That inner\nworld, to which by long effort he had learned the way, was all alight\nwith agony; it was bitter as brine, it was of that pale luminosity that\nis the utmost product of pain, it hummed in his ears with a note that\nrose to a scream ... it pressed upon him, penetrated him, stretched him\nas on a rack.... And with that his will grew sick and nerveless.\n\n\u201cLord! I cannot bear it!\u201d he moaned....\n\nIn an instant he was back again, drawing long breaths of misery. He\npassed his tongue over his lips, and opened his eyes on the darkening\napse before him. The organ was silent now, and the choir was gone, and\nthe lights out. The sunset colour, too, had faded from the walls, and\ngrim cold faces looked down on him from wall and vault. He was back\nagain on the surface of life; the vision had melted; he scarcely knew\nwhat it was that he had seen.\n\nBut he must gather up the threads, and by sheer effort absorb them. He\nmust pay his duty, too, to the Lord that gave Himself to the senses as\nwell as to the inner spirit. So he rose, stiff and constrained, and\npassed across to the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament.\n\nAs he came out from the block of chairs, very upright and tall, with his\nbiretta once more on his white hair, he saw an old woman watching him\nvery closely. He hesitated an instant, wondering whether she were a\npenitent, and as he hesitated she made a movement towards him.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, sir,\u201d she began.\n\nShe was not a Catholic then. He lifted his biretta.\n\n\u201cCan I do anything for you?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, sir, but were you at Brighton, at the accident two\nmonths ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! I thought so: my daughter-in-law saw you then.\u201d\n\nPercy had a spasm of impatience: he was a little tired of being\nidentified by his white hair and young face.\n\n\u201cWere you there, madam?\u201d\n\nShe looked at him doubtfully and curiously, moving her old, eyes up and\ndown his figure. Then she recollected herself.\n\n\u201cNo, sir; it was my daughter-in-law--I beg your pardon, sir, but---\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d asked Percy, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.\n\n\u201cAre you the Archbishop, sir?\u201d\n\nThe priest smiled, showing his white teeth.\n\n\u201cNo, madam; I am just a poor priest. Dr. Cholmondeley is Archbishop. I\nam Father Percy Franklin.\u201d\n\nShe said nothing, but still looking at him made a little old-world\nmovement of a bow; and Percy passed on to the dim, splendid chapel to\npay his devotions.\n\n\nIII\n\nThere was great talk that night at dinner among the priests as to the\nextraordinary spread of Freemasonry. It had been going on for many years\nnow, and Catholics perfectly recognised its dangers, for the profession\nof Masonry had been for some centuries rendered incompatible with\nreligion through the Church\u2019s unswerving condemnation of it. A man must\nchoose between that and his faith. Things had developed extraordinarily\nduring the last century. First there had been the organised assault upon\nthe Church in France; and what Catholics had always suspected then\nbecame a certainty in the revelations of 1918, when P. Gerome, the\nDominican and ex-Mason, had made his disclosures with regard to the\nMark-Masons. It had become evident then that Catholics had been right,\nand that Masonry, in its higher grades at least, had been responsible\nthroughout the world for the strange movement against religion. But he\nhad died in his bed, and the public had been impressed by that fact.\nThen came the splendid donations in France and Italy--to hospitals,\norphanages, and the like; and once more suspicion began to disappear.\nAfter all, it seemed--and continued to seem--for seventy years and more\nthat Masonry was nothing more than a vast philanthropical society. Now\nonce more men had their doubts.\n\n\u201cI hear that Felsenburgh is a Mason,\u201d observed Monsignor Macintosh, the\nCathedral Administrator. \u201cA Grand-Master or something.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut who is Felsenburgh?\u201d put in a young priest.\n\nMonsignor pursed his lips and shook his head. He was one of those humble\npersons as proud of ignorance as others of knowledge. He boasted that he\nnever read the papers nor any book except those that had received the\n_imprimatur_; it was a priest\u2019s business, he often remarked, to preserve\nthe faith, not to acquire worldly knowledge. Percy had occasionally\nrather envied his point of view.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s a mystery,\u201d said another priest, Father Blackmore; \u201cbut he seems\nto be causing great excitement. They were selling his \u2018Life\u2019 to-day on\nthe Embankment.\u201d\n\n\u201cI met an American senator,\u201d put in Percy, \u201cthree days ago, who told me\nthat even there they know nothing of him, except his extraordinary\neloquence. He only appeared last year, and seems to have carried\neverything before him by quite unusual methods. He is a great linguist,\ntoo. That is why they took him to Irkutsk.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, the Masons---\u201d went on Monsignor. \u201cIt is very serious. In the\nlast month four of my penitents have left me because of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cTheir inclusion of women was their master-stroke,\u201d growled Father\nBlackmore, helping himself to claret.\n\n\u201cIt is extraordinary that they hesitated so long about that,\u201d observed\nPercy.\n\nA couple of the others added their evidence. It appeared that they, too,\nhad lost penitents lately through the spread of Masonry. It was rumoured\nthat a Pastoral was a-preparing upstairs on the subject.\n\nMonsignor shook his head ominously.\n\n\u201cMore is wanted than that,\u201d he said.\n\nPercy pointed out that the Church had said her last word several\ncenturies ago. She had laid her excommunication on all members of secret\nsocieties, and there was really no more that she could do.\n\n\u201cExcept bring it before her children again and again,\u201d put in Monsignor.\n\u201cI shall preach on it next Sunday.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPercy dotted down a note when he reached his room, determining to say\nanother word or two on the subject to the Cardinal-Protector. He had\nmentioned Freemasonry often before, but it seemed time for another\nremark. Then he opened his letters, first turning to one which he\nrecognised as from the Cardinal.\n\nIt seemed a curious coincidence, as he read a series of questions that\nCardinal Martin\u2019s letter contained, that one of them should be on this\nvery subject. It ran as follows:\n\n\u201cWhat of Masonry? Felsenburgh is said to be one. Gather all the gossip\nyou can about him. Send any English or American biographies of him. Are\nyou still losing Catholics through Masonry?\u201d\n\nHe ran his eyes down the rest of the questions. They chiefly referred to\nprevious remarks of his own, but twice, even in them, Felsenburgh\u2019s name\nappeared.\n\nHe laid the paper down and considered a little.\n\nIt was very curious, he thought, how this man\u2019s name was in every one\u2019s\nmouth, in spite of the fact that so little was known about him. He had\nbought in the streets, out of curiosity, three photographs that\nprofessed to represent this strange person, and though one of them might\nbe genuine they all three could not be. He drew them out of a\npigeon-hole, and spread them before him.\n\nOne represented a fierce, bearded creature like a Cossack, with round\nstaring eyes. No; intrinsic evidence condemned this: it was exactly how\na coarse imagination would have pictured a man who seemed to be having a\ngreat influence in the East.\n\nThe second showed a fat face with little eyes and a chin-beard. That\nmight conceivably be genuine: he turned it over and saw the name of a\nNew York firm on the back. Then he turned to the third. This presented a\nlong, clean-shaven face with pince-nez, undeniably clever, but scarcely\nstrong: and Felsenburgh was obviously a strong man.\n\nPercy inclined to think the second was the most probable; but they were\nall unconvincing; and he shuffled them carelessly together and replaced\nthem.\n\nThen he put his elbows on the table, and began to think.\n\nHe tried to remember what Mr. Varhaus, the American senator, had told\nhim of Felsenburgh; yet it did not seem sufficient to account for the\nfacts. Felsenburgh, it seemed, had employed none of those methods common\nin modern politics. He controlled no newspapers, vituperated nobody,\nchampioned nobody: he had no picked underlings; he used no bribes; there\nwere no monstrous crimes alleged against him. It seemed rather as if his\noriginality lay in his clean hands and his stainless past--that, and his\nmagnetic character. He was the kind of figure that belonged rather to\nthe age of chivalry: a pure, clean, compelling personality, like a\nradiant child. He had taken people by surprise, then, rising out of the\nheaving dun-coloured waters of American socialism like a vision--from\nthose waters so fiercely restrained from breaking into storm over since\nthe extraordinary social revolution under Mr. Hearst\u2019s disciples, a\ncentury ago. That had been the end of plutocracy; the famous old laws of\n1914 had burst some of the stinking bubbles of the time; and the\nenactments of 1916 and 1917 had prevented their forming again in any\nthing like their previous force. It had been the salvation of America,\nundoubtedly, even if that salvation were of a dreary and uninspiring\ndescription; and now out of the flat socialistic level had arisen this\nromantic figure utterly unlike any that had preceded it.... So the\nsenator had hinted.... It was too complicated for Percy just now, and he\ngave it up.\n\nIt was a weary world, he told himself, turning his eyes homewards.\nEverything seemed so hopeless and ineffective. He tried not to reflect\non his fellow-priests, but for the fiftieth time he could not help\nseeing that they were not the men for the present situation. It was not\nthat he preferred himself; he knew perfectly well that he, too, was\nfully as incompetent: had he not proved to be so with poor Father\nFrancis, and scores of others who had clutched at him in their agony\nduring the last ten years? Even the Archbishop, holy man as he was, with\nall his childlike faith--was that the man to lead English Catholics and\nconfound their enemies? There seemed no giants on the earth in these\ndays. What in the world was to be done? He buried his face in his\nhands....\n\nYes; what was wanted was a new Order in the Church; the old ones were\nrule-bound through no fault of their own. An Order was wanted without\nhabit or tonsure, without traditions or customs, an Order with nothing\nbut entire and whole-hearted devotion, without pride even in their most\nsacred privileges, without a past history in which they might take\ncomplacent refuge. They must be _franc-tireurs_ of Christ\u2019s Army; like\nthe Jesuits, but without their fatal reputation, which, again, was no\nfault of their own. ... But there must be a Founder--Who, in God\u2019s Name?\n--a Founder _nudus sequens Christum nudum_.... Yes--_Franc-tireurs_\n--priests, bishops, laymen and women--with the three vows of course, and\na special clause forbidding utterly and for ever their ownership of\ncorporate wealth.--Every gift received must be handed to the bishop of\nthe diocese in which it was given, who must provide them himself with\nnecessaries of life and travel. Oh!--what could they not do?... He was\noff in a rhapsody.\n\nPresently he recovered, and called himself a fool. Was not that scheme\nas old as the eternal hills, and as useless for practical purposes? Why,\nit had been the dream of every zealous man since the First Year of\nSalvation that such an Order should be founded!... He was a fool....\n\nThen once more he began to think of it all over again.\n\nSurely it was this which was wanted against the Masons; and women,\ntoo.--Had not scheme after scheme broken down because men had forgotten\nthe power of women? It was that lack that had ruined Napoleon: he had\ntrusted Josephine, and she had failed him; so he had trusted no other\nwoman. In the Catholic Church, too, woman had been given no active work\nbut either menial or connected with education: and was there not room\nfor other activities than those? Well, it was useless to think of it. It\nwas not his affair. If _Papa Angelicus_ who now reigned in Rome had not\nthought of it, why should a foolish, conceited priest in Westminster set\nhimself up to do so?\n\nSo he beat himself on the breast once more, and took up his office-book.\n\nHe finished in half an hour, and again sat thinking; but this time it\nwas of poor Father Francis. He wondered what he was doing now; whether\nhe had taken off the Roman collar of Christ\u2019s familiar slaves? The poor\ndevil! And how far was he, Percy Franklin, responsible?\n\nWhen a tap came at his door presently, and Father Blackmore looked in\nfor a talk before going to bed, Percy told him what had happened.\n\nFather Blackmore removed his pipe and sighed deliberately.\n\n\u201cI knew it was coming,\u201d he said. \u201cWell, well.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has been honest enough,\u201d explained Percy. \u201cHe told me eight months\nago he was in trouble.\u201d\n\nFather Blackmore drew upon his pipe thoughtfully.\n\n\u201cFather Franklin,\u201d he said, \u201cthings are really very serious. There is\nthe same story everywhere. What in the world is happening?\u201d\n\nPercy paused before answering.\n\n\u201cI think these things go in waves,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cWaves, do you think?\u201d said the other.\n\n\u201cWhat else?\u201d\n\nFather Blackmore looked at him intently.\n\n\u201cIt is more like a dead calm, it seems to me,\u201d he said. \u201cHave you ever\nbeen in a typhoon?\u201d\n\nPercy shook his head.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d went on the other, \u201cthe most ominous thing is the calm. The sea\nis like oil; you feel half-dead: you can do nothing. Then comes the\nstorm.\u201d\n\nPercy looked at him, interested. He had not seen this mood in the priest\nbefore.\n\n\u201cBefore every great crash there comes this calm. It is always so in\nhistory. It was so before the Eastern War; it was so before the French\nRevolution. It was so before the Reformation. There is a kind of oily\nheaving; and everything is languid. So everything has been in America,\ntoo, for over eighty years.... Father Franklin, I think something is\ngoing to happen.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d said Percy, leaning forward.\n\n\u201cWell, I saw Templeton a week before he died, and he put the idea in my\nhead.... Look here, father. It may be this Eastern affair that is coming\non us; but somehow I don\u2019t think it is. It is in religion that something\nis going to happen. At least, so I think.... Father, who in God\u2019s name\nis Felsenburgh?\u201d\n\nPercy was so startled at the sudden introduction of this name again,\nthat he stared a moment without speaking.\n\nOutside, the summer night was very still. There was a faint vibration\nnow and again from the underground track that ran twenty yards from the\nhouse where they sat; but the streets were quiet enough round the\nCathedral. Once a hoot rang far away, as if some ominous bird of passage\nwere crossing between London and the stars, and once the cry of a woman\nsounded thin and shrill from the direction of the river. For the rest\nthere was no more than the solemn, subdued hum that never ceased now\nnight or day.\n\n\u201cYes; Felsenburgh,\u201d said Father Blackmore once more. \u201cI cannot get that\nman out of my head. And yet, what do I know of him? What does any one\nknow of him?\u201d\n\nPercy licked his lips to answer, and drew a breath to still the beating\nof his heart. He could not imagine why he felt excited. After all, who\nwas old Blackmore to frighten him? But old Blackmore went on before he\ncould speak.\n\n\u201cSee how people are leaving the Church! The Wargraves, the Hendersons,\nSir James Bartlet, Lady Magnier, and then all the priests. Now they\u2019re\nnot all knaves--I wish they were; it would be so much easier to talk of\nit. But Sir James Bartlet, last month! Now, there\u2019s a man who has spent\nhalf his fortune on the Church, and he doesn\u2019t resent it even now. He\nsays that any religion is better than none, but that, for himself, he\njust can\u2019t believe any longer. Now what does all that mean?... I tell\nyou something is going to happen. God knows what! And I can\u2019t get\nFelsenburgh out of my head.... Father Franklin---\u201d\n\n\u201cYes?\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you noticed how few great men we\u2019ve got? It\u2019s not like fifty years\nago, or even thirty. Then there were Mason, Selborne, Sherbrook, and\nhalf-a-dozen others. There was Brightman, too, as Archbishop: and now!\nThen the Communists, too. Braithwaite is dead fifteen years. Certainly\nhe was big enough; but he was always speaking of the future, not of the\npresent; and tell me what big man they have had since then! And now\nthere\u2019s this new man, whom no one knows, who came forward in America a\nfew months ago, and whose name is in every one\u2019s mouth. Very well,\nthen!\u201d\n\nPercy knitted his forehead.\n\n\u201cI am not sure that I understand,\u201d he said.\n\nFather Blackmore knocked his pipe out before answering.\n\n\u201cWell, this,\u201d he said, standing up. \u201cI can\u2019t help thinking Felsenburgh\nis going to do something. I don\u2019t know what; it may be for us or against\nus. But he is a Mason, remember that.... Well, well; I dare say I\u2019m an\nold fool. Good-night.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne moment, father,\u201d said Percy slowly. \u201cDo you mean--? Good Lord! What\ndo you mean?\u201d He stopped, looking at the other.\n\nThe old priest stared back under his bushy eyebrows; it seemed to Percy\nas if he, too, were afraid of something in spite of his easy talk; but\nhe made no sign.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPercy stood perfectly still a moment when the door was shut. Then he\nmoved across to his _prie-dieu_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nI\n\nOld Mrs. Brand and Mabel were seated at a window of the new Admiralty\nOffices in Trafalgar Square to see Oliver deliver his speech on the\nfiftieth anniversary of the passing of the Poor Laws Reform.\n\nIt was an inspiriting sight, this bright June morning, to see the crowds\ngathering round Braithwaite\u2019s statue. That politician, dead fifteen\nyears before, was represented in his famous attitude, with arms\noutstretched and down dropped, his head up and one foot slightly\nadvanced, and to-day was decked, as was becoming more and more usual on\nsuch occasions, in his Masonic insignia. It was he who had given\nimmense impetus to that secret movement by his declaration in the House\nthat the key of future progress and brotherhood of nations was in the\nhands of the Order. It was through this alone that the false unity of\nthe Church with its fantastic spiritual fraternity could be\ncounteracted. St. Paul had been right, he declared, in his desire to\nbreak down the partition-walls between nations, and wrong only in his\nexaltation of Jesus Christ. Thus he had preluded his speech on the Poor\nLaw question, pointing to the true charity that existed among Masons\napart from religious motive, and appealing to the famous benefactions on\nthe Continent; and in the enthusiasm of the Bill\u2019s success the Order had\nreceived a great accession of members.\n\nOld Mrs. Brand was in her best to-day, and looked out with considerable\nexcitement at the huge throng gathered to hear her son speak. A platform\nwas erected round the bronze statue at such a height that the statesman\nappeared to be one of the speakers, though at a slightly higher\nelevation, and this platform was hung with roses, surmounted by a\nsounding-board, and set with a chair and table.\n\nThe whole square round about was paved with heads and resonant with\nsound, the murmurs of thousands of voices, overpowered now and again by\nthe crash of brass and thunder of drums as the Benefit Societies and\ndemocratic Guilds, each headed by a banner, deployed from North, South,\nEast and West, and converged towards the wide railed space about the\nplatform where room was reserved for them. The windows on every side\nwere packed with faces; tall stands were erected along the front of the\nNational Gallery and St. Martin\u2019s Church, garden-beds of colour behind\nthe mute, white statues that faced outwards round the square; from\nBraithwaite in front, past the Victorians--John Davidson, John Burns,\nand the rest--round to Hampden and de Montfort towards the north. The\nold column was gone, with its lions. Nelson had not been found\nadvantageous to the _Entente Cordiale_, nor the lions to the new art;\nand in their place stretched a wide pavement broken by slopes of steps\nthat led up to the National Gallery.\n\nOverhead the roofs showed crowded friezes of heads against the blue\nsummer sky. Not less than one hundred thousand persons, it was estimated\nin the evening papers, were collected within sight and sound of the\nplatform by noon.\n\nAs the clocks began to tell the hour, two figures appeared from behind\nthe statue and came forward, and, in an instant, the murmurs of talk\nrose into cheering.\n\nOld Lord Pemberton came first, a grey-haired, upright man, whose father\nhad been active in denouncing the House of which he was a member on the\noccasion of its fall over seventy years ago, and his son had succeeded\nhim worthily. This man was now a member of the Government, and sat for\nManchester (3); and it was he who was to be chairman on this auspicious\noccasion. Behind him came Oliver, bareheaded and spruce, and even at\nthat distance his mother and wife could see his brisk movement, his\nsudden smile and nod as his name emerged from the storm of sound that\nsurged round the platform. Lord Pemberton came forward, lifted his hand\nand made a signal; and in a moment the thin cheering died under the\nsudden roll of drums beneath that preluded the Masonic Hymn.\n\nThere was no doubt that these Londoners could sing. It was as if a giant\nvoice hummed the sonorous melody, rising to enthusiasm till the music of\nmassed bands followed it as a flag follows a flag-stick. The hymn was\none composed ten years before, and all England was familiar with it.\nOld Mrs. Bland lifted the printed paper mechanically to her eyes, and\nsaw the words that she knew so well:\n\n\u201c_The Lord that dwells in earth and sea._\u201d ...\n\nShe glanced down the verses, that from the Humanitarian point of view\nhad been composed with both skill and ardour. They had a religious ring;\nthe unintelligent Christian could sing them without a qualm; yet their\nsense was plain enough--the old human creed that man was all. Even\nChrist\u2019s, words themselves were quoted. The kingdom of God, it was said,\nlay within the human heart, and the greatest of all graces was Charity.\n\nShe glanced at Mabel, and saw that the girl was singing with all her\nmight, with her eyes fixed on her husband\u2019s dark figure a hundred yards\naway, and her soul pouring through them. So the mother, too, began to\nmove her lips in chorus with that vast volume of sound.\n\nAs the hymn died away, and before the cheering could begin again, old\nLord Pemberton was standing forward on the edge of the platform, and his\nthin, metallic voice piped a sentence or two across the tinkling splash\nof the fountains behind him. Then he stepped back, and Oliver came\nforward.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was too far for the two to hear what was said, but Mabel slipped a\npaper, smiling tremulously, into the old lady\u2019s hand, and herself bent\nforward to listen.\n\nOld Mrs. Brand looked at that, too, knowing that it was an analysis of\nher son\u2019s speech, and aware that she would not be able to hear his\nwords.\n\nThere was an exordium first, congratulating all who were present to do\nhonour to the great man who presided from his pedestal on the occasion\nof this great anniversary. Then there came a retrospect, comparing the\nold state of England with the present. Fifty years ago, the speaker\nsaid, poverty was still a disgrace, now it was so no longer. It was in\nthe causes that led to poverty that the disgrace or the merit lay. Who\nwould not honour a man worn out in the service of his country, or\novercome at last by circumstances against which his efforts could not\nprevail?... He enumerated the reforms passed fifty years before on this\nvery day, by which the nation once and for all declared the glory of\npoverty and man\u2019s sympathy with the unfortunate.\n\nSo he had told them he was to sing the praise of patient poverty and its\nreward, and that, he supposed, together with a few periods on the reform\nof the prison laws, would form the first half of his speech.\n\nThe second part was to be a panegyric of Braithwaite, treating him as\nthe Precursor of a movement that even now had begun.\n\nOld Mrs. Brand leaned back in her seat, and looked about her.\n\nThe window where they sat had been reserved for them; two arm-chairs\nfilled the space, but immediately behind there were others, standing\nvery silent now, craning forward, watching, too, with parted lips: a\ncouple of women with an old man directly behind, and other faces visible\nagain behind them. Their obvious absorption made the old lady a little\nashamed of her distraction, and she turned resolutely once more to the\nsquare.\n\nAh! he was working up now to his panegyric! The tiny dark figure was\nback, a yard nearer the statue, and as she looked, his hand went up and\nhe wheeled, pointing, as a murmur of applause drowned for an instant the\nminute, resonant voice. Then again he was forward, half crouching--for\nhe was a born actor--and a storm of laughter rippled round the throng of\nheads. She heard an indrawn hiss behind her chair, and the next instant\nan exclamation from Mabel.... What was that?\n\nThere was a sharp crack, and the tiny gesticulating figure staggered\nback a step. The old man at the table was up in a moment, and\nsimultaneously a violent commotion bubbled and heaved like water about a\nrock at a point in the crowd immediately outside the railed space where\nthe bands were massed, and directly opposite the front of the platform.\n\nMrs. Brand, bewildered and dazed, found herself standing up, clutching\nthe window rail, while the girl gripped her, crying out something she\ncould not understand. A great roaring filled the square, the heads\ntossed this way and that, like corn under a squall of wind. Then Oliver\nwas forward again, pointing and crying out, for she could see his\ngestures; and she sank back quickly, the blood racing through her old\nveins, and her heart hammering at the base of her throat.\n\n\u201cMy dear, my dear, what is it?\u201d she sobbed.\n\nBut Mabel was up, too, staring out at her husband; and a quick babble of\ntalk and exclamations from behind made itself audible in spite of the\nroaring tumult of the square.\n\n\nII\n\nOliver told them the explanation of the whole affair that evening at\nhome, leaning back in his chair, with one arm bandaged and in a sling.\n\nThey had not been able to get near him at the time; the excitement in\nthe square had been too fierce; but a messenger had come to his wife\nwith the news that her husband was only slightly wounded, and was in the\nhands of the doctors.\n\n\u201cHe was a Catholic,\u201d explained the drawn-faced Oliver. \u201cHe must have\ncome ready, for his repeater was found loaded. Well, there was no chance\nfor a priest this time.\u201d\n\nMabel nodded slowly: she had read of the man\u2019s fate on the placards.\n\n\u201cHe was killed--trampled and strangled instantly,\u201d said Oliver. \u201cI did\nwhat I could: you saw me. But--well, I dare say it was more merciful.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you did what you could, my dear?\u201d said the old lady, anxiously,\nfrom her corner.\n\n\u201cI called out to them, mother, but they wouldn\u2019t hear me.\u201d\n\nMabel leaned forward---\n\n\u201cOliver, I know this sounds stupid of me; but--but I wish they had not\nkilled him.\u201d\n\nOliver smiled at her. He knew this tender trait in her.\n\n\u201cIt would have been more perfect if they had not,\u201d she said. Then she\nbroke off and sat back.\n\n\u201cWhy did he shoot just then?\u201d she asked.\n\nOliver turned his eyes for an instant towards his mother, but she was\nknitting tranquilly.\n\nThen he answered with a curious deliberateness.\n\n\u201cI said that Braithwaite had done more for the world by one speech than\nJesus and all His saints put together.\u201d He was aware that the\nknitting-needles stopped for a second; then they went on again as\nbefore.\n\n\u201cBut he must have meant to do it anyhow,\u201d continued Oliver.\n\n\u201cHow do they know he was a Catholic?\u201d asked the girl again.\n\n\u201cThere was a rosary on him; and then he just had time to call on his\nGod.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd nothing more is known?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing more. He was well dressed, though.\u201d\n\nOliver leaned back a little wearily and closed his eyes; his arm still\nthrobbed intolerably. But he was very happy at heart. It was true that\nhe had been wounded by a fanatic, but he was not sorry to bear pain in\nsuch a cause, and it was obvious that the sympathy of England was with\nhim. Mr. Phillips even now was busy in the next room, answering the\ntelegrams that poured in every moment. Caldecott, the Prime Minister,\nMaxwell, Snowford and a dozen others had wired instantly their\ncongratulations, and from every part of England streamed in message\nafter message. It was an immense stroke for the Communists; their\nspokesman had been assaulted during the discharge of his duty, speaking\nin defence of his principles; it was an incalculable gain for them, and\nloss for the Individualists, that confessors were not all on one side\nafter all. The huge electric placards over London had winked out the\nfacts in Esperanto as Oliver stepped into the train at twilight.\n\n\u201c_Oliver Brand wounded.... Catholic assailant.... Indignation of the\ncountry.... Well-deserved fate of assassin_.\u201d\n\nHe was pleased, too, that he honestly had done his best to save the man.\nEven in that moment of sudden and acute pain he had cried out for a fair\ntrial; but he had been too late. He had seen the starting eyes roll up\nin the crimson face, and the horrid grin come and go as the hands had\nclutched and torn at his throat. Then the face had vanished and a heavy\ntrampling began where it had disappeared. Oh! there was some passion and\nloyalty left in England!\n\nHis mother got up presently and went out, still without a word; and\nMabel turned to him, laying a hand on his knee.\n\n\u201cAre you too tired to talk, my dear?\u201d\n\nHe opened his eyes.\n\n\u201cOf course not, my darling. What is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you think will be the effect?\u201d\n\nHe raised himself a little, looking out as usual through the darkening\nwindows on to that astonishing view. Everywhere now lights were\nglowing, a sea of mellow moons just above the houses, and above the\nmysterious heavy blue of a summer evening.\n\n\u201cThe effect?\u201d he said. \u201cIt can be nothing but good. It was time that\nsomething happened. My dear, I feel very downcast sometimes, as you\nknow. Well, I do not think I shall be again. I have been afraid\nsometimes that we were losing all our spirit, and that the old Tories\nwere partly right when they prophesied what Communism would do. But\nafter this---\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell; we have shown that we can shed our blood too. It is in the nick\nof time, too, just at the crisis. I don\u2019t want to exaggerate; it is only\na scratch--but it was so deliberate, and--and so dramatic. The poor\ndevil could not have chosen a worse moment. People won\u2019t forget it.\u201d\n\nMabel\u2019s eyes shone with pleasure.\n\n\u201cYou poor dear!\u201d she said. \u201cAre you in pain?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot much. Besides, Christ! what do I care? If only this infernal\nEastern affair would end!\u201d\n\nHe knew he was feverish and irritable, and made a great effort to drive\nit down.\n\n\u201cOh, my dear!\u201d he went on, flushed a little. \u201cIf they would not be such\nheavy fools: they don\u2019t understand; they don\u2019t understand.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Oliver?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey don\u2019t understand what a glorious thing it all is: Humanity, Life,\nTruth at last, and the death of Folly! But haven\u2019t I told them a hundred\ntimes?\u201d\n\nShe looked at him with kindling eyes. She loved to see him like this,\nhis confident, flushed face, the enthusiasm in his blue eyes; and the\nknowledge of his pain pricked her feeling with passion. She bent forward\nand kissed him suddenly.\n\n\u201cMy dear, I am so proud of you. Oh, Oliver!\u201d\n\nHe said nothing; but she could see what she loved to see, that response\nto her own heart; and so they sat in silence while the sky darkened yet\nmore, and the click of the writer in the next room told them that the\nworld was alive and that they had a share in its affairs.\n\nOliver stirred presently.\n\n\u201cDid you notice anything just now, sweetheart--when I said that about\nJesus Christ?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe stopped knitting for a moment,\u201d said the girl.\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\u201cYou saw that too, then.... Mabel, do you think she is falling back?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! she is getting old,\u201d said the girl lightly. \u201cOf course she looks\nback a little.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you don\u2019t think--it would be too awful!\u201d\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\u201cNo, no, my dear; you\u2019re excited and tired. It\u2019s just a little\nsentiment.... Oliver, I don\u2019t think I would say that kind of thing\nbefore her.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut she hears it everywhere now.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, she doesn\u2019t. Remember she hardly ever goes out. Besides, she hates\nit. After all, she was brought up a Catholic.\u201d\n\nOliver nodded, and lay back again, looking dreamily out.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it astonishing the way in which suggestion lasts? She can\u2019t get\nit out of her head, even after fifty years. Well, watch her, won\u2019t\nyou?... By the way ...\u201d\n\n\u201cYes?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a little more news from the East. They say Felsenburgh\u2019s\nrunning the whole thing now. The Empire is sending him everywhere--\nTobolsk, Benares, Yakutsk--everywhere; and he\u2019s been to Australia.\u201d\n\nMabel sat up briskly.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t that very hopeful?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose so. There\u2019s no doubt that the Sufis are winning; but for how\nlong is another question. Besides, the troops don\u2019t disperse.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Europe?\u201d\n\n\u201cEurope is arming as fast as possible. I hear we are to meet the Powers\nnext week at Paris. I must go.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour arm, my dear?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy arm must get well. It will have to go with me, anyhow.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me some more.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no more. But it is just as certain as it can be that this is\nthe crisis. If the East can be persuaded to hold its hand now, it will\nnever be likely to raise it again. It will mean free trade all over the\nworld, I suppose, and all that kind of thing. But if not---\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf not, there will be a catastrophe such as never has been even\nimagined. The whole human race will be at war, and either East or West\nwill be simply wiped out. These new Benninschein explosives will make\ncertain of that.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut is it absolutely certain that the East has got them?\u201d\n\n\u201cAbsolutely. Benninschein sold them simultaneously to East and West;\nthen he died, luckily for him.\u201d\n\nMabel had heard this kind of talk before, but her imagination simply\nrefused to grasp it. A duel of East and West under these new conditions\nwas an unthinkable thing. There had been no European war within living\nmemory, and the Eastern wars of the last century had been under the old\nconditions. Now, if tales were true, entire towns would be destroyed\nwith a single shell. The new conditions were unimaginable. Military\nexperts prophesied extravagantly, contradicting one another on vital\npoints; the whole procedure of war was a matter of theory; there were no\nprecedents with which to compare it. It was as if archers disputed as to\nthe results of cordite. Only one thing was certain--that the East had\nevery modern engine, and, as regards male population, half as much\nagain as the rest of the world put together; and the conclusion to be\ndrawn from these premisses was not reassuring to England.\n\nBut imagination simply refused to speak. The daily papers had a short,\ncareful leading article every day, founded upon the scraps of news that\nstole out from the conferences on the other side of the world;\nFelsenburgh\u2019s name appeared more frequently than ever: otherwise there\nseemed to be a kind of hush. Nothing suffered very much; trade went on;\nEuropean stocks were not appreciably lower than usual; men still built\nhouses, married wives, begat sons and daughters, did their business and\nwent to the theatre, for the mere reason that there was no good in\nanything else. They could neither save nor precipitate the situation; it\nwas on too large a scale. Occasionally people went mad--people who had\nsucceeded in goading their imagination to a height whence a glimpse of\nreality could be obtained; and there was a diffused atmosphere of\ntenseness. But that was all. Not many speeches were made on the subject;\nit had been found inadvisable. After all, there was nothing to do but to\nwait.\n\n\nIII\n\nMabel remembered her husband\u2019s advice to watch, and for a few days did\nher best. But there was nothing that alarmed her. The old lady was a\nlittle quiet, perhaps, but went about her minute affairs as usual. She\nasked the girl to read to her sometimes, and listened unblenching to\nwhatever was offered her; she attended in the kitchen daily, organised\nvarieties of food, and appeared interested in all that concerned her\nson. She packed his bag with her own hands, set out his furs for the\nswift flight to Paris, and waved to him from the window as he went down\nthe little path towards the junction. He would be gone three days, he\nsaid.\n\nIt was on the evening of the second day that she fell ill; and Mabel,\nrunning upstairs, in alarm at the message of the servant, found her\nrather flushed and agitated in her chair.\n\n\u201cIt is nothing, my dear,\u201d said the old lady tremulously; and she added\nthe description of a symptom or two.\n\nMabel got her to bed, sent for the doctor, and sat down to wait.\n\nShe was sincerely fond of the old lady, and had always found her\npresence in the house a quiet sort of delight. The effect of her upon\nthe mind was as that of an easy-chair upon the body. The old lady was so\ntranquil and human, so absorbed in small external matters, so\nreminiscent now and then of the days of her youth, so utterly without\nresentment or peevishness. It seemed curiously pathetic to the girl to\nwatch that quiet old spirit approach its extinction, or rather, as Mabel\nbelieved, its loss of personality in the reabsorption into the Spirit of\nLife which informed the world. She found less difficulty in\ncontemplating the end of a vigorous soul, for in that case she imagined\na kind of energetic rush of force back into the origin of things; but in\nthis peaceful old lady there was so little energy; her whole point, so\nto speak, lay in the delicate little fabric of personality, built out of\nfragile things into an entity far more significant than the sum of its\ncomponent parts: the death of a flower, reflected Mabel, is sadder than\nthe death of a lion; the breaking of a piece of china more irreparable\nthan the ruin of a palace.\n\n\u201cIt is syncope,\u201d said the doctor when he came in. \u201cShe may die at any\ntime; she may live ten years.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no need to telegraph for Mr. Brand?\u201d\n\nHe made a little deprecating movement with his hands.\n\n\u201cIt is not certain that she will die--it is not imminent?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cNo, no; she may live ten years, I said.\u201d\n\nHe added a word or two of advice as to the use of the oxygen injector,\nand went away.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe old lady was lying quietly in bed, when the girl went up, and put\nout a wrinkled hand.\n\n\u201cWell, my dear?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cIt is just a little weakness, mother. You must lie quiet and do\nnothing. Shall I read to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, my dear; I will think a little.\u201d\n\nIt was no part of Mabel\u2019s idea to duty to tell her that she was in\ndanger, for there was no past to set straight, no Judge to be\nconfronted. Death was an ending, not a beginning. It was a peaceful\nGospel; at least, it became peaceful as soon as the end had come.\n\nSo the girl went downstairs once more, with a quiet little ache at her\nheart that refused to be still.\n\nWhat a strange and beautiful thing death was, she told herself--this\nresolution of a chord that had hung suspended for thirty, fifty or\nseventy years--back again into the stillness of the huge Instrument that\nwas all in all to itself. Those same notes would be struck again, were\nbeing struck again even now all over the world, though with an infinite\ndelicacy of difference in the touch; but that particular emotion was\ngone: it was foolish to think that it was sounding eternally elsewhere,\nfor there was no elsewhere. She, too, herself would cease one day, let\nher see to it that the tone was pure and lovely.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMr. Phillips arrived the next morning as usual, just as Mabel had left\nthe old lady\u2019s room, and asked news of her.\n\n\u201cShe is a little better, I think,\u201d said Mabel. \u201cShe must be very quiet\nall day.\u201d\n\nThe secretary bowed and turned aside into Oliver\u2019s room, where a heap of\nletters lay to be answered.\n\nA couple of hours later, as Mabel went upstairs once more, she met Mr.\nPhillips coming down. He looked a little flushed under his sallow skin.\n\n\u201cMrs. Brand sent for me,\u201d he said. \u201cShe wished to know whether Mr.\nOliver would be back to-night.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe will, will he not? You have not heard?\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Brand said he would be here for a late dinner. He will reach London\nat nineteen.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is there any other news?\u201d\n\nHe compressed his lips.\n\n\u201cThere are rumours,\u201d he said. \u201cMr. Brand wired to me an hour ago.\u201d\n\nHe seemed moved at something, and Mabel looked at him in astonishment.\n\n\u201cIt is not Eastern news?\u201d she asked.\n\nHis eyebrows wrinkled a little.\n\n\u201cYou must forgive me, Mrs. Brand,\u201d he said. \u201cI am not at liberty to say\nanything.\u201d\n\nShe was not offended, for she trusted her husband too well; but she went\non into the sick-room with her heart beating.\n\nThe old lady, too, seemed excited. She lay in bed with a clear flush in\nher white cheeks, and hardly smiled at all to the girl\u2019s greeting.\n\n\u201cWell, you have seen Mr. Phillips, then?\u201d said Mabel.\n\nOld Mrs. Brand looked at her sharply an instant, but said nothing.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t excite yourself, mother. Oliver will be back to-night.\u201d\n\nThe old lady drew a long breath.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t trouble about me, my dear,\u201d she said. \u201cI shall do very well now.\nHe will be back to dinner, will he not?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf the volor is not late. Now, mother, are you ready for breakfast?\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMabel passed an afternoon of considerable agitation. It was certain that\nsomething had happened. The secretary, who breakfasted with her in the\nparlour looking on to the garden, had appeared strangely excited. He had\ntold her that he would be away the rest of the day: Mr. Oliver had given\nhim his instructions. He had refrained from all discussion of the\nEastern question, and he had given her no news of the Paris Convention;\nhe only repeated that Mr. Oliver would be back that night. Then he had\ngone of in a hurry half-an-hour later.\n\nThe old lady seemed asleep when the girl went up afterwards, and Mabel\ndid not like to disturb her. Neither did she like to leave the house; so\nshe walked by herself in the garden, thinking and hoping and fearing,\ntill the long shadow lay across the path, and the tumbled platform of\nroofs was bathed in a dusty green haze from the west.\n\nAs she came in she took up the evening paper, but there was no news\nthere except to the effect that the Convention would close that\nafternoon.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTwenty o\u2019clock came, but there was no sign of Oliver. The Paris volor\nshould have arrived an hour before, but Mabel, staring out into the\ndarkening heavens had seen the stars come out like jewels one by one,\nbut no slender winged fish pass overhead. Of course she might have\nmissed it; there was no depending on its exact course; but she had seen\nit a hundred times before, and wondered unreasonably why she had not\nseen it now. But she would not sit down to dinner, and paced up and\ndown in her white dress, turning again and again to the window,\nlistening to the soft rush of the trains, the faint hoots from the\ntrack, and the musical chords from the junction a mile away. The lights\nwere up by now, and the vast sweep of the towns looked like fairyland\nbetween the earthly light and the heavenly darkness. Why did not Oliver\ncome, or at least let her know why he did not?\n\nOnce she went upstairs, miserably anxious herself, to reassure the old\nlady, and found her again very drowsy.\n\n\u201cHe is not come,\u201d she said. \u201cI dare say he may be kept in Paris.\u201d\n\nThe old face on the pillow nodded and murmured, and Mabel went down\nagain. It was now an hour after dinner-time.\n\nOh! there were a hundred things that might have kept him. He had often\nbeen later than this: he might have missed the volor he meant to catch;\nthe Convention might have been prolonged; he might be exhausted, and\nthink it better to sleep in Paris after all, and have forgotten to wire.\nHe might even have wired to Mr. Phillips, and the secretary have\nforgotten to pass on the message.\n\nShe went at last, hopelessly, to the telephone, and looked at it. There\nit was, that round silent mouth, that little row of labelled buttons.\nShe half decided to touch them one by one, and inquire whether anything\nhad been heard of her husband: there was his club, his office in\nWhitehall, Mr. Phillips\u2019s house, Parliament-house, and the rest. But she\nhesitated, telling herself to be patient. Oliver hated interference, and\nhe would surely soon remember and relieve her anxiety.\n\nThen, even as she turned away, the bell rang sharply, and a white label\nflashed into sight.--WHITEHALL.\n\nShe pressed the corresponding button, and, her hand shaking so much that\nshe could scarcely hold the receiver to her ear, she listened.\n\n\u201cWho is there?\u201d\n\nHer heart leaped at the sound of her husband\u2019s voice, tiny and minute\nacross the miles of wire.\n\n\u201cI--Mabel,\u201d she said. \u201cAlone here.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! Mabel. Very well. I am back: all is well. Now listen. Can you\nhear?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe best has happened. It is all over in the East. Felsenburgh has done\nit. Now listen. I cannot come home to-night. It will be announced in\nPaul\u2019s House in two hours from now. We are communicating with the Press.\nCome up here to me at once. You must be present.... Can you hear?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome then at once. It will be the greatest thing in history. Tell no\none. Come before the rush begins. In half-an-hour the way will be\nstopped.\u201d\n\n\u201cOliver.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes? Quick.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother is ill. Shall I leave her?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow ill?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no immediate danger. The doctor has seen her.\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a moment.\n\n\u201cYes; come then. We will go back to-night anyhow, then. Tell her we\nshall be late.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well.\u201d\n\n\u201c... Yes, you must come. Felsenburgh will be there.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nI\n\nOn the same afternoon Percy received a visitor.\n\nThere was nothing exceptional about him; and Percy, as he came\ndownstairs in his walking-dress and looked at him in the light from the\ntall parlour-window, came to no conclusion at all as to his business and\nperson, except that he was not a Catholic.\n\n\u201cYou wished to see me,\u201d said the priest, indicating a chair.\n\n\u201cI fear I must not stop long.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall not keep you long,\u201d said the stranger eagerly. \u201cMy business is\ndone in five minutes.\u201d\n\nPercy waited with his eyes cast down.\n\n\u201cA--a certain person has sent me to you. She was a Catholic once; she\nwishes to return to the Church.\u201d\n\nPercy made a little movement with his head. It was a message he did not\nvery often receive in these days.\n\n\u201cYou will come, sir, will you not? You will promise me?\u201d\n\nThe man seemed greatly agitated; his sallow face showed a little shining\nwith sweat, and his eyes were piteous.\n\n\u201cOf course I will come,\u201d said Percy, smiling.\n\n\u201cYes, sir; but you do not know who she is. It--it would make a great\nstir, sir, if it was known. It must not be known, sir; you will promise\nme that, too?\u201d\n\n\u201cI must not make any promise of that kind,\u201d said the priest gently. \u201cI\ndo not know the circumstances yet.\u201d\n\nThe stranger licked his lips nervously.\n\n\u201cWell, sir,\u201d he said hastily, \u201cyou will say nothing till you have seen\nher? You can promise me that.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! certainly,\u201d said the priest.\n\n\u201cWell, sir, you had better not know my name. It--it may make it easier\nfor you and for me. And--and, if you please, sir, the lady is ill; you\nmust come to-day, if you please, but not until the evening. Will\ntwenty-two o\u2019clock be convenient, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is it?\u201d asked Percy abruptly.\n\n\u201cIt--it is near Croydon junction. I will write down the address\npresently. And you will not come until twenty-two o\u2019clock, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not now?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause the--the others may be there. They will be away then; I know\nthat.\u201d\n\nThis was rather suspicious, Percy thought: discreditable plots had been\nknown before. But he could not refuse outright.\n\n\u201cWhy does she not send for her parish-priest?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cShe she does not know who he is, sir; she saw you once in the\nCathedral, sir, and asked you for your name. Do you remember, sir?--an\nold lady?\u201d\n\nPercy did dimly remember something of the kind a month or two before;\nbut he could not be certain, and said so.\n\n\u201cWell, sir, you will come, will you not?\u201d\n\n\u201cI must communicate with Father Dolan,\u201d said the priest. \u201cIf he gives me\npermission---\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you please, sir, Father--Father Dolan must not know her name. You\nwill not tell him?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not know it myself yet,\u201d said the priest, smiling.\n\nThe stranger sat back abruptly at that, and his face worked.\n\n\u201cWell, sir, let me tell you this first. This old lady\u2019s son is my\nemployer, and a very prominent Communist. She lives with him and his\nwife. The other two will be away to-night. That is why I am asking you\nall this. And now, you will come, sir?\u201d\n\nPercy looked at him steadily for a moment or two. Certainly, if this was\na conspiracy, the conspirators were feeble folk. Then he answered:\n\n\u201cI will come, sir; I promise. Now the name.\u201d\n\nThe stranger again licked his lips nervously, and glanced timidly from\nside to side. Then he seemed to gather his resolution; he leaned forward\nand whispered sharply.\n\n\u201cThe old lady\u2019s name is Brand, sir--the mother of Mr. Oliver Brand.\u201d\n\nFor a moment Percy was bewildered. It was too extraordinary to be true.\nHe knew Mr. Oliver Brand\u2019s name only too well; it was he who, by God\u2019s\npermission, was doing more in England at this moment against the\nCatholic cause than any other man alive; and it was he whom the\nTrafalgar Square incident had raised into such eminent popularity. And\nnow, here was his mother---\n\nHe turned fiercely upon the man.\n\n\u201cI do not know what you are, sir--whether you believe in God or not; but\nwill you swear to me on your religion and your honour that all this is\ntrue?\u201d\n\nThe timid eyes met his, and wavered; but it was the wavering of\nweakness, not of treachery.\n\n\u201cI--I swear it, sir; by God Almighty.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you a Catholic?\u201d\n\nThe man shook his head.\n\n\u201cBut I believe in God,\u201d he said. \u201cAt least, I think so.\u201d\n\nPercy leaned back, trying to realise exactly what it all meant. There\nwas no triumph in his mind--that kind of emotion was not his weakness;\nthere was fear of a kind, excitement, bewilderment, and under all a\nsatisfaction that God\u2019s grace was so sovereign. If it could reach this\nwoman, who could be too far removed for it to take effect? Presently he\nnoticed the other looking at him anxiously.\n\n\u201cYou are afraid, sir? You are not going back from your promise?\u201d\n\nThat dispersed the cloud a little, and Percy smiled.\n\n\u201cOh! no,\u201d he said. \u201cI will be there at twenty-two o\u2019clock. ... Is death\nimminent?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir; it is syncope. She is recovered a little this morning.\u201d\n\nThe priest passed his hand over his eyes and stood up.\n\n\u201cWell, I will be there,\u201d he said. \u201cShall you be there, sir?\u201d\n\nThe other shook his head, standing up too.\n\n\u201cI must be with Mr. Brand, sir; there is to be a meeting to-night; but I\nmust not speak of that.... No, sir; ask for Mrs. Brand, and say that she\nis expecting you. They will take you upstairs at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must not say I am a priest, I suppose?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir; if you please.\u201d\n\nHe drew out a pocket-book, scribbled in it a moment, tore out the sheet,\nand handed it to the priest.\n\n\u201cThe address, sir. Will you kindly destroy that when you have copied it?\nI--I do not wish to lose my place, sir, if it can be helped.\u201d\n\nPercy stood twisting the paper in his fingers a moment.\n\n\u201cWhy are you not a Catholic yourself?\u201d he asked.\n\nThe man shook his head mutely. Then he took up his hat, and went towards\nthe door.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPercy passed a very emotional afternoon.\n\nFor the last month or two little had happened to encourage him. He had\nbeen obliged to report half-a-dozen more significant secessions, and\nhardly a conversion of any kind. There was no doubt at all that the tide\nwas setting steadily against the Church. The mad act in Trafalgar\nSquare, too, had done incalculable harm last week: men were saying more\nthan ever, and the papers storming, that the Church\u2019s reliance on the\nsupernatural was belied by every one of her public acts. \u201cScratch a\nCatholic and find an assassin\u201d had been the text of a leading article in\nthe _New People_, and Percy himself was dismayed at the folly of the\nattempt. It was true that the Archbishop had formally repudiated both\nthe act and the motive from the Cathedral pulpit, but that too had only\nserved as an opportunity hastily taken up by the principal papers, to\nrecall the continual policy of the Church to avail herself of violence\nwhile she repudiated the violent. The horrible death of the man had in\nno way appeased popular indignation; there were not even wanting\nsuggestions that the man had been seen coming out of Archbishop\u2019s House\nan hour before the attempt at assassination had taken place.\n\nAnd now here, with dramatic swiftness, had come a message that the\nhero\u2019s own mother desired reconciliation with the Church that had\nattempted to murder her son.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAgain and again that afternoon, as Percy sped northwards on his visit to\na priest in Worcester, and southwards once more as the lights began to\nshine towards evening, he wondered whether this were not a plot after\nall--some kind of retaliation, an attempt to trap him. Yet he had\npromised to say nothing, and to go.\n\nHe finished his daily letter after dinner as usual, with a curious sense\nof fatality; addressed and stamped it. Then he went downstairs, in his\nwalking-dress, to Father Blackmore\u2019s room.\n\n\u201cWill you hear my confession, father?\u201d he said abruptly.\n\n\nII\n\nVictoria Station, still named after the great nineteenth-century Queen,\nwas neither more nor less busy than usual as he came into it\nhalf-an-hour later. The vast platform, sunk now nearly two hundred feet\nbelow the ground level, showed the double crowd of passengers entering\nand leaving town. Those on the extreme left, towards whom Percy began to\ndescend in the open glazed lift, were by far the most numerous, and the\nstream at the lift-entrance made it necessary for him to move slowly.\n\nHe arrived at last, walking in the soft light on the noiseless ribbed\nrubber, and stood by the door of the long car that ran straight through\nto the Junction. It was the last of a series of a dozen or more, each of\nwhich slid off minute by minute. Then, still watching the endless\nmovement of the lifts ascending and descending between the entrances of\nthe upper end of the station, he stepped in and sat down.\n\nHe felt quiet now that he had actually started. He had made his\nconfession, just in order to make certain of his own soul, though\nscarcely expecting any definite danger, and sat now, his grey suit and\nstraw hat in no way distinguishing him as a priest (for a general leave\nwas given by the authorities to dress so for any adequate reason). Since\nthe case was not imminent, he had not brought stocks or pyx--Father\nDolan had wired to him that he might fetch them if he wished from St.\nJoseph\u2019s, near the Junction. He had only the violet thread in his\npocket, such as was customary for sick calls.\n\nHe was sliding along peaceably enough, fixing his eyes on the empty seat\nopposite, and trying to preserve complete collectedness when the car\nabruptly stopped. He looked out, astonished, and saw by the white\nenamelled walks twenty feet from the window that they were already in\nthe tunnel. The stoppage might arise from many causes, and he was not\ngreatly excited, nor did it seem that others in the carriage took it\nvery seriously; he could hear, after a moment\u2019s silence, the talking\nrecommence beyond the partition.\n\nThen there came, echoed by the walls, the sound of shouting from far\naway, mingled with hoots and chords; it grew louder. The talking in the\ncarriage stopped. He heard a window thrown up, and the next instant a\ncar tore past, going back to the station although on the down line. This\nmust be looked into, thought Percy: something certainly was happening;\nso he got up and went across the empty compartment to the further\nwindow. Again came the crying of voices, again the signals, and once\nmore a car whirled past, followed almost immediately by another. There\nwas a jerk--a smooth movement. Percy staggered and fell into a seat, as\nthe carriage in which he was seated itself began to move backwards.\n\nThere was a clamour now in the next compartment, and Percy made his way\nthere through the door, only to find half-a-dozen men with their heads\nthrust from the windows, who paid absolutely no attention to his\ninquiries. So he stood there, aware that they knew no more than himself,\nwaiting for an explanation from some one. It was disgraceful, he told\nhimself, that any misadventure should so disorganise the line.\n\nTwice the car stopped; each time it moved on again after a hoot or two,\nand at last drew up at the platform whence it had started, although a\nhundred yards further out.\n\nAh! there was no doubt that something had happened! The instant he\nopened the door a great roar met his ears, and as he sprang on to the\nplatform and looked up at the end of the station, he began to\nunderstand.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom right to left of the huge interior, across the platforms, swelling\nevery instant, surged an enormous swaying, roaring crowd. The flight of\nsteps, twenty yards broad, used only in cases of emergency, resembled a\ngigantic black cataract nearly two hundred feet in height. Each car as\nit drew up discharged more and more men and women, who ran like ants\ntowards the assembly of their fellows. The noise was indescribable, the\nshouting of men, the screaming of women, the clang and hoot of the huge\nmachines, and three or four times the brazen cry of a trumpet, as an\nemergency door was flung open overhead, and a small swirl of crowd\npoured through it towards the streets beyond. But after one look Percy\nlooked no more at the people; for there, high up beneath the clock, on\nthe Government signal board, flared out monstrous letters of fire,\ntelling in Esperanto and English, the message for which England had\ngrown sick. He read it a dozen times before he moved, staring, as at a\nsupernatural sight which might denote the triumph of either heaven or\nhell.\n\n\u201cEASTERN CONVENTION DISPERSED.\n\nPEACE, NOT WAR.\n\nUNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD ESTABLISHED.\n\nFELSENBURGH IN LONDON TO-NIGHT.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nIII\n\nIt was not until nearly two hours later that Percy was standing at the\nhouse beyond the Junction.\n\nHe had argued, expostulated, threatened, but the officials were like\nmen possessed. Half of them had disappeared in the rush to the City, for\nit had leaked out, in spite of the Government\u2019s precautions, that Paul\u2019s\nHouse, known once as St. Paul\u2019s Cathedral, was to be the scene of\nFelsenburgh\u2019s reception. The others seemed demented; one man on the\nplatform had dropped dead from nervous exhaustion, but no one appeared\nto care; and the body lay huddled beneath a seat. Again and again Percy\nhad been swept away by a rush, as he struggled from platform to platform\nin his search for a car that would take him to Croydon. It seemed that\nthere was none to be had, and the useless carriages collected like\ndrift-wood between the platforms, as others whirled up from the country\nbringing loads of frantic, delirious men, who vanished like smoke from\nthe white rubber-boards. The platforms were continually crowded, and as\ncontinually emptied, and it was not until half-an-hour before midnight\nthat the block began to move outwards again.\n\nWell, he was here at last, dishevelled, hatless and exhausted, looking\nup at the dark windows.\n\nHe scarcely knew what he thought of the whole matter. War, of course,\nwas terrible. And such a war as this would have been too terrible for\nthe imagination to visualise; but to the priest\u2019s mind there were other\nthings even worse. What of universal peace--peace, that is to say,\nestablished by others than Christ\u2019s method? Or was God behind even this?\nThe questions were hopeless.\n\nFelsenburgh--it was he then who had done this thing--this thing\nundoubtedly greater than any secular event hitherto known in\ncivilisation. What manner of man was he? What was his character, his\nmotive, his method? How would he use his success?... So the points flew\nbefore him like a stream of sparks, each, it might be, harmless; each,\nequally, capable of setting a world on fire. Meanwhile here was an old\nwoman who desired to be reconciled with God before she died....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe touched the button again, three or four times, and waited. Then a\nlight sprang out overhead, and he knew that he was heard.\n\n\u201cI was sent for,\u201d he exclaimed to the bewildered maid. \u201cI should have\nbeen here at twenty-two: I was prevented by the rush.\u201d\n\nShe babbled out a question at him.\n\n\u201cYes, it is true, I believe,\u201d he said. \u201cIt is peace, not war. Kindly\ntake me upstairs.\u201d\n\nHe went through the hall with a curious sense of guilt. This was Brand\u2019s\nhouse then--that vivid orator, so bitterly eloquent against God; and\nhere was he, a priest, slinking in under cover of night. Well, well, it\nwas not of his appointment.\n\nAt the door of an upstairs room the maid turned to him.\n\n\u201cA doctor, sir?\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cThat is my affair,\u201d said Percy briefly, and opened the door.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA little wailing cry broke from the corner, before he had time to close\nthe door again.\n\n\u201cOh! thank God! I thought He had forgotten me. You are a priest,\nfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am a priest. Do you not remember seeing me in the Cathedral?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes, sir; I saw you praying, father. Oh! thank God, thank God!\u201d\n\nPercy stood looking down at her a moment, seeing her flushed old face in\nthe nightcap, her bright sunken eyes and her tremulous hands. Yes; this\nwas genuine enough.\n\n\u201cNow, my child,\u201d he said, \u201ctell me.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy confession, father.\u201d\n\nPercy drew out the purple thread, slipped it over his shoulders, and sat\ndown by the bed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut she would not let him go for a while after that.\n\n\u201cTell me, father. When will you bring me Holy Communion?\u201d\n\nHe hesitated.\n\n\u201cI understand that Mr. Brand and his wife know nothing of all this?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, father.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me, are you very ill?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, father. They will not tell me. I thought I was gone last\nnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen would you wish me to bring you Holy Communion? I will do as you\nsay.\u201d\n\n\u201cShall I send to you in a day or two? Father, ought I to tell him?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not obliged.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will if I ought.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, think about it, and let me know.... You have heard what has\nhappened?\u201d\n\nShe nodded, but almost uninterestedly; and Percy was conscious of a tiny\nprick of compunction at his own heart. After all, the reconciling of a\nsoul to God was a greater thing than the reconciling of East to West.\n\n\u201cIt may make a difference to Mr. Brand,\u201d he said. \u201cHe will be a great\nman, now, you know.\u201d\n\nShe still looked at him in silence, smiling a little. Percy was\nastonished at the youthfulness of that old face. Then her face changed.\n\n\u201cFather, I must not keep you; but tell me this--Who is this man?\u201d\n\n\u201cFelsenburgh?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo one knows. We shall know more to-morrow. He is in town to-night.\u201d\n\nShe looked so strange that Percy for an instant thought it was a\nseizure. Her face seemed to fall away in a kind of emotion, half\ncunning, half fear.\n\n\u201cWell, my child?\u201d\n\n\u201cFather, I am a little afraid when I think of that man. He cannot harm\nme, can he? I am safe now? I am a Catholic--?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy child, of course you are safe. What is the matter? How can this man\ninjure you?\u201d\n\nBut the look of terror was still there, and Percy came a step nearer.\n\n\u201cYou must not give way to fancies,\u201d he said. \u201cJust commit yourself to\nour Blessed Lord. This man can do you no harm.\u201d\n\nHe was speaking now as to a child; but it was of no use. Her old mouth\nwas still sucked in, and her eyes wandered past him into the gloom of\nthe room behind.\n\n\u201cMy child, tell me what is the matter. What do you know of Felsenburgh?\nYou have been dreaming.\u201d\n\nShe nodded suddenly and energetically, and Percy for the first time felt\nhis heart give a little leap of apprehension. Was this old woman out of\nher mind, then? Or why was it that that name seemed to him sinister?\nThen he remembered that Father Blackmore had once talked like this. He\nmade an effort, and sat down once more.\n\n\u201cNow tell me plainly,\u201d he said. \u201cYou have been dreaming. What have you\ndreamt?\u201d\n\nShe raised herself a little in bed, again glancing round the room; then\nshe put out her old ringed hand for one of his, and he gave it,\nwondering.\n\n\u201cThe door is shut, father? There is no one listening?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, my child. Why are you trembling? You must not be\nsuperstitious.\u201d\n\n\u201cFather, I will tell you. Dreams are nonsense, are they not? Well, at\nleast, this is what I dreamt.\n\n\u201cI was somewhere in a great house; I do not know where it was. It was a\nhouse I have never seen. It was one of the old houses, and it was very\ndark. I was a child, I thought, and I was ... I was afraid of something.\nThe passages were all dark, and I went crying in the dark, looking for a\nlight, and there was none. Then I heard a voice talking, a great way\noff. Father---\u201d\n\nHer hand gripped his more tightly, and again her eyes went round the\nroom.\n\nWith great difficulty Percy repressed a sigh. Yet he dared not leave her\njust now. The house was very still; only from outside now and again\nsounded the clang of the cars, as they sped countrywards again from the\ncongested town, and once the sound of great shouting. He wondered what\ntime it was.\n\n\u201cHad you better tell me now?\u201d he asked, still talking with a patient\nsimplicity. \u201cWhat time will they be back?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot yet,\u201d she whispered. \u201cMabel said not till two o\u2019clock. What time\nis it now, father?\u201d\n\nHe pulled out his watch with his disengaged hand.\n\n\u201cIt is not yet one,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cVery well, listen, father.... I was in this house; and I heard that\ntalking; and I ran along the passages, till I saw light below a door;\nand then I stopped.... Nearer, father.\u201d\n\nPercy was a little awed in spite of himself. Her voice had suddenly\ndropped to a whisper, and her old eyes seemed to hold him strangely.\n\n\u201cI stopped, father; I dared not go in. I could hear the talking, and I\ncould see the light; and I dared not go in. Father, it was Felsenburgh\nin that room.\u201d\n\nFrom beneath came the sudden snap of a door; then the sound of\nfootsteps. Percy turned his head abruptly, and at the same moment heard\na swift indrawn breath from the old woman.\n\n\u201cHush!\u201d he said. \u201cWho is that?\u201d\n\nTwo voices were talking in the hall below now, and at the sound the old\nwoman relaxed her hold.\n\n\u201cI--I thought it to be him,\u201d she murmured.\n\nPercy stood up; he could see that she did not understand the situation.\n\n\u201cYes, my child,\u201d he said quietly, \u201cbut who is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy son and his wife,\u201d she said; then her face changed once more.\n\u201cWhy--why, father---\u201d\n\nHer voice died in her throat, as a step vibrated outside. For a moment\nthere was complete silence; then a whisper, plainly audible, in a girl\u2019s\nvoice.\n\n\u201cWhy, her light is burning. Come in, Oliver, but softly.\u201d\n\nThen the handle turned.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nI\n\nThere was an exclamation, then silence, as a tall, beautiful girl with\nflushed face and shining grey eyes came forward and stopped, followed by\na man whom Percy knew at once from his pictures. A little whimpering\nsounded from the bed, and the priest lifted his hand instinctively to\nsilence it.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said Mabel; and then stared at the man with the young face and\nthe white hair.\n\nOliver opened his lips and closed them again. He, too, had a strange\nexcitement in his face. Then he spoke.\n\n\u201cWho is this?\u201d he said deliberately.\n\n\u201cOliver,\u201d cried the girl, turning to him abruptly, \u201cthis is the priest I\nsaw---\u201d\n\n\u201cA priest!\u201d said the other, and came forward a step. \u201cWhy, I thought---\u201d\n\n\nPercy drew a breath to steady that maddening vibration in his throat.\n\n\u201cYes, I am a priest,\u201d he said.\n\nAgain the whimpering broke out from the bed; and Percy, half turning\nagain to silence it, saw the girl mechanically loosen the clasp of the\nthin dust cloak over her white dress.\n\n\u201cYou sent for him, mother?\u201d snapped the man, with a tremble in his\nvoice, and with a sudden jerk forward of his whole body. But the girl\nput out her hand.\n\n\u201cQuietly, my dear,\u201d she said. \u201cNow, sir---\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I am a priest,\u201d said Percy again, strung up now to a desperate\nresistance of will, hardly knowing what he said.\n\n\u201cAnd you come to my house!\u201d exclaimed the man. He came a step nearer,\nand half recoiled. \u201cYou swear you are a priest?\u201d he said. \u201cYou have been\nhere all this evening?\u201d\n\n\u201cSince midnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you are not---\u201d he stopped again.\n\nMabel stepped straight between them.\n\n\u201cOliver,\u201d she said, still with that air of suppressed excitement, \u201cwe\nmust not have a scene here. The poor dear is too ill. Will you come\ndownstairs, sir?\u201d\n\nPercy took a step towards the door, and Oliver moved slightly aside.\nThen the priest stopped, turned and lifted his hand.\n\n\u201cGod bless you!\u201d he said simply, to the muttering figure in the bed.\nThen he went out, and waited outside the door.\n\nHe could hear a low talking within; then a compassionate murmur from the\ngirl\u2019s voice; then Oliver was beside him, trembling all over, as white\nas ashes, and made a silent gesture as he went past him down the stairs.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe whole thing seemed to Percy like some incredible dream; it was all\nso unexpected, so untrue to life. He felt conscious of an enormous shame\nat the sordidness of the affair, and at the same time of a kind of\nhopeless recklessness. The worst had happened and the best--that was his\nsole comfort.\n\nOliver pushed a door open, touched a button, and went through into the\nsuddenly lit room, followed by Percy. Still in silence, he pointed to a\nchair, Percy sat down, and Oliver stood before the fireplace, his hands\ndeep in the pockets of his jacket, slightly turned away.\n\nPercy\u2019s concentrated senses became aware of every detail of the\nroom--the deep springy green carpet, smooth under his feet, the straight\nhanging thin silk curtains, the half-dozen low tables with a wealth of\nflowers upon them, and the books that lined the walls. The whole room\nwas heavy with the scent of roses, although the windows were wide, and\nthe night-breeze stirred the curtains continually. It was a woman\u2019s\nroom, he told himself. Then he looked at the man\u2019s figure, lithe, tense,\nupright; the dark grey suit not unlike his own, the beautiful curve of\nthe jaw, the clear pale complexion, the thin nose, the protruding curve\nof idealism over the eyes, and the dark hair. It was a poet\u2019s face, he\ntold himself, and the whole personality was a living and vivid one. Then\nhe turned a little and rose as the door opened, and Mabel came in,\nclosing it behind her.\n\nShe came straight across to her husband, and put a hand on his shoulder.\n\n\u201cSit down, my dear,\u201d she said. \u201cWe must talk a little. Please sit down,\nsir.\u201d\n\nThe three sat down, Percy on one side, and the husband and wife on a\nstraight-backed settle opposite.\n\nThe girl began again.\n\n\u201cThis must be arranged at once,\u201d she said, \u201cbut we must have no tragedy.\nOliver, do you understand? You must not make a scene. Leave this to me.\u201d\n\nShe spoke with a curious gaiety; and Percy to his astonishment saw that\nshe was quite sincere: there was not the hint of cynicism.\n\n\u201cOliver, my dear,\u201d she said again, \u201cdon\u2019t mouth like that! It is all\nperfectly right. I am going to manage this.\u201d\n\nPercy saw a venomous look directed at him by the man; the girl saw it\ntoo, moving her strong humorous eyes from one to the other. She put her\nhand on his knee.\n\n\u201cOliver, attend! Don\u2019t look at this gentleman so bitterly. He has done\nno harm.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo harm!\u201d whispered the other.\n\n\u201cNo--no harm in the world. What does it matter what that poor dear\nupstairs thinks? Now, sir, would you mind telling us why you came here?\u201d\n\nPercy drew another breath. He had not expected this line.\n\n\u201cI came here to receive Mrs. Brand back into the Church,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cAnd you have done so?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have done so.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you mind telling us your name? It makes it so much more\nconvenient.\u201d\n\nPercy hesitated. Then he determined to meet her on her own ground.\n\n\u201cCertainly. My name is Franklin.\u201d\n\n\u201cFather Franklin?\u201d asked the girl, with just the faintest tinge of\nmocking emphasis on the first word.\n\n\u201cYes. Father Percy Franklin, from Archbishop\u2019s House, Westminster,\u201d said\nthe priest steadily.\n\n\u201cWell, then, Father Percy Franklin; can you tell us why you came here? I\nmean, who sent for you?\u201d\n\n\u201cMrs. Brand sent for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but by what means?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat I must not say.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, very good.... May we know what good comes of being \u2018received into\nthe Church?\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cBy being received into the Church, the soul is reconciled to God.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! (Oliver, be quiet.) And how do you do it, Father Franklin?\u201d\n\nPercy stood up abruptly.\n\n\u201cThis is no good, madam,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat is the use of these questions?\u201d\n\nThe girl looked at him in open-eyed astonishment, still with her hand on\nher husband\u2019s knee.\n\n\u201cThe use, Father Franklin! Why, we want to know. There is no church law\nagainst your telling us, is there?\u201d\n\nPercy hesitated again. He did not understand in the least what she was\nafter. Then he saw that he would give them an advantage if he lost his\nhead at all: so he sat down again.\n\n\u201cCertainly not. I will tell you if you wish to know. I heard Mrs.\nBrand\u2019s confession, and gave her absolution.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes; and that does it, then? And what next?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe ought to receive Holy Communion, and anointing, if she is in danger\nof death.\u201d\n\nOliver twitched suddenly.\n\n\u201cChrist!\u201d he said softly.\n\n\u201cOliver!\u201d cried the girl entreatingly. \u201cPlease leave this to me. It is\nmuch better so.--And then, I suppose, Father Franklin, you want to give\nthose other things to my mother, too?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are not absolutely necessary,\u201d said the priest, feeling, he did\nnot know why, that he was somehow playing a losing game.\n\n\u201cOh! they are not necessary? But you would like to?\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall do so if possible. But I have done what is necessary.\u201d\n\nIt required all his will to keep quiet. He was as a man who had armed\nhimself in steel, only to find that his enemy was in the form of a\nsubtle vapour. He simply had not an idea what to do next. He would have\ngiven anything for the man to have risen and flown at his throat, for\nthis girl was too much for them both.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said softly. \u201cWell, it is hardly to be expected that my\nhusband should give you leave to come here again. But I am very glad\nthat you have done what you think necessary. No doubt it will be a\nsatisfaction to you, Father Franklin, and to the poor old thing\nupstairs, too. While we--- _we_--\u201d she pressed her husband\u2019s knee--\u201cwe\ndo not mind at all. Oh!--but there is one thing more.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you please,\u201d said Percy, wondering what on earth was coming.\n\n\u201cYou Christians--forgive me if I say anything rude--but, you know, you\nChristians have a reputation for counting heads, and making the most of\nconverts. We shall be so much obliged, Father Franklin, if you will\ngive us your word not to advertise this--this incident. It would\ndistress my husband, and give him a great deal of trouble.\u201d\n\n\u201cMrs. Brand---\u201d began the priest.\n\n\u201cOne moment.... You see, we have not treated you badly. There has been\nno violence. We will promise not to make scenes with my mother. Will you\npromise us that?\u201d\n\nPercy had had time to consider, and he answered instantly.\n\n\u201cCertainly, I will promise that.\u201d\n\nMabel sighed contentedly.\n\n\u201cWell, that is all right. We are so much obliged.... And I think we may\nsay this, that perhaps after consideration my husband may see his way to\nletting you come here again to do Communion and--and the other thing---\u201d\n\nAgain that spasm shook the man beside her.\n\n\u201cWell, we will see about that. At any rate, we know your address, and\ncan let you know.... By the way, Father Franklin, are you going back to\nWestminster to-night?\u201d\n\nHe bowed.\n\n\u201cAh! I hope you will get through. You will find London very much\nexcited. Perhaps you heard---\u201d\n\n\u201cFelsenburgh?\u201d said Percy.\n\n\u201cYes. Julian Felsenburgh,\u201d said the girl softly, again with that strange\nexcitement suddenly alight in her eyes. \u201cJulian Felsenburgh,\u201d she\nrepeated. \u201cHe is there, you know. He will stay in England for the\npresent.\u201d\n\nAgain Percy was conscious of that slight touch of fear at the mention of\nthat name.\n\n\u201cI understand there is to be peace,\u201d he said.\n\nThe girl rose and her husband with her.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said, almost compassionately, \u201cthere is to be peace. Peace at\nlast.\u201d (She moved half a step towards him, and her face glowed like a\nrose of fire. Her hand rose a little.) \u201cGo back to London, Father\nFranklin, and use your eyes. You will see him, I dare say, and you will\nsee more besides.\u201d (Her voice began to vibrate.) \u201cAnd you will\nunderstand, perhaps, why we have treated you like this--why we are no\nlonger afraid of you--why we are willing that my mother should do as\nshe pleases. Oh! you will understand, Father Franklin if not to-night,\nto-morrow; or if not to-morrow, at least in a very short time.\u201d\n\n\u201cMabel!\u201d cried her husband.\n\nThe girl wheeled, and threw her arms round him, and kissed him on the\nmouth.\n\n\u201cOh! I am not ashamed, Oliver, my dear. Let him go and see for himself.\nGood-night, Father Franklin.\u201d\n\nAs he went towards the door, hearing the ping of the bell that some one\ntouched in the room behind him, he turned once more, dazed and\nbewildered; and there were the two, husband and wife, standing in the\nsoft, sunny light, as if transfigured. The girl had her arm round the\nman\u2019s shoulder, and stood upright and radiant as a pillar of fire; and\neven on the man\u2019s face there was no anger now--nothing but an almost\nsupernatural pride and confidence. They were both smiling.\n\nThen Percy passed out into the soft, summer night.\n\n\nII\n\nPercy understood nothing except that he was afraid, as he sat in the\ncrowded car that whirled him up to London. He scarcely even heard the\ntalk round him, although it was loud and continuous; and what he heard\nmeant little to him. He understood only that there had been strange\nscenes, that London was said to have gone suddenly mad, that Felsenburgh\nhad spoken that night in Paul\u2019s House.\n\nHe was afraid at the way in which he had been treated, and he asked\nhimself dully again and again what it was that had inspired that\ntreatment; it seemed that he had been in the presence of the\nsupernatural; he was conscious of shivering a little, and of the\nsymptoms of an intolerable sleepiness. It was scarcely strange to him\nthat he should be sitting in a crowded car at two o\u2019clock of a summer\ndawn.\n\nThrice the car stopped, and he stared out at the signs of confusion that\nwere everywhere; at the figures that ran in the twilight between the\ntracks, at a couple of wrecked carriages, a tumble of tarpaulins; he\nlistened mechanically to the hoots and cries that sounded everywhere.\n\nAs he stepped out at last on to the platform, he found it very much as\nhe had left it two hours before. There was the same desperate rush as\nthe car discharged its load, the same dead body beneath the seat; and\nabove all, as he ran helplessly behind the crowd, scarcely knowing\nwhither he ran or why, above him burned the same stupendous message\nbeneath the clock. Then he found himself in the lift, and a minute later\nhe was out on the steps behind the station.\n\nThere, too, was an astonishing sight. The lamps still burned overhead,\nbut beyond them lay the first pale streaks of the false dawn. The street\nthat ran now straight to the old royal palace, uniting there, as at the\ncentre of a web, with those that came from Westminster, the Mall and\nHyde Park, was one solid pavement of heads. On this side and that rose\nup the hotels and \u201cHouses of Joy,\u201d the windows all ablaze with light,\nsolemn and triumphant as if to welcome a king; while far ahead against\nthe sky stood the monstrous palace outlined in fire, and alight from\nwithin like all other houses within view. The noise was bewildering. It\nwas impossible to distinguish one sound from another. Voices, horns,\ndrums, the tramp of a thousand footsteps on the rubber pavements, the\nsombre roll of wheels from the station behind--all united in one\noverwhelmingly solemn booming, overscored by shriller notes.\n\nIt was impossible to move.\n\nHe found himself standing in a position of extraordinary advantage, at\nthe very top of the broad flight of steps that led down into the old\nstation yard, now a wide space that united, on the left the broad road\nto the palace, and on the right Victoria Street, that showed like all\nelse one vivid perspective of lights and heads. Against the sky on his\nright rose up the illuminated head of the Cathedral Campanile. It\nappeared to him as if he had known that in some previous existence.\n\nHe edged himself mechanically a foot or two to his left, till he clasped\na pillar; then he waited, trying not to analyse his emotions, but to\nabsorb them.\n\nGradually he became aware that this crowd was as no other that he had\never seen. To his psychical sense it seemed to him that it possessed a\nunity unlike any other. There was magnetism in the air. There was a\nsensation as if a creative act were in process, whereby thousands of\nindividual cells were being welded more and more perfectly every instant\ninto one huge sentient being with one will, one emotion, and one head.\nThe crying of voices seemed significant only as the stirrings of this\ncreative power which so expressed itself. Here rested this giant\nhumanity, stretching to his sight in living limbs so far as he could see\non every side, waiting, waiting for some consummation--stretching, too,\nas his tired brain began to guess, down every thoroughfare of the vast\ncity.\n\nHe did not even ask himself for what they waited. He knew, yet he did\nnot know. He knew it was for a revelation--for something that should\ncrown their aspirations, and fix them so for ever.\n\nHe had a sense that he had seen all this before; and, like a child, he\nbegan to ask himself where it could have happened, until he remembered\nthat it was so that he had once dreamt of the Judgment Day--of humanity\ngathered to meet Jesus Christ--Jesus Christ! Ah! how tiny that Figure\nseemed to him now--how far away--real indeed, but insignificant to\nhimself--how hopelessly apart from this tremendous life! He glanced up\nat the Campanile. Yes; there was a piece of the True Cross there, was\nthere not?--a little piece of the wood on which a Poor Man had died\ntwenty centuries ago.... Well, well. It was a long way off....\n\nHe did not quite understand what was happening to him. \u201cSweet Jesus, be\nto me not a Judge but a Saviour,\u201d he whispered beneath his breath,\ngripping the granite of the pillar; and a moment later knew how futile\nwas that prayer. It was gone like a breath in this vast, vivid\natmosphere of man. He had said mass, had he not? this morning--in white\nvestments.--Yes; he had believed it all then--desperately, but truly;\nand now....\n\nTo look into the future was as useless as to look into the past. There\nwas no future, and no past: it was all one eternal instant, present and\nfinal....\n\nThen he let go of effort, and again began to see with his bodily eyes.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe dawn was coming up the sky now, a steady soft brightening that\nappeared in spite of its sovereignty to be as nothing compared with the\nbrilliant light of the streets. \u201cWe need no sun,\u201d he whispered, smiling\npiteously; \u201cno sun or light of a candle. We have our light on earth--the\nlight that lighteneth every man....\u201d\n\nThe Campanile seemed further away than ever now, in that ghostly glimmer\nof dawn--more and more helpless every moment, compared with the\nbeautiful vivid shining of the streets.\n\nThen he listened to the sounds, and it seemed to him as if somewhere,\nfar down eastwards, there was a silence beginning. He jerked his head\nimpatiently, as a man behind him began to talk rapidly and confusedly.\nWhy would he not be silent, and let silence be heard?... The man stopped\npresently, and out of the distance there swelled up a roar, as soft as\nthe roll of a summer tide; it passed up towards him from the right; it\nwas about him, dinning in his ears. There was no longer any individual\nvoice: it was the breathing of the giant that had been born; he was\ncrying out too; he did not know what he said, but he could not be\nsilent. His veins and nerves seemed alight with wine; and as he stared\ndown the long street, hearing the huge cry ebb from him and move toward\nthe palace, he knew why he had cried, and why he was now silent.\n\nA slender, fish-shaped thing, as white as milk, as ghostly as a shadow,\nand as beautiful as the dawn, slid into sight half-a-mile away, turned\nand came towards him, floating, as it seemed, on the very wave of\nsilence that it created, up, up the long curving street on outstretched\nwings, not twenty feet above the heads of the crowd. There was one great\nsigh, and then silence once more.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Percy could think consciously again--for his will was only capable\nof efforts as a clock of ticks--the strange white thing was nearer. He\ntold himself that he had seen a hundred such before; and at the same\ninstant that this was different from all others.\n\nThen it was nearer still, floating slowly, slowly, like a gull over the\nsea; he could make out its smooth nose, its low parapet beyond, the\nsteersman\u2019s head motionless; he could even hear now the soft winnowing\nof the screw--and then he saw that for which he had waited.\n\nHigh on the central deck there stood a chair, draped, too, in white,\nwith some insignia visible above its back; and in the chair sat the\nfigure of a man, motionless and lonely. He made no sign as he came; his\ndark dress showed vividedly against the whiteness; his head was raised,\nand he turned it gently now and again from side to side.\n\nIt came nearer still, in the profound stillness; the head turned, and\nfor an instant the face was plainly visible in the soft, radiant light.\n\nIt was a pale face, strongly marked, as of a young man, with arched,\nblack eyebrows, thin lips, and white hair.\n\nThen the face turned once more, the steersman shifted his head, and the\nbeautiful shape, wheeling a little, passed the corner, and moved up\ntowards the palace.\n\nThere was an hysterical yelp somewhere, a cry, and again the tempestuous\ngroan broke out.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II-THE ENCOUNTER\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nI\n\nOliver Brand was seated at his desk, on the evening of the next day,\nreading the leading article of the _New People_, evening edition.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\u201cWe have had time,\u201d he read, \u201cto recover ourselves a little from the\nintoxication of last night. Before embarking on prophecy, it will be as\nwell to recall the facts. Up to yesterday evening our anxiety with\nregard to the Eastern crisis continued; and when twenty-one o\u2019clock\nstruck there were not more than forty persons in London--the English\ndelegates, that is to say--who knew positively that the danger was over.\nBetween that moment and half-an-hour later the Government took a few\ndiscreet steps: a select number of persons were informed; the police\nwere called out, with half-a-dozen regiments, to preserve order; Paul\u2019s\nHouse was cleared; the railroad companies were warned; and at the half\nhour precisely the announcement was made by means of the electric\nplacards in every quarter of London, as well as in all large provincial\ntowns. We have not space now to adequately describe the admirable manner\nin which the public authorities did their duty; it is enough to say that\nnot more than seventy fatalities took place in the whole of London; nor\nis it our business to criticise the action of the Government, in\nchoosing this mode of making the announcement.\n\n\u201cBy twenty-two o\u2019clock Paul\u2019s House was filled in every corner, the Old\nChoir was reserved for members of Parliament and public officials, the\nquarter-dome galleries were filled with ladies, and to the rest of the\nfloor the public was freely admitted. The volor-police also inform us\nnow that for about the distance of one mile in every direction round\nthis centre every thoroughfare was blocked with pedestrians, and, two\nhours later, as we all know, practically all the main streets of the\nwhole of London were in the same condition.\n\n\u201cIt was an excellent choice by which Mr. OLIVER BRAND was selected as\nthe first speaker. His arm was still in bandages; and the appeal of his\nfigure as well as his passionate words struck the first explicit note of\nthe evening. A report of his words will be found in another column. In\ntheir turns, the PRIME MINISTER, Mr. SNOWFORD, the FIRST MINISTER OF THE\nADMIRALTY, THE SECRETARY FOR EASTERN AFFAIRS, and LORD PEMBERTON, all\nspoke a few words, corroborating the extraordinary news. At a quarter\nbefore twenty-three, the noise of cheering outside announced the arrival\nof the American delegates from Paris, and one by one these ascended the\nplatform by the south gates of the Old Choir. Each spoke in turn. It is\nimpossible to appreciate words spoken at such a moment as this; but\nperhaps it is not invidious to name Mr. MARKHAM as the orator who above\nall others appealed to those who were privileged to hear him. It was he,\ntoo, who told us explicitly what others had merely mentioned, to the\neffect that the success of the American efforts was entirely due to Mr.\nJULIAN FELSENBURGH. As yet Mr. FELSENBURGH had not arrived; but in\nanswer to a roar of inquiry, Mr. MARKHAM announced that this gentleman\nwould be amongst them in a few minutes. He then proceeded to describe to\nus, so far as was possible in a few sentences, the methods by which Mr.\nFELSENBURGH had accomplished what is probably the most astonishing task\nknown to history. It seems from his words that Mr. FELSENBURGH (whose\nbiography, so far as it is known, we give in another column) is probably\nthe greatest orator that the world has ever known--we use these words\ndeliberately. All languages seem the same to him; he delivered speeches\nduring the eight months through which the Eastern Convention lasted, in\nno less than fifteen tongues. Of his manner in speaking we shall have a\nfew remarks to make presently. He showed also, Mr. MARKHAM told us, the\nmost astonishing knowledge, not only of human nature, but of every trait\nunder which that divine thing manifests itself. He appeared acquainted\nwith the history, the prejudices, the fears, the hopes, the expectations\nof all the innumerable sects and castes of the East to whom it was his\nbusiness to speak. In fact, as Mr. MARKHAM said, he is probably the\nfirst perfect product of that new cosmopolitan creation to which the\nworld has laboured throughout its history. In no less than nine\nplaces--Damascus, Irkutsk, Constantinople, Calcutta, Benares, Nanking,\namong them--he was hailed as Messiah by a Mohammedan mob. Finally, in\nAmerica, where this extraordinary figure has arisen, all speak well of\nhim. He has been guilty of none of those crimes--there is not one that\nconvicts him of sin--those crimes of the Yellow Press, of corruption, of\ncommercial or political bullying which have so stained the past of all\nthose old politicians who made the sister continent what she has become.\nMr. FELSENBURGH has not even formed a party. He, and not his underlings,\nhave conquered. Those who were present in Paul\u2019s House on this occasion\nwill understand us when we say that the effect of those words was\nindescribable.\n\n\u201cWhen Mr. MARKHAM sat down, there was a silence; then, in order to quiet\nthe rising excitement, the organist struck the first chords of the\nMasonic Hymn; the words were taken up, and presently not only the whole\ninterior of the building rang with it, but outside, too, the people\nresponded, and the city of London for a few moments became indeed a\ntemple of the Lord.\n\n\u201cNow indeed we come to the most difficult part of our task, and it is\nbetter to confess at once that anything resembling journalistic\ndescriptiveness must be resolutely laid aside. The greatest things are\nbest told in the simplest words.\n\n\u201cTowards the close of the fourth verse, a figure in a plain dark suit\nwas observed ascending the steps of the platform. For a moment this\nattracted no attention, but when it was seen that a sudden movement had\nbroken out among the delegates, the singing began to falter; and it\nceased altogether as the figure, after a slight inclination to right and\nleft, passed up the further steps that led to the rostrum. Then occurred\na curious incident. The organist aloft at first did not seem to\nunderstand, and continued playing, but a sound broke out from the crowd\nresembling a kind of groan, and instantly he ceased. But no cheering\nfollowed. Instead a profound silence dominated in an instant the huge\nthrong; this, by some strange magnetism, communicated itself to those\nwithout the building, and when Mr. FELSENBURGH uttered his first words,\nit was in a stillness that was like a living thing. We leave the\nexplanation of this phenomenon to the expert in psychology.\n\n\u201cOf his actual words we have nothing to say. So far as we are aware no\nreporter made notes at the moment; but the speech, delivered in\nEsperanto, was a very simple one, and very short. It consisted of a\nbrief announcement of the great fact of Universal Brotherhood, a\ncongratulation to all who were yet alive to witness this consummation of\nhistory; and, at the end, an ascription of praise to that Spirit of the\nWorld whose incarnation was now accomplished.\n\n\u201cSo much we can say; but we can say nothing as to the impression of the\npersonality who stood there. In appearance the man seemed to be about\nthirty-three years of age, clean-shaven, upright, with white hair and\ndark eyes and brows; he stood motionless with his hands on the rail, he\nmade but one gesture that drew a kind of sob from the crowd, he spoke\nthese words slowly, distinctly, and in a clear voice; then he stood\nwaiting.\n\n\u201cThere was no response but a sigh which sounded in the ears of at least\none who heard it as if the whole world drew breath for the first time;\nand then that strange heart-shaking silence fell again. Many were\nweeping silently, the lips of thousands moved without a sound, and all\nfaces were turned to that simple figure, as if the hope of every soul\nwere centred there. So, if we may believe it, the eyes of many,\ncenturies ago, were turned on one known now to history as JESUS OF\nNAZARETH.\n\n\u201cMr. FELSENBURGH stood so a moment longer, then he turned down the\nsteps, passed across the platform and disappeared.\n\n\u201cOf what took place outside we have received the following account from\nan eye-witness. The white volor, so well known now to all who were in\nLondon that night, had remained stationary outside the little south door\nof the Old Choir aisle, poised about twenty feet above the ground.\nGradually it became known to the crowd, in those few minutes, who it was\nwho had arrived in it, and upon Mr. FELSENBURGH\u2019S reappearance that same\nstrange groan sounded through the whole length of Paul\u2019s Churchyard,\nfollowed by the same silence. The volor descended; the master stepped on\nboard, and once more the vessel rose to a height of twenty feet. It was\nthought at first that some speech would be made, but none was necessary;\nand after a moment\u2019s pause, the volor began that wonderful parade which\nLondon will never forget. Four times during the night Mr. FELSENBURGH\nwent round the enormous metropolis, speaking no word; and everywhere the\ngroan preceded and followed him, while silence accompanied his actual\npassage. Two hours after sunrise the white ship rose over Hampstead and\ndisappeared towards the North; and since then he, whom we call, in\ntruth, the Saviour of the world, has not been seen.\n\n\u201cAnd now what remains to be said?\n\n\u201cComment is useless. It is enough to say in one short sentence that the\nnew era has begun, to which prophets and kings, and the suffering, the\ndying, all who labour and are heavy-laden, have aspired in vain. Not\nonly has intercontinental rivalry ceased to exist, but the strife of\nhome dissensions has ceased also. Of him who has been the herald of its\ninauguration we have nothing more to say. Time alone can show what is\nyet left for him to do.\n\n\u201cBut what has been done is as follows. The Eastern peril has been for\never dissipated. It is understood now, by fanatic barbarians as well as\nby civilised nations, that the reign of War is ended. \u2018Not peace but a\nsword,\u2019 said CHRIST; and bitterly true have those words proved to be.\n\u2018Not a sword but peace\u2019 is the retort, articulate at last, from those\nwho have renounced CHRIST\u2019S claims or have never accepted them. The\nprinciple of love and union learned however falteringly in the West\nduring the last century, has been taken up in the East as well. There\nshall be no more an appeal to arms, but to justice; no longer a crying\nafter a God Who hides Himself, but to Man who has learned his own\nDivinity. The Supernatural is dead; rather, we know now that it never\nyet has been alive. What remains is to work out this new lesson, to\nbring every action, word and thought to the bar of Love and Justice; and\nthis will be, no doubt, the task of years. Every code must be reversed;\nevery barrier thrown down; party must unite with party, country with\ncountry, and continent with continent. There is no longer the fear of\nfear, the dread of the hereafter, or the paralysis of strife. Man has\ngroaned long enough in the travails of birth; his blood has been poured\nout like water through his own foolishness; but at length he understands\nhimself and is at peace.\n\n\u201cLet it be seen at least that England is not behind the nations in this\nwork of reformation; let no national isolation, pride of race, or\ndrunkenness of wealth hold her hands back from this enormous work. The\nresponsibility is incalculable, but the victory certain. Let us go\nsoftly, humbled by the knowledge of our crimes in the past, confident in\nthe hope of our achievements in the future, towards that reward which is\nin sight at last--the reward hidden so long by the selfishness of men,\nthe darkness of religion, and the strife of tongues--the reward promised\nby one who knew not what he said and denied what he asserted--Blessed\nare the meek, the peacemakers, the merciful, for they shall inherit the\nearth, be named the children of God, and find mercy.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOliver, white to the lips, with his wife kneeling now beside him, turned\nthe page and read one more short paragraph, marked as being the latest\nnews.\n\n\u201cIt is understood that the Government is in communication with Mr.\nFelsenburgh.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\u201cAh! it is journalese,\u201d said Oliver, at last, leaning back. \u201cTawdry\nstuff! But--but the thing!\u201d\n\nMabel got up, passed across to the window-seat, and sat down. Her lips\nopened once or twice, but she said nothing.\n\n\u201cMy darling,\u201d cried the man, \u201chave you nothing to say?\u201d\n\nShe looked at him tremulously a moment.\n\n\u201cSay!\u201d she said. \u201cAs you said, What is the use of words?\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me again,\u201d said Oliver. \u201cHow do I know it is not a dream?\u201d\n\n\u201cA dream,\u201d she said. \u201cWas there ever a dream like this?\u201d\n\nAgain she got up restlessly, came across the floor, and knelt down by\nher husband once more, taking his hands in hers.\n\n\u201cMy dear,\u201d she said, \u201cI tell you it is not a dream. It is reality at\nlast. I was there too--do you not remember? You waited for me when all\nwas over--when He was gone out--we saw Him together, you and I. We heard\nHim--you on the platform and I in the gallery. We saw Him again pass up\nthe Embankment as we stood in the crowd. Then we came home and we found\nthe priest.\u201d\n\nHer face was transfigured as she spoke. It was as of one who saw a\nDivine Vision. She spoke very quietly, without excitement or hysteria.\nOliver stared at her a moment; then he bent forward and kissed her\ngently.\n\n\u201cYes, my darling; it is true. But I want to hear it again and again.\nTell me again what you saw.\u201d\n\n\u201cI saw the Son of Man,\u201d she said. \u201cOh! there is no other phrase. The\nSaviour of the world, as that paper says. I knew Him in my heart as soon\nas I saw Him--as we all did--as soon as He stood there holding the rail.\nIt was like a glory round his head. I understand it all now. It was He\nfor whom we have waited so long; and He has come, bringing Peace and\nGoodwill in His hands. When He spoke, I knew it again. His voice was\nas--as the sound of the sea--as simple as that--as--as lamentable--as\nstrong as that.--Did you not hear it?\u201d\n\nOliver bowed his head.\n\n\u201cI can trust Him for all the rest,\u201d went on the girl softly. \u201cI do not\nknow where He is, nor when He will come back, nor what He will do. I\nsuppose there is a great deal for Him to do, before He is fully\nknown--laws, reforms--that will be your business, my dear. And the rest\nof us must wait, and love, and be content.\u201d\n\nOliver again lifted his face and looked at her.\n\n\u201cMabel, my dear---\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I knew it even last night,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I did not know that I\nknew it till I awoke to-day and remembered. I dreamed of Him all\nnight.... Oliver, where is He?\u201d\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\u201cYes, I know where He is, but I am under oath---\u201d\n\nShe nodded quickly, and stood up.\n\n\u201cYes. I should not have asked that. Well, we are content to wait.\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a moment or two. Oliver broke it.\n\n\u201cMy dear, what do you mean when you say that He is not yet known?\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean just that,\u201d she said. \u201cThe rest only know what He has done--not\nwhat He is; but that, too, will come in time.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd meanwhile---\u201d\n\n\u201cMeanwhile, you must work; the rest will come by and bye. Oh! Oliver, be\nstrong and faithful.\u201d\n\nShe kissed him quickly, and went out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOliver sat on without moving, staring, as his habit was, out at the wide\nview beyond his windows. This time yesterday he was leaving Paris,\nknowing the fact indeed--for the delegates had arrived an hour\nbefore--but ignorant of the Man. Now he knew the Man as well--at least\nhe had seen Him, heard Him, and stood enchanted under the glow of His\npersonality. He could explain it to himself no more than could any one\nelse--unless, perhaps, it were Mabel. The others had been as he had\nbeen: awed and overcome, yet at the same time kindled in the very depths\nof their souls. They had come out--Snowford, Cartwright, Pemberton, and\nthe rest--on to the steps of Paul\u2019s House, following that strange\nfigure. They had intended to say something, but they were dumb as they\nsaw the sea of white faces, heard the groan and the silence, and\nexperienced that compelling wave of magnetism that surged up like\nsomething physical, as the volor rose and started on that indescribable\nprogress.\n\nOnce more he had seen Him, as he and Mabel stood together on the deck of\nthe electric boat that carried them south. The white ship had passed\nalong overhead, smooth and steady, above the heads of that vast\nmultitude, bearing Him who, if any had the right to that title, was\nindeed the Saviour of the world. Then they had come home, and found the\npriest.\n\nThat, too, had been a shock to him; for, at first sight, it seemed that\nthis priest was the very man he had seen ascend the rostrum two hours\nbefore. It was an extraordinary likeness--the same young face and white\nhair. Mabel, of course, had not noticed it; for she had only seen\nFelsenburgh at a great distance; and he himself had soon been reassured.\nAnd as for his mother--it was terrible enough; if it had not been for\nMabel there would have been violence done last night. How collected and\nreasonable she had been! And, as for his mother--he must leave her alone\nfor the present. By and bye, perhaps, something might be done. The\nfuture! It was that which engrossed him--the future, and the absorbing\npower of the personality under whose dominion he had fallen last night.\nAll else seemed insignificant now--even his mother\u2019s defection, her\nillness--all paled before this new dawn of an unknown sun. And in an\nhour he would know more; he was summoned to Westminster to a meeting of\nthe whole House; their proposals to Felsenburgh were to be formulated;\nit was intended to offer him a great position.\n\nYes, as Mabel had said; this was now their work--to carry into\neffect the new principle that had suddenly become incarnate in this\ngrey-haired young American--the principle of Universal Brotherhood.\nIt would mean enormous labour; all foreign relations would have to\nbe readjusted--trade, policy, methods of government--all demanded\nre-statement. Europe was already organised internally on a basis of\nmutual protection: that basis was now gone. There was no more any\nprotection, because there was no more any menace. Enormous labour,\ntoo, awaited the Government in other directions. A Blue-book must be\nprepared, containing a complete report of the proceedings in the East,\ntogether with the text of the Treaty which had been laid before them\nin Paris, signed by the Eastern Emperor, the feudal kings, the Turkish\nRepublic, and countersigned by the American plenipotentiaries....\nFinally, even home politics required reform: the friction of old strife\nbetween centre and extremes must cease forthwith--there must be but one\nparty now, and that at the Prophet\u2019s disposal.... He grew bewildered\nas he regarded the prospect, and saw how the whole plane of the world\nwas shifted, how the entire foundation of western life required\nreadjustment. It was a Revolution indeed, a cataclysm more stupendous\nthan even invasion itself; but it was the conversion of darkness into\nlight, and chaos into order.\n\nHe drew a deep breath, and so sat pondering.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMabel came down to him half-an-hour later, as he dined early before\nstarting for Whitehall.\n\n\u201cMother is quieter,\u201d she said. \u201cWe must be very patient, Oliver. Have\nyou decided yet as to whether the priest is to come again?\u201d\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\u201cI can think of nothing,\u201d he said, \u201cbut of what I have to do. You\ndecide, my dear; I leave it in your hands.\u201d\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\u201cI will talk to her again presently. Just now she can understand very\nlittle of what has happened.... What time shall you be home?\u201d\n\n\u201cProbably not to-night. We shall sit all night.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, dear. And what shall I tell Mr. Phillips?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will telephone in the morning.... Mabel, do you remember what I told\nyou about the priest?\u201d\n\n\u201cHis likeness to the other?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. What do you make of that?\u201d\n\nShe smiled.\n\n\u201cI make nothing at all of it. Why should they not be alike?\u201d\n\nHe took a fig from the dish, and swallowed it, and stood up.\n\n\u201cIt is only very curious,\u201d he said. \u201cNow, good-night, my dear.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\u201cOh, mother,\u201d said Mabel, kneeling by the bed; \u201ccannot you understand\nwhat has happened?\u201d\n\nShe had tried desperately to tell the old lady of the extraordinary\nchange that had taken place in the world--and without success. It seemed\nto her that some great issue depended on it; that it would be piteous if\nthe old woman went out into the dark unconscious of what had come. It\nwas as if a Christian knelt by the death-bed of a Jew on the first\nEaster Monday. But the old lady lay in her bed, terrified but obdurate.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d said the girl, \u201clet me tell you again. Do you not understand\nthat all which Jesus Christ promised has come true, though in another\nway? The reign of God has really begun; but we know now who God is. You\nsaid just now you wanted the Forgiveness of Sins; well, you have that;\nwe all have it, because there is no such thing as sin. There is only\nCrime. And then Communion. You used to believe that that made you a\npartaker of God; well, we are all partakers of God, because we are human\nbeings. Don\u2019t you see that Christianity is only one way of saying all\nthat? I dare say it was the only way, for a time; but that is all over\nnow. Oh! and how much better this is! It is true--true. You can see it\nto be true!\u201d\n\nShe paused a moment, forcing herself to look at that piteous old face,\nthe flushed wrinkled cheeks, the writhing knotted hands on the coverlet.\n\n\u201cLook how Christianity has failed--how it has divided people; think of\nall the cruelties--the Inquisition, the Religious Wars; the separations\nbetween husband and wife and parents and children--the disobedience to\nthe State, the treasons. Oh! you cannot believe that these were right.\nWhat kind of a God would that be! And then Hell; how could you ever have\nbelieved in that?... Oh! mother, don\u2019t believe anything so frightful....\nDon\u2019t you understand that that God has gone--that He never existed at\nall--that it was all a hideous nightmare; and that now we all know at\nlast what the truth is.... Mother! think of what happened last\nnight--how He came--the Man of whom you were so frightened. I told you\nwhat He was like--so quiet and strong--how every one was silent--of\nthe--the extraordinary atmosphere, and how six millions of people saw\nHim. And think what He has done--how He has healed all the old\nwounds--how the whole world is at peace at last--and of what is going to\nhappen. Oh! mother, give up those horrible old lies; give them up; be\nbrave.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe priest, the priest!\u201d moaned the old woman at last.\n\n\u201cOh! no, no, no--not the priest; he can do nothing. He knows it\u2019s all\nlies, too!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe priest! the priest!\u201d moaned the other again. \u201cHe can tell you; he\nknows the answer.\u201d\n\nHer face was convulsed with effort, and her old fingers fumbled and\ntwisted with the rosary. Mabel grew suddenly frightened, and stood up.\n\n\u201cOh! mother!\u201d She stooped and kissed her. \u201cThere! I won\u2019t say any more\nnow. But just think about it quietly. Don\u2019t be in the least afraid; it\nis all perfectly right.\u201d\n\nShe stood a moment, still looking compassionately down; torn by sympathy\nand desire. No! it was no use now; she must wait till the next day.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll look in again presently,\u201d she said, \u201cwhen you have had dinner.\nMother! don\u2019t look like that! Kiss me!\u201d\n\nIt was astonishing, she told herself that evening, how any one could be\nso blind. And what a confession of weakness, too, to call only for the\npriest! It was ludicrous, absurd! She herself was filled with an\nextraordinary peace. Even death itself seemed now no longer terrible,\nfor was not death swallowed up in victory? She contrasted the selfish\nindividualism of the Christian, who sobbed and shrank from death, or, at\nthe best, thought of it only as the gate to his own eternal life, with\nthe free altruism of the New Believer who asked no more than that Man\nshould live and grow, that the Spirit of the World should triumph and\nreveal Himself, while he, the unit, was content to sink back into that\nreservoir of energy from which he drew his life. At this moment she\nwould have suffered anything, faced death cheerfully--she contemplated\neven the old woman upstairs with pity--for was it not piteous that death\nshould not bring her to herself and reality?\n\nShe was in a quiet whirl of intoxication; it was as if the heavy veil of\nsense had rolled back at last and shown a sweet, eternal landscape\nbehind--a shadowless land of peace where the lion lay down with the\nlamb, and the leopard with the kid. There should be war no more: that\nbloody spectre was dead, and with him the brood of evil that lived in\nhis shadow--superstition, conflict, terror, and unreality. The idols\nwere smashed, and rats had run out; Jehovah was fallen; the wild-eyed\ndreamer of Galilee was in his grave; the reign of priests was ended. And\nin their place stood a strange, quiet figure of indomitable power and\nunruffled tenderness.... He whom she had seen--the Son of Man, the\nSaviour of the world, as she had called Him just now--He who bore these\ntitles was no longer a monstrous figure, half God and half man, claiming\nboth natures and possessing neither; one who was tempted without\ntemptation, and who conquered without merit, as his followers said. Here\nwas one instead whom she could follow, a god indeed and a man as well--a\ngod because human, and a man because so divine.\n\nShe said no more that night. She looked into the bedroom for a few\nminutes, and saw the old woman asleep. Her old hand lay out on the\ncoverlet, and still between the fingers was twisted the silly string of\nbeads. Mabel went softly across in the shaded light, and tried to detach\nit; but the wrinkled fingers writhed and closed, and a murmur came from\nthe half-open lips. Ah! how piteous it was, thought the girl, how\nhopeless that a soul should flow out into such darkness, unwilling to\nmake the supreme, generous surrender, and lay down its life because life\nitself demanded it!\n\nThen she went to her own room.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe clocks were chiming three, and the grey dawn lay on the walls, when\nshe awoke to find by her bed the woman who had sat with the old lady.\n\n\u201cCome at once, madam; Mrs. Brand is dying.\u201d\n\n\nIV\n\nOliver was with them by six o\u2019clock; he came straight up into his\nmother\u2019s room to find that all was over.\n\nThe room was full of the morning light and the clean air, and a bubble\nof bird-music poured in from the lawn. But his wife knelt by the bed,\nstill holding the wrinkled hands of the old woman, her face buried in\nher arms. The face of his mother was quieter than he had ever seen it,\nthe lines showed only like the faintest shadows on an alabaster mask;\nher lips were set in a smile. He looked for a moment, waiting until the\nspasm that caught his throat had died again. Then he put his hand on his\nwife\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cWhen?\u201d he said.\n\nMabel lifted her face.\n\n\u201cOh! Oliver,\u201d she murmured. \u201cIt was an hour ago. ... Look at this.\u201d\n\nShe released the dead hands and showed the rosary still twisted there;\nit had snapped in the last struggle, and a brown bead lay beneath the\nfingers.\n\n\u201cI did what I could,\u201d sobbed Mabel. \u201cI was not hard with her. But she\nwould not listen. She kept on crying out for the priest as long as she\ncould speak.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear....\u201d began the man. Then he, too, went down on his knees by\nhis wife, leaned forward and kissed the rosary, while tears blinded him.\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d he said. \u201cLeave her in peace. I would not move it for the\nworld: it was her toy, was it not?\u201d\n\nThe girl stared at him, astonished.\n\n\u201cWe can be generous, too,\u201d he said. \u201cWe have all the world at last. And\nshe--she has lost nothing: it was too late.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did what I could.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my darling, and you were right. But she was too old; she could not\nunderstand.\u201d\n\nHe paused.\n\n\u201cEuthanasia?\u201d he whispered with something very like tenderness.\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said; \u201cjust as the last agony began. She resisted, but I knew\nyou would wish it.\u201d\n\nThey talked together for an hour in the garden before Oliver went to his\nroom; and he began to tell her presently of all that had passed.\n\n\u201cHe has refused,\u201d he said. \u201cWe offered to create an office for Him; He\nwas to have been called Consultor, and he refused it two hours ago. But\nHe has promised to be at our service.... No, I must not tell you where\nHe is.... He will return to America soon, we think; but He will not\nleave us. We have drawn up a programme, and it is to be sent to Him\npresently.... Yes, we were unanimous.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the programme?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt concerns the Franchise, the Poor Laws and Trade. I can tell you no\nmore than that. It was He who suggested the points. But we are not sure\nif we understand Him yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear---\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; it is quite extraordinary. I have never seen such things. There\nwas practically no argument.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo the people understand?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think so. We shall have to guard against a reaction. They say that\nthe Catholics will be in danger. There is an article this morning in the\n_Era_. The proofs were sent to us for sanction. It suggests that means\nmust be taken to protect the Catholics.\u201d\n\nMabel smiled.\n\n\u201cIt is a strange irony,\u201d he said. \u201cBut they have a right to exist. How\nfar they have a right to share in the government is another matter. That\nwill come before us, I think, in a week or two.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me more about Him.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is really nothing to tell; we know nothing, except that He is the\nsupreme force in the world. France is in a ferment, and has offered him\nDictatorship. That, too, He has refused. Germany has made the same\nproposal as ourselves; Italy, the same as France, with the title of\nPerpetual Tribune. America has done nothing yet, and Spain is divided.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the East?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Emperor thanked Him; no more than that.\u201d\n\nMabel drew a long breath, and stood looking out across the heat haze\nthat was beginning to rise from the town beneath. These were matters so\nvast that she could not take them in. But to her imagination Europe lay\nlike a busy hive, moving to and fro in the sunshine. She saw the blue\ndistance of France, the towns of Germany, the Alps, and beyond them the\nPyrenees and sun-baked Spain; and all were intent on the same business,\nto capture if they could this astonishing figure that had risen over the\nworld. Sober England, too, was alight with zeal. Each country desired\nnothing better than that this man should rule over them; and He had\nrefused them all.\n\n\u201cHe has refused them all!\u201d she repeated breathlessly.\n\n\u201cYes, all. We think He may be waiting to hear from America. He still\nholds office there, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow old is He?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot more than thirty-two or three. He has only been in office a few\nmonths. Before that He lived alone in Vermont. Then He stood for the\nSenate; then He made a speech or two; then He was appointed delegate,\nthough no one seems to have realised His power. And the rest we know.\u201d\n\nMabel shook her head meditatively.\n\n\u201cWe know nothing,\u201d she said. \u201cNothing; nothing! Where did He learn His\nlanguages?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is supposed that He travelled for many years. But no one knows. He\nhas said nothing.\u201d\n\nShe turned swiftly to her husband.\n\n\u201cBut what does it all mean? What is His power? Tell me, Oliver?\u201d\n\nHe smiled back, shaking his head.\n\n\u201cWell, Markham said that it was his incorruption--that and his oratory;\nbut that explains nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it explains nothing,\u201d said the girl.\n\n\u201cIt is just personality,\u201d went on Oliver, \u201cat least, that\u2019s the label to\nuse. But that, too, is only a label.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, just a label. But it is that. They all felt it in Paul\u2019s House,\nand in the streets afterwards. Did you not feel it?\u201d\n\n\u201cFeel it!\u201d cried the man, with shining eyes. \u201cWhy, I would die for Him!\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThey went back to the house presently, and it was not till they reached\nthe door that either said a word about the dead old woman who lay\nupstairs.\n\n\u201cThey are with her now,\u201d said Mabel softly. \u201cI will communicate with the\npeople.\u201d\n\nHe nodded gravely.\n\n\u201cIt had better be this afternoon,\u201d he said. \u201cI have a spare hour at\nfourteen o\u2019clock. Oh! by the way, Mabel, do you know who took the\nmessage to the priest?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think so.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it was Phillips. I saw him last night. He will not come here\nagain.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid he confess it?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe did. He was most offensive.\u201d\n\nBut Oliver\u2019s face softened again as he nodded to his wife at the foot of\nthe stairs, and turned to go up once more to his mother\u2019s room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nI\n\nIt seemed to Percy Franklin as he drew near Rome, sliding five hundred\nfeet high through the summer dawn, that he was approaching the very\ngates of heaven, or, still better, he was as a child coming home. For\nwhat he had left behind him ten hours before in London was not a bad\nspecimen, he thought, of the superior mansions of hell. It was a world\nwhence God seemed to have withdrawn Himself, leaving it indeed in a\nstate of profound complacency--a state without hope or faith, but a\ncondition in which, although life continued, there was absent the one\nessential to well-being. It was not that there was not expectation--for\nLondon was on tip-toe with excitement. There were rumours of all kinds:\nFelsenburgh was coming back; he was back; he had never gone. He was to\nbe President of the Council, Prime Minister, Tribune, with full\ncapacities of democratic government and personal sacro-sanctity, even\nKing--if not Emperor of the West. The entire constitution was to be\nremodelled, there was to be a complete rearrangement of the pieces;\ncrime was to be abolished by the mysterious power that had killed war;\nthere was to be free food--the secret of life was discovered, there was\nto be no more death--so the rumours ran.... Yet that was lacking, to the\npriest\u2019s mind, which made life worth living....\n\nIn Paris, while the volor waited at the great station at Montmartre,\nonce known as the Church of the Sacred Heart, he had heard the roaring\nof the mob in love with life at last, and seen the banners go past. As\nit rose again over the suburbs he had seen the long lines of trains\nstreaming in, visible as bright serpents in the brilliant glory of the\nelectric globes, bringing the country folk up to the Council of the\nNation which the legislators, mad with drama, had summoned to decide the\ngreat question. At Lyons it had been the same. The night was as clear as\nthe day, and as full of sound. Mid France was arriving to register its\nvotes.\n\nHe had fallen asleep as the cold air of the Alps began to envelop the\ncar, and had caught but glimpses of the solemn moonlit peaks below him,\nthe black profundities of the gulfs, the silver glint of the shield-like\nlakes, and the soft glow of Interlaken and the towns in the Rhone\nvalley. Once he had been moved in spite of himself, as one of the huge\nGerman volors had passed in the night, a blaze of ghostly lights and\ngilding, resembling a huge moth with antennae of electric light, and the\ntwo ships had saluted one another through half a league of silent air,\nwith a pathetic cry as of two strange night-birds who have no leisure to\npause. Milan and Turin had been quiet, for Italy was organised on other\nprinciples than France, and Florence was not yet half awake. And now the\nCampagna was slipping past like a grey-green rug, wrinkled and tumbled,\nfive hundred feet beneath, and Rome was all but in sight. The indicator\nabove his seat moved its finger from one hundred to ninety miles.\n\nHe shook off the doze at last, and drew out his office book; but as he\npronounced the words his attention was elsewhere, and, when Prime was\nsaid, he closed the book once more, propped himself more comfortably,\ndrawing the furs round him, and stretching his feet on the empty seat\nopposite. He was alone in his compartment; the three men who had come in\nat Paris had descended at Turin.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe had been remarkably relieved when the message had come three days\nbefore from the Cardinal-Protector, bidding him make arrangements for a\nlong absence from England, and, as soon as that was done, to come to\nRome. He understood that the ecclesiastical authorities were really\ndisturbed at last.\n\nHe reviewed the last day or two, considering the report he would have to\npresent. Since his last letter, three days before, seven notable\napostasies had taken place in Westminster diocese alone, two priests and\nfive important laymen. There was talk of revolt on all sides; he had\nseen a threatening document, called a \u201cpetition,\u201d demanding the right to\ndispense with all ecclesiastical vestments, signed by one hundred and\ntwenty priests from England and Wales. The \u201cpetitioners\u201d pointed out\nthat persecution was coming swiftly at the hands of the mob; that the\nGovernment was not sincere in the promises of protection; they hinted\nthat religious loyalty was already strained to breaking-point even in\nthe case of the most faithful, and that with all but those it had\nalready broken.\n\nAnd as to his comments Percy was clear. He would tell the authorities,\nas he had already told them fifty times, that it was not persecution\nthat mattered; it was this new outburst of enthusiasm for Humanity--an\nenthusiasm which had waxed a hundredfold more hot since the coming of\nFelsenburgh and the publication of the Eastern news--which was melting\nthe hearts of all but the very few. Man had suddenly fallen in love with\nman. The conventional were rubbing their eyes and wondering why they had\never believed, or even dreamed, that there was a God to love, asking one\nanother what was the secret of the spell that had held them so long.\nChristianity and Theism were passing together from the world\u2019s mind as a\nmorning mist passes when the sun comes up. His recommendations--? Yes,\nhe had those clear, and ran them over in his mind with a sense of\ndespair.\n\nFor himself, he scarcely knew if he believed what he professed. His\nemotions seemed to have been finally extinguished in the vision of the\nwhite car and the silence of the crowd that evening three weeks before.\nIt had been so horribly real and positive; the delicate aspirations and\nhopes of the soul appeared so shadowy when compared with that burning,\nheart-shaking passion of the people. He had never seen anything like it;\nno congregation under the spell of the most kindling preacher alive had\never responded with one-tenth of the fervour with which that irreligious\ncrowd, standing in the cold dawn of the London streets, had greeted the\ncoming of their saviour. And as for the man himself--Percy could not\nanalyse what it was that possessed him as he had stared, muttering the\nname of Jesus, on that quiet figure in black with features and hair so\nlike his own. He only knew that a hand had gripped his heart--a hand\nwarm, not cold--and had quenched, it seemed, all sense of religious\nconviction. It had only been with an effort that sickened him to\nremember, that he had refrained from that interior act of capitulation\nthat is so familiar to all who have cultivated an inner life and\nunderstand what failure means. There had been one citadel that had not\nflung wide its gates--all else had yielded. His emotions had been\nstormed, his intellect silenced, his memory of grace obscured, a\nspiritual nausea had sickened his soul, yet the secret fortress of the\nwill had, in an agony, held fast the doors and refused to cry out and\ncall Felsenburgh king.\n\nAh! how he had prayed during those three weeks! It appeared to him that\nhe had done little else; there had been no peace. Lances of doubt thrust\nagain and again through door and window; masses of argument had crashed\nfrom above; he had been on the alert day and night, repelling this,\nblindly, and denying that, endeavouring to keep his foothold on the\nslippery plane of the supernatural, sending up cry after cry to the Lord\nWho hid Himself. He had slept with his crucifix in his hand, he had\nawakened himself by kissing it; while he wrote, talked, ate, walked, and\nsat in cars, the inner life had been busy-making frantic speechless acts\nof faith in a religion which his intellect denied and from which his\nemotions shrank. There had been moments of ecstasy--now in a crowded\nstreet, when he recognised that God was all, that the Creator was the\nkey to the creature\u2019s life, that a humble act of adoration was\ntranscendently greater than the most noble natural act, that the\nSupernatural was the origin and end of existence there had come to him\nsuch moments in the night, in the silence of the Cathedral, when the\nlamp flickered, and a soundless air had breathed from the iron door of\nthe tabernacle. Then again passion ebbed, and left him stranded on\nmisery, but set with a determination (which might equally be that of\npride or faith) that no power in earth or hell should hinder him from\nprofessing Christianity even if he could not realise it. It was\nChristianity alone that made life tolerable.\n\nPercy drew a long vibrating breath, and changed his position; for far\naway his unseeing eyes had descried a dome, like a blue bubble set on a\ncarpet of green; and his brain had interrupted itself to tell him that\nthis was Rome. He got up presently, passed out of his compartment, and\nmoved forward up the central gangway, seeing, as he went, through the\nglass doors to right and left his fellow-passengers, some still asleep,\nsome staring out at the view, some reading. He put his eye to the glass\nsquare in the door, and for a minute or two watched, fascinated, the\nsteady figure of the steerer at his post. There he stood motionless, his\nhands on the steel circle that directed the vast wings, his eyes on the\nwind-gauge that revealed to him as on the face of a clock both the force\nand the direction of the high gusts; now and again his hands moved\nslightly, and the huge fans responded, now lifting, now lowering.\nBeneath him and in front, fixed on a circular table, were the glass\ndomes of various indicators--Percy did not know the meaning of half--one\nseemed a kind of barometer, intended, he guessed, to declare the height\nat which they were travelling, another a compass. And beyond, through\nthe curved windows, lay the enormous sky. Well, it was all very\nwonderful, thought the priest, and it was with the force of which all\nthis was but one symptom that the supernatural had to compete.\n\nHe sighed, turned, and went back to his compartment.\n\nIt was an astonishing vision that began presently to open before\nhim--scarcely beautiful except for its strangeness, and as unreal as a\nraised map. Far to his right, as he could see through the glass doors,\nlay the grey line of the sea against the luminous sky, rising and\nfalling ever so slightly as the car, apparently motionless, tilted\nimperceptibly against the western breeze; the only other movement was\nthe faint pulsation of the huge throbbing screw in the rear. To the left\nstretched the limitless country, flitting beneath, in glimpses seen\nbetween the motionless wings, with here and there the streak of a\nvillage, flattened out of recognition, or the flash of water, and\nbounded far away by the low masses of the Umbrian hills; while in front,\nseen and gone again as the car veered, lay the confused line of Rome and\nthe huge new suburbs, all crowned by the great dome growing every\ninstant. Around, above and beneath, his eyes were conscious of wide\nair-spaces, overhead deepening into lapis-lazuli down to horizons of\npale turquoise. The only sound, of which he had long ceased to be\ndirectly conscious, was that of the steady rush of air, less shrill now\nas the speed began to drop down--down--to forty miles an hour. There was\na clang of a bell, and immediately he was aware of a sense of faint\nsickness as the car dropped in a glorious swoop, and he staggered a\nlittle as he grasped his rugs together. When he looked again the motion\nseemed to have ceased; he could see towers ahead, a line of house-roofs,\nand beneath he caught a glimpse of a road and more roofs with patches of\ngreen between. A bell clanged again, and a long sweet cry followed. On\nall sides he could hear the movement of feet; a guard in uniform passed\nswiftly along the glazed corridor; again came the faint nausea; and as\nhe looked up once more from his luggage for an instant he saw the dome,\ngrey now and lined, almost on a level with his own eyes, huge against\nthe vivid sky. The world span round for a moment; he shut his eyes, and\nwhen he looked again walls seemed to heave up past him and stop,\nswaying. There was the last bell, a faint vibration as the car grounded\nin the steel-netted dock; a line of faces rocked and grew still outside\nthe windows, and Percy passed out towards the doors, carrying his bags.\n\n\nII\n\nHe still felt a sense of insecure motion as he sat alone over coffee an\nhour later in one of the remote rooms of the Vatican; but there was a\nsense of exhilaration as well, as his tired brain realised where he was.\nIt had been strange to drive over the rattling stones in the weedy\nlittle cab, such as he remembered ten years ago when he had left Rome,\nnewly ordained. While the world had moved on, Rome had stood still; she\nhad other affairs to think of than physical improvements, now that the\nspiritual weight of the earth rested entirely upon her shoulders. All\nhad seemed unchanged--or rather it had reverted to the condition of\nnearly one hundred and fifty years ago. Histories related how the\nimprovements of the Italian government had gradually dropped out of use\nas soon as the city, eighty years before, had been given her\nindependence; the trains ceased to run; volors were not allowed to enter\nthe walls; the new buildings, permitted to remain, had been converted to\necclesiastical use; the Quirinal became the offices of the \u201cRed Pope\u201d;\nthe embassies, huge seminaries; even the Vatican itself, with the\nexception of the upper floor, had become the abode of the Sacred\nCollege, who surrounded the Supreme Pontiff as stars their sun.\n\nIt was an extraordinary city, said antiquarians--the one living example\nof the old days. Here were to be seen the ancient inconveniences, the\ninsanitary horrors, the incarnation of a world given over to dreaming.\nThe old Church pomp was back, too; the cardinals drove again in gilt\ncoaches; the Pope rode on his white mule; the Blessed Sacrament went\nthrough the ill-smelling streets with the sound of bells and the light\nof lanterns. A brilliant description of it had interested the civilised\nworld immensely for about forty-eight hours; the appalling retrogression\nwas still used occasionally as the text for violent denunciations by the\npoorly educated; the well-educated had ceased to do anything but take\nfor granted that superstition and progress were irreconcilable enemies.\n\nYet Percy, even in the glimpses he had had in the streets, as he drove\nfrom the volor station outside the People\u2019s Gate, of the old peasant\ndresses, the blue and red-fringed wine carts, the cabbage-strewn\ngutters, the wet clothes flapping on strings, the mules and\nhorses--strange though these were, he had found them a refreshment. It\nhad seemed to remind him that man was human, and not divine as the rest\nof the world proclaimed--human, and therefore careless and\nindividualistic; human, and therefore occupied with interests other than\nthose of speed, cleanliness, and precision.\n\nThe room in which he sat now by the window with shading blinds, for the\nsun was already hot, seemed to revert back even further than to a\ncentury-and-a-half. The old damask and gilding that he had expected was\ngone, and its absence gave the impression of great severity. There was a\nwide deal table running the length of the room, with upright wooden arm\nchairs set against it; the floor was red-tiled, with strips of matting\nfor the feet, the white, distempered walls had only a couple of old\npictures hung upon them, and a large crucifix flanked by candles stood\non a little altar by the further door. There was no more furniture than\nthat, with the exception of a writing-desk between the windows, on which\nstood a typewriter. That jarred somehow on his sense of fitness, and he\nwondered at it.\n\nHe finished the last drop of coffee in the thick-rimmed white cup, and\nsat back in his chair.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAlready the burden was lighter, and he was astonished at the swiftness\nwith which it had become so. Life looked simpler here; the interior\nworld was taken more for granted; it was not even a matter of debate.\nThere it was, imperious and objective, and through it glimmered to the\neyes of the soul the old Figures that had become shrouded behind the\nrush of worldly circumstance. The very shadow of God appeared to rest\nhere; it was no longer impossible to realise that the saints watched and\ninterceded, that Mary sat on her throne, that the white disc on the\naltar was Jesus Christ. Percy was not yet at peace after all, he had\nbeen but an hour in Rome; and air, charged with never so much grace,\ncould scarcely do more than it had done. But he felt more at ease, less\ndesperately anxious, more childlike, more content to rest on the\nauthority that claimed without explanation, and asserted that the world,\nas a matter of fact, proved by evidences without and within, was made\nthis way and not that, for this purpose and not the other. Yet he had\nused the conveniences which he hated; he had left London a bare twelve\nhours before, and now here he sat in a place which was either a stagnant\nbackwater of life, or else the very mid-current of it; he was not yet\nsure which.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere was a step outside, a handle was turned; and the\nCardinal-Protector came through.\n\nPercy had not seen him for four years, and for a moment scarcely\nrecognised him.\n\nIt was a very old man that he saw now, bent and feeble, his face\ncovered with wrinkles, crowned by very thin, white hair, and the little\nscarlet cap on top; he was in his black Benedictine habit with a plain\nabbatial cross on his breast, and walked hesitatingly, with a black\nstick. The only sign of vigour was in the narrow bright slit of his\neyes showing beneath drooping lids. He held out his hand, smiling, and\nPercy, remembering in time that he was in the Vatican, bowed low only\nas he kissed the amethyst.\n\n\u201cWelcome to Rome, father,\u201d said the old man, speaking with an unexpected\nbriskness. \u201cThey told me you were here half-an-hour ago; I thought I\nwould leave you to wash and have your coffee.\u201d\n\nPercy murmured something.\n\n\u201cYes; you are tired, no doubt,\u201d said the Cardinal, pulling out a chair.\n\n\u201cIndeed not, your Eminence. I slept excellently.\u201d\n\nThe Cardinal made a little gesture to a chair.\n\n\u201cBut I must have a word with you. The Holy Father wishes to see you at\neleven o\u2019clock.\u201d\n\nPercy started a little.\n\n\u201cWe move quickly in these days, father.... There is no time to dawdle.\nYou understand that you are to remain in Rome for the present?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have made all arrangements for that, your Eminence.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is very well.... We are pleased with you here, Father Franklin.\nThe Holy Father has been greatly impressed by your comments. You have\nforeseen things in a very remarkable manner.\u201d\n\nPercy flushed with pleasure. It was almost the first hint of\nencouragement he had had. Cardinal Martin went on.\n\n\u201cI may say that you are considered our most valuable\ncorrespondent--certainly in England. That is why you are summoned. You\nare to help us here in future--a kind of consultor: any one can relate\nfacts; not every one can understand them.... You look very young,\nfather. How old are you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am thirty-three, your Eminence.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! your white hair helps you.... Now, father, will you come with me\ninto my room? It is now eight o\u2019clock. I will keep you till nine--no\nlonger. Then you shall have some rest, and at eleven I shall take you up\nto his Holiness.\u201d\n\nPercy rose with a strange sense of elation, and ran to open the door for\nthe Cardinal to go through.\n\n\nIII\n\nAt a few minutes before eleven Percy came out of his little white-washed\nroom in his new ferraiuola, soutane and buckle shoes, and tapped at the\ndoor of the Cardinal\u2019s room.\n\nHe felt a great deal more self-possessed now. He had talked to the\nCardinal freely and strongly, had described the effect that Felsenburgh\nhad had upon London, and even the paralysis that had seized upon\nhimself. He had stated his belief that they were on the edge of a\nmovement unparalleled in history: he related little scenes that he had\nwitnessed--a group kneeling before a picture of Felsenburgh, a dying man\ncalling him by name, the aspect of the crowd that had waited in\nWestminster to hear the result of the offer made to the stranger. He\nshowed him half-a-dozen cuttings from newspapers, pointing out their\nhysterical enthusiasm; he even went so far as to venture upon prophecy,\nand to declare his belief that persecution was within reasonable\ndistance.\n\n\u201cThe world seems very oddly alive,\u201d he said; \u201cit is as if the whole\nthing was flushed and nervous.\u201d\n\nThe Cardinal nodded.\n\n\u201cWe, too,\u201d he said, \u201ceven we feel it.\u201d\n\nFor the rest the Cardinal had sat watching him out of his narrow eyes,\nnodding from time to time, putting an occasional question, but listening\nthroughout with great attention.\n\n\u201cAnd your recommendations, father---\u201d he had said, and then interrupted\nhimself. \u201cNo, that is too much to ask. The Holy Father will speak of\nthat.\u201d\n\nHe had congratulated him upon his Latin then--for they had spoken in\nthat language throughout this second interview; and Percy had explained\nhow loyal Catholic England had been in obeying the order, given ten\nyears before, that Latin should become to the Church what Esperanto was\nbecoming to the world.\n\n\u201cThat is very well,\u201d said the old man. \u201cHis Holiness will be pleased at\nthat.\u201d\n\nAt his second tap the door opened and the Cardinal came out, taking him\nby the arm without a word; and together they turned to the lift\nentrance.\n\nPercy ventured to make a remark as they slid noiselessly up towards the\npapal apartment.\n\n\u201cI am surprised at the lift, your Eminence, and the typewriter in the\naudience-room.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, father?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, all the rest of Rome is back in the old days.\u201d\n\nThe Cardinal looked at him, puzzled.\n\n\u201cIs it? I suppose it is. I never thought of that.\u201d\n\nA Swiss guard flung back the door of the lift, saluted and went before\nthem along the plain flagged passage to where his comrade stood. Then he\nsaluted again and went back. A Pontifical chamberlain, in all the sombre\nglory of purple, black, and a Spanish ruff, peeped from the door, and\nmade haste to open it. It really seemed almost incredible that such\nthings still existed.\n\n\u201cIn a moment, your Eminence,\u201d he said in Latin. \u201cWill your Eminence wait\nhere?\u201d\n\nIt was a little square room, with half-a-dozen doors, plainly contrived\nout of one of the huge old halls, for it was immensely high, and the\ntarnished gilt cornice vanished directly in two places into the white\nwalls. The partitions, too, seemed thin; for as the two men sat down\nthere was a murmur of voices faintly audible, the shuffling of\nfootsteps, and the old eternal click of the typewriter from which Percy\nhoped he had escaped. They were alone in the room, which was furnished\nwith the same simplicity as the Cardinal\u2019s--giving the impression of a\ncurious mingling of ascetic poverty and dignity by its red-tiled floor,\nits white walls, its altar and two vast bronze candlesticks of\nincalculable value that stood on the dais. The shutters here, too, were\ndrawn; and there was nothing to distract Percy from the excitement that\nsurged up now tenfold in heart and brain.\n\nIt was _Papa Angelicus_ whom he was about to see; that amazing old man\nwho had been appointed Secretary of State just fifty years ago, at the\nage of thirty, and Pope nine years previously. It was he who had carried\nout the extraordinary policy of yielding the churches throughout the\nwhole of Italy to the Government, in exchange for the temporal lordship\nof Rome, and who had since set himself to make it a city of saints. He\nhad cared, it appeared, nothing whatever for the world\u2019s opinion; his\npolicy, so far as it could be called one, consisted in a very simple\nthing: he had declared in Epistle after Epistle that the object of the\nChurch was to do glory to God by producing supernatural virtues in man,\nand that nothing at all was of any significance or importance except so\nfar as it effected this object. He had further maintained that since\nPeter was the Rock, the City of Peter was the Capital of the world, and\nshould set an example to its dependency: this could not be done unless\nPeter ruled his City, and therefore he had sacrificed every church and\necclesiastical building in the country for that one end. Then he had set\nabout ruling his city: he had said that on the whole the latter-day\ndiscoveries of man tended to distract immortal souls from a\ncontemplation of eternal verities--not that these discoveries could be\nanything but good in themselves, since after all they gave insight into\nthe wonderful laws of God--but that at present they were too exciting to\nthe imagination. So he had removed the trams, the volors, the\nlaboratories, the manufactories--saying that there was plenty of room\nfor them outside Rome--and had allowed them to be planted in the\nsuburbs: in their place he had raised shrines, religious houses and\nCalvaries. Then he had attended further to the souls of his subjects.\nSince Rome was of limited area, and, still more because the world\ncorrupted without its proper salt, he allowed no man under the age of\nfifty to live within its walls for more than one month in each year,\nexcept those who received his permit. They might live, of course,\nimmediately outside the city (and they did, by tens of thousands), but\nthey were to understand that by doing so they sinned against the spirit,\nthough not the letter, of their Father\u2019s wishes. Then he had divided the\ncity into national quarters, saying that as each nation had its peculiar\nvirtues, each was to let its light shine steadily in its proper place.\nRents had instantly begun to rise, so he had legislated against that by\nreserving in each quarter a number of streets at fixed prices, and had\nissued an ipso facto excommunication against all who erred in this\nrespect. The rest were abandoned to the millionaires. He had retained\nthe Leonine City entirely at his own disposal. Then he had restored\nCapital Punishment, with as much serene gravity as that with which he\nhad made himself the derision of the civilised world in other matters,\nsaying that though human life was holy, human virtue was more holy\nstill; and he had added to the crime of murder, the crimes of adultery,\nidolatry and apostasy, for which this punishment was theoretically\nsanctioned. There had not been, however, more than two such executions\nin the eight years of his reign, since criminals, of course, with the\nexception of devoted believers, instantly made their way to the suburbs,\nwhere they were no longer under his jurisdiction.\n\nBut he had not stayed here. He had sent once more ambassadors to every\ncountry in the world, informing the Government of each of their arrival.\nNo attention was paid to this, beyond that of laughter; but he had\ncontinued, undisturbed, to claim his rights, and, meanwhile, used his\nlegates for the important work of disseminating his views. Epistles\nappeared from time to time in every town, laying down the principles of\nthe papal claims with as much tranquillity as if they were everywhere\nacknowledged. Freemasonry was steadily denounced, as well as democratic\nideas of every kind; men were urged to remember their immortal souls and\nthe Majesty of God, and to reflect upon the fact that in a few years all\nwould be called to give their account to Him Who was Creator and Ruler\nof the world, Whose Vicar was John XXIV, P.P., whose name and seal were\nappended.\n\nThat was a line of action that took the world completely by surprise.\nPeople had expected hysteria, argument, and passionate exhortation;\ndisguised emissaries, plots, and protests. There were none of these. It\nwas as if progress had not yet begun, and volors were uninvented, as if\nthe entire universe had not come to disbelieve in God, and to discover\nthat itself was God. Here was this silly old man, talking in his sleep,\nbabbling of the Cross, and the inner life and the forgiveness of sins,\nexactly as his predecessors had talked two thousand years before. Well,\nit was only one sign more that Rome had lost not only its power, but its\ncommon sense as well. It was really time that something should be done.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd this was the man, thought Percy, _Papa Angelicus_, whom he was to\nsee in a minute or two.\n\nThe Cardinal put his hand on the priest\u2019s knee as the door opened, and a\npurple prelate appeared, bowing.\n\n\u201cOnly this,\u201d he said. \u201cBe absolutely frank.\u201d\n\nPercy stood up, trembling. Then he followed his patron towards the inner\ndoor.\n\n\nIV\n\nA white figure sat in the green gloom, beside a great writing-table,\nthree or four yards away, but with the chair wheeled round to face the\ndoor by which the two entered. So much Percy saw as he performed the\nfirst genuflection. Then he dropped his eyes, advanced, genuflected\nagain with the other, advanced once more, and for the third time\ngenuflected, lifting the thin white hand, stretched out, to his lips. He\nheard the door close as he stood up.\n\n\u201cFather Franklin, Holiness,\u201d said the Cardinal\u2019s voice at his ear.\n\nA white-sleeved arm waved to a couple of chairs set a yard away, and the\ntwo sat down.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhile the Cardinal, talking in slow Latin, said a few sentences,\nexplaining that this was the English priest whose correspondence had\nbeen found so useful, Percy began to look with all his eyes.\n\nHe knew the Pope\u2019s face well, from a hundred photographs and moving\npictures; even his gestures were familiar to him, the slight bowing of\nthe head in assent, the tiny eloquent movement of the hands; but Percy,\nwith a sense of being platitudinal, told himself that the living\npresence was very different.\n\nIt was a very upright old man that he saw in the chair before him, of\nmedium height and girth, with hands clasping the bosses of his\nchair-arms, and an appearance of great and deliberate dignity. But it\nwas at the face chiefly that he looked, dropping his gaze three or four\ntimes, as the Pope\u2019s blue eyes turned on him. They were extraordinary\neyes, reminding him of what historians said of Pius X.; the lids drew\nstraight lines across them, giving him the look of a hawk, but the rest\nof the face contradicted them. There was no sharpness in that. It was\nneither thin nor fat, but beautifully modelled in an oval outline: the\nlips were clean-cut, with a look of passion in their curves; the nose\ncame down in an aquiline sweep, ending in chiselled nostrils; the chin\nwas firm and cloven, and the poise of the whole head was strangely\nyouthful. It was a face of great generosity and sweetness, set at an\nangle between defiance and humility, but ecclesiastical from ear to ear\nand brow to chin; the forehead was slightly compressed at the temples,\nand beneath the white cap lay white hair. It had been the subject of\nlaughter at the music-halls nine years before, when the composite face\nof well-known priests had been thrown on a screen, side by side with the\nnew Pope\u2019s, for the two were almost indistinguishable.\n\nPercy found himself trying to sum it up, but nothing came to him except\nthe word \u201cpriest.\u201d It was that, and that was all. _Ecce sacerdos\nmagnus!_ He was astonished at the look of youth, for the Pope was\neighty-eight this year; yet his figure was as upright as that of a man\nof fifty, his shoulders unbowed, his head set on them like an athlete\u2019s,\nand his wrinkles scarcely perceptible in the half light. _Papa\nAngelicus!_ reflected Percy.\n\nThe Cardinal ceased his explanations, and made a little gesture. Percy\ndrew up all his faculties tense and tight to answer the questions that\nhe knew were coming.\n\n\u201cI welcome you, my son,\u201d said a very soft, resonant voice.\n\nPercy bowed, desperately, from the waist.\n\nThe Pope dropped his eyes again, lifted a paper-weight with his left\nhand, and began to play with it gently as he talked.\n\n\u201cNow, my son, deliver a little discourse. I suggest to you three\nheads--what has happened, what is happening, what will happen, with a\nperoration as to what should happen.\u201d\n\nPercy drew a long breath, settled himself back, clasped the fingers of\nhis left hand in the fingers of his right, fixed his eyes firmly upon\nthe cross-embroidered red shoe opposite, and began. (Had he not\nrehearsed this a hundred times!)\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe first stated his theme; to the effect that all the forces of the\ncivilised world were concentrating into two camps--the world and God. Up\nto the present time the forces of the world had been incoherent and\nspasmodic, breaking out in various ways--revolutions and wars had been\nlike the movements of a mob, undisciplined, unskilled, and unrestrained.\nTo meet this, the Church, too, had acted through her Catholicity--\ndispersion rather than concentration: _franc-tireurs_ had been opposed\nto _franc-tireurs_. But during the last hundred years there had been\nindications that the method of warfare was to change. Europe, at any\nrate, had grown weary of internal strife; the unions first of Labour,\nthen of Capital, then of Labour and Capital combined, illustrated this\nin the economic sphere; the peaceful partition of Africa in the\npolitical sphere; the spread of Humanitarian religion in the spiritual\nsphere. Over against this must be placed the increased centralisation of\nthe Church. By the wisdom of her pontiffs, over-ruled by God Almighty,\nthe lines had been drawing tighter every year. He instanced the\nabolition of all local usages, including those so long cherished by the\nEast, the establishment of the Cardinal-Protectorates in Rome, the\nenforced merging of all friars into one Order, though retaining their\nfamiliar names, under the authority of the supreme General; all monks,\nwith the exception of the Carthusians, the Carmelites and the Trappists,\ninto another; of the three excepted into a third; and the classification\nof nuns after the same plan. Further, he remarked on the more recent\ndecrees, establishing the sense of the Vatican decision on\ninfallibility, the new version of Canon Law, the immense simplification\nthat had taken place in ecclesiastical government, the hierarchy,\nrubrics and the affairs of missionary countries, with the new and\nextraordinary privileges granted to mission priests. At this point he\nbecame aware that his self-consciousness had left him, and he began,\neven with little gestures, and a slightly raised voice, to enlarge on\nthe significance of the last month\u2019s events.\n\nAll that had gone before, he said, pointed to what had now actually\ntaken place--namely, the reconciliation of the world on a basis other\nthan that of Divine Truth. It was the intention of God and of His Vicars\nto reconcile all men in Christ Jesus; but the corner-stone had once more\nbeen rejected, and instead of the chaos that the pious had prophesied,\nthere was coming into existence a unity unlike anything known in\nhistory. This was the more deadly from the fact that it contained so\nmany elements of indubitable good. War, apparently, was now extinct, and\nit was not Christianity that had done it; union was now seen to be\nbetter than disunion, and the lesson had been learned apart from the\nChurch. In fact, natural virtues had suddenly waxed luxuriant, and\nsupernatural virtues were despised. Friendliness took the place of\ncharity, contentment the place of hope, and knowledge the place of\nfaith.\n\nPercy stopped, he had become conscious that he was preaching a kind of\nsermon.\n\n\u201cYes, my son,\u201d said the kind voice. \u201cWhat else?\u201d\n\nWhat else?... Very well, continued Percy, movements such as these\nbrought forth men, and the Man of this movement was Julian Felsenburgh.\nHe had accomplished a work that--apart from God--seemed miraculous. He\nhad broken down the eternal division between East and West, coming\nhimself from the continent that alone could produce such powers; he had\nprevailed by sheer force of personality over the two supreme tyrants of\nlife--religious fanaticism and party government. His influence over the\nimpassive English was another miracle, yet he had also set on fire\nFrance, Germany, and Spain. Percy here described one or two of his\nlittle scenes, saying that it was like the vision of a god: and he\nquoted freely some of the titles given to the Man by sober, unhysterical\nnewspapers. Felsenburgh was called the Son of Man, because he was so\npure-bred a cosmopolitan; the Saviour of the World, because he had slain\nwar and himself survived--even--even--here Percy\u2019s voice faltered--even\nIncarnate God, because he was the perfect representative of divine man.\n\nThe quiet, priestly face watching opposite never winced or moved; and he\nwent on.\n\nPersecution, he said, was coming. There had been a riot or two already.\nBut persecution was not to be feared. It would no doubt cause\napostasies, as it had always done, but these were deplorable only on\naccount of the individual apostates. On the other hand, it would\nreassure the faithful; and purge out the half-hearted. Once, in the\nearly ages, Satan\u2019s attack had been made on the bodily side, with whips\nand fire and beasts; in the sixteenth century it had been on the\nintellectual side; in the twentieth century on the springs of moral and\nspiritual life. Now it seemed as if the assault was on all three planes\nat once. But what was chiefly to be feared was the positive influence of\nHumanitarianism: it was coming, like the kingdom of God, with power; it\nwas crushing the imaginative and the romantic, it was assuming rather\nthan asserting its own truth; it was smothering with bolsters instead of\nwounding and stimulating with steel or controversy. It seemed to be\nforcing its way, almost objectively, into the inner world. Persons who\nhad scarcely heard its name were professing its tenets; priests absorbed\nit, as they absorbed God in Communion--he mentioned the names of the\nrecent apostates--children drank it in like Christianity itself. The\nsoul \u201cnaturally Christian\u201d seemed to be becoming \u201cthe soul naturally\ninfidel.\u201d Persecution, cried the priest, was to be welcomed like\nsalvation, prayed for, and grasped; but he feared that the authorities\nwere too shrewd, and knew the antidote and the poison apart. There might\nbe individual martyrdoms--in fact there would be, and very many--but\nthey would be in spite of secular government, not because of it.\nFinally, he expected, Humanitarianism would presently put on the dress\nof liturgy and sacrifice, and when that was done, the Church\u2019s cause,\nunless God intervened, would be over.\n\nPercy sat back, trembling.\n\n\u201cYes, my son. And what do you think should be done?\u201d\n\nPercy flung out his hands.\n\n\u201cHoly Father--the mass, prayer, the rosary. These first and last. The\nworld denies their power: it is on their power that Christians must\nthrow all their weight. All things in Jesus Christ--in Jesus Christ,\nfirst and last. Nothing else can avail. He must do all, for we can do\nnothing.\u201d\n\nThe white head bowed. Then it rose erect.\n\n\u201cYes, my son.... But so long as Jesus Christ deigns to use us, we must\nbe used. He is Prophet and King as well as Priest. We then, too, must be\nprophet and king as well as priest. What of Prophecy and Royalty?\u201d\n\nThe voice thrilled Percy like a trumpet.\n\n\u201cYes, Holiness.... For prophecy, then, let us preach charity; for\nRoyalty, let us reign on crosses. We must love and suffer....\u201d (He drew\none sobbing breath.) \u201cYour Holiness has preached charity always. Let\ncharity then issue in good deeds. Let us be foremost in them; let us\nengage in trade honestly, in family life chastely, in government\nuprightly. And as for suffering--ah! Holiness!\u201d\n\nHis old scheme leaped back to his mind, and stood poised there\nconvincing and imperious.\n\n\u201cYes, my son, speak plainly.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour Holiness--it is old--old as Rome--every fool has desired it: a new\nOrder, Holiness--a new Order,\u201d he stammered.\n\nThe white hand dropped the paper-weight; the Pope leaned forward,\nlooking intently at the priest.\n\n\u201cYes, my son?\u201d\n\nPercy threw himself on his knees.\n\n\u201cA new Order, Holiness--no habit or badge--subject to your Holiness\nonly--freer than Jesuits, poorer than Franciscans, more mortified than\nCarthusians: men and women alike--the three vows with the intention of\nmartyrdom; the Pantheon for their Church; each bishop responsible for\ntheir sustenance; a lieutenant in each country.... (Holiness, it is the\nthought of a fool.) ... And Christ Crucified for their patron.\u201d\n\nThe Pope stood up abruptly--so abruptly that Cardinal Martin sprang up\ntoo, apprehensive and terrified. It seemed that this young man had gone\ntoo far.\n\nThen the Pope sat down again, extending his hand.\n\n\u201cGod bless you, my son. You have leave to go.... Will your Eminence stay\nfor a few minutes?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nI\n\nThe Cardinal said very little to Percy when they met again that evening,\nbeyond congratulating him on the way he had borne himself with the Pope.\nIt seemed that the priest had done right by his extreme frankness. Then\nhe told him of his duties.\n\nPercy was to retain the couple of rooms that had been put at his\ndisposal; he was to say mass, as a rule, in the Cardinal\u2019s oratory; and\nafter that, at nine, he was to present himself for instructions: he was\nto dine at noon with the Cardinal, after which he was to consider\nhimself at liberty till _Ave Maria_: then, once more he was to be at his\nmaster\u2019s disposal until supper. The work he would principally have to do\nwould be the reading of all English correspondence, and the drawing up\nof a report upon it.\n\nPercy found it a very pleasant and serene life, and the sense of home\ndeepened every day. He had an abundance of time to himself, which he\noccupied resolutely in relaxation. From eight to nine he usually walked\nabroad, going sedately through the streets with his senses passive,\nlooking into churches, watching the people, and gradually absorbing the\nstrange naturalness of life under ancient conditions. At times it\nappeared to him like an historical dream; at times it seemed that there\nwas no other reality; that the silent, tense world of modern\ncivilisation was itself a phantom, and that here was the simple\nnaturalness of the soul\u2019s childhood back again. Even the reading of the\nEnglish correspondence did not greatly affect him, for the stream of his\nmind was beginning to run clear again in this sweet old channel; and he\nread, dissected, analysed and diagnosed with a deepening tranquillity.\n\nThere was not, after all, a great deal of news. It was a kind of lull\nafter storm. Felsenburgh was still in retirement; he had refused the\noffers made to him by France and Italy, as that of England; and,\nalthough nothing definite was announced, it seemed that he was confining\nhimself at present to an unofficial attitude. Meanwhile the Parliaments\nof Europe were busy in the preliminary stages of code-revision. Nothing\nwould be done, it was understood, until the autumn sessions.\n\nLife in Rome was very strange. The city had now become not only the\ncentre of faith but, in a sense, a microcosm of it. It was divided into\nfour huge quarters--Anglo-Saxon, Latin, Teutonic and Eastern--besides\nTrastevere, which was occupied almost entirely by Papal offices,\nseminaries, and schools. Anglo-Saxondom occupied the southwestern\nquarter, now entirely covered with houses, including the Aventine, the\nCelian and Testaccio. The Latins inhabited old Rome, between the Course\nand the river; the Teutons the northeastern quarter, bounded on the\nsouth by St. Laurence\u2019s Street; and the Easterns the remaining quarter,\nof which the centre was the Lateran. In this manner the true Romans were\nscarcely conscious of intrusion; they possessed a multitude of their own\nchurches, they were allowed to revel in narrow, dark streets and hold\ntheir markets; and it was here that Percy usually walked, in a passion\nof historical retrospect. But the other quarters were strange enough,\ntoo. It was curious to see how a progeny of Gothic churches, served by\nnorthern priests, had grown up naturally in the Anglo-Saxon and Teutonic\ndistricts, and how the wide, grey streets, the neat pavements, the\nsevere houses, showed how the northerns had not yet realised the\nrequirements of southern life. The Easterns, on the other hand,\nresembled the Latins; their streets were as narrow and dark, their\nsmells as overwhelming, their churches as dirty and as homely, and their\ncolours even more brilliant.\n\nOutside the walls the confusion was indescribable. If the city\nrepresented a carved miniature of the world, the suburbs represented the\nsame model broken into a thousand pieces, tumbled in a bag and shot out\nat random. So far as the eye could see, on all sides from the roof of\nthe Vatican, there stretched an endless plain of house-roofs, broken by\nspires, towers, domes and chimneys, under which lived human beings of\nevery race beneath the sun. Here were the great manufactories, the\nmonster buildings of the new world, the stations, the schools, the\noffices, all under secular dominion, yet surrounded by six millions of\nsouls who lived here for love of religion. It was these who had\ndespaired of modern life, tired out with change and effort, who had fled\nfrom the new system for refuge to the Church, but who could not obtain\nleave to live in the city itself. New houses were continually springing\nup in all directions. A gigantic compass, fixed by one leg in Rome, and\nwith a span of five miles, would, if twirled, revolve through packed\nstreets through its entire circle. Beyond that too houses stretched into\nthe indefinite distance.\n\nBut Percy did not realise the significance of all that he saw, until the\noccasion of the Pope\u2019s name-day towards the end of August.\n\nIt was yet cool and early, when he followed his patron, whom he was to\nserve as chaplain, along the broad passages of the Vatican towards the\nroom where the Pope and Cardinals were to assemble. Through a window, as\nhe looked out into the Piazza, the crowd was yet more dense, if that\nwere possible, than it had been an hour before. The huge oval square was\ncobbled with heads, through which ran a broad road, kept by papal troops\nfor the passage of the carriages; and up the broad ribbon, white in the\neastern light, came monstrous vehicles, a blaze of gilding and colour\nand cream tint; slow cheers swelled up and died, and through all came\nthe rush and patter of wheels over the stones, like the sound of a\ntide-swept pebbly beach.\n\nAs they waited in an ante-chamber, halted by the pressure in front and\nbehind--a pack of scarlet and white and purple--he looked out again, and\nrealised what he had known only intellectually before, that here before\nhis eyes was the royalty of the old world assembled--and he began to\nperceive its significance.\n\nRound the steps of the basilica spread a great fan of coaches, each\nyoked to eight horses--the white of France and Spain, the black of\nGermany, Italy and Russia, and the cream-coloured of England. Those\nstood out in the near half-circle, and beyond was the sweep of the\nlesser powers: Greece, Norway, Sweden, Roumania and the Balkan States.\nOne, the Turk, was alone wanting, he reminded himself. The emblems of\nsome were visible--eagles, lions, leopards--guarding the royal crown\nabove the roof of each. From the foot of the steps to the head ran a\nbroad scarlet carpet, lined with soldiers.\n\nPercy leaned against the shutter, and began to meditate. Here was all\nthat was left of Royalty. He had seen their palaces before, here and\nthere in the various quarters, with standards flying, and\nscarlet-liveried men lounging on the steps. He had raised his hat a\ndozen times as a landau thundered past him up the Course; he had even\nseen the lilies of France and the leopards of England pass together in\nthe solemn parade of the Pincian Hill. He had read in the papers every\nnow and again during the last five years that family after family had\nmade its way to Rome, after papal recognition had been granted; he had\nbeen told by the Cardinal on the previous evening that William of\nEngland, with his Consort, had landed at Ostia in the morning and that\nthe tale of the Powers was complete. But he had never before realised\nthe stupendous, overwhelming fact of the assembly of the world\u2019s royalty\nunder the shadow of Peter\u2019s Throne, nor the appalling danger that its\npresence constituted in the midst of a democratic world. That world, he\nknew, affected to laugh at the folly and the childishness of it all--at\nthe desperate play-acting of Divine Right on the part of fallen and\ndespised families; but the same world, he knew very well, had not yet\nlost quite all its sentiment; and if that sentiment should happen to\nbecome resentful---\n\nThe pressure relaxed; Percy slipped out of the recess, and followed in\nthe slow-moving stream.\n\nHalf-an-hour later he was in his place among the ecclesiastics, as the\npapal procession came out through the glimmering dusk of the chapel of\nthe Blessed Sacrament into the nave of the enormous church; but even\nbefore he had entered the chapel he heard the quiet roar of recognition\nand the cry of the trumpets that greeted the Supreme Pontiff as he came\nout, a hundred yards ahead, borne on the _sedia gestatoria_, with the\nfans going behind him. When Percy himself came out, five minutes later,\nwalking in his quaternion, and saw the sight that was waiting, he\nremembered with a sudden throb at his heart that other sight he had seen\nin London in a summer dawn three months before....\n\nFar ahead, seeming to cleave its way through the surging heads, like the\npoop of an ancient ship, moved the canopy beneath which sat the Lord of\nthe world, and between him and the priest, as if it were the wake of\nthat same ship, swayed the gorgeous procession--Protonotaries Apostolic,\nGenerals of Religious Orders and the rest--making its way along with\nwhite, gold, scarlet and silver foam between the living banks on either\nside. Overhead hung the splendid barrel of the roof, and far in front\nthe haven of God\u2019s altar reared its monstrous pillars, beneath which\nburned the seven yellow stars that were the harbour lights of sanctity.\nIt was an astonishing sight, but too vast and bewildering to do anything\nbut oppress the observers with a consciousness of their own futility.\nThe enormous enclosed air, the giant statues, the dim and distant roofs,\nthe indescribable concert of sound--of the movement of feet, the murmur\nof ten thousand voices, the peal of organs like the crying of gnats, the\nthin celestial music--the faint suggestive smell of incense and men and\nbruised bay and myrtle--and, supreme above all, the vibrant atmosphere\nof human emotion, shot with supernatural aspiration, as the Hope of the\nWorld, the holder of Divine Vice-Royalty, passed on his way to stand\nbetween God and man--this affected the priest as the action of a drug\nthat at once lulls and stimulates, that blinds while it gives new\nvision, that deafens while it opens stopped ears, that exalts while it\nplunges into new gulfs of consciousness. Here, then, was the other\nformulated answer to the problem of life. The two Cities of Augustine\nlay for him to choose. The one was that of a world self-originated,\nself-organised and self-sufficient, interpreted by such men as Marx and\nHerve, socialists, materialists, and, in the end, hedonists, summed up\nat last in Felsenburgh. The other lay displayed in the sight he saw\nbefore him, telling of a Creator and of a creation, of a Divine purpose,\na redemption, and a world transcendent and eternal from which all sprang\nand to which all moved. One of the two, John and Julian, was the Vicar,\nand the other the Ape, of God.... And Percy\u2019s heart in one more spasm of\nconviction made its choice....\n\nBut the summit was not yet reached.\n\nAs Percy came at last out from the nave beneath the dome, on his way to\nthe tribune beyond the papal throne, he became aware of a new element.\n\nA great space was cleared about the altar and confession, extending, as\nhe could see at least on his side, to the point that marked the entrance\nto the transepts; at this point ran rails straight across from side to\nside, continuing the lines of the nave. Beyond this red-hung barrier lay\na gradual slope of faces, white and motionless; a glimmer of steel\nbounded it, and above, a third of the distance down the transept, rose\nin solemn serried array a line of canopies. These were of scarlet, like\ncardinalitial baldachini, but upon the upright surface of each burned\ngigantic coats supported by beasts and topped by crowns. Under each was\na figure or two--no more--in splendid isolation, and through the\ninterspaces between the thrones showed again a misty slope of faces.\n\nHis heart quickened as he saw it--as he swept his eyes round and across\nto the right and saw as in a mirror the replica of the left in the right\ntransept. It was there then that they sat--those lonely survivors of\nthat strange company of persons who, till half-a-century ago, had\nreigned as God\u2019s temporal Vicegerents with the consent of their\nsubjects. They were unrecognised, now, save by Him from whom they drew\ntheir sovereignty--pinnacles clustering and hanging from a dome, from\nwhich the walls had been withdrawn. These were men and women who had\nlearned at last that power comes from above, and their title to rule\ncame not from their subjects but from the Supreme Ruler of\nall--shepherds without sheep, captains without soldiers to command. It\nwas piteous--horribly piteous, yet inspiring. The act of faith was so\nsublime; and Percy\u2019s heart quickened as he understood it. These, then,\nmen and women like himself, were not ashamed to appeal from man to God,\nto assume insignia which the world regarded as playthings, but which to\nthem were emblems of supernatural commission. Was there not mirrored\nhere, he asked himself, some far-off shadow of One Who rode on the colt\nof an ass amid the sneers of the great and the enthusiasm of\nchildren?...\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was yet more kindling as the mass went on, and he saw the male\nsovereigns come down to do their services at the altar, and to go to and\nfro between it and the Throne. There they went bareheaded, the stately\nsilent figures. The English king, once again _Fidei Defensor_, bore the\ntrain in place of the old king of Spain, who, with the Austrian Emperor,\nalone of all European sovereigns, had preserved the unbroken continuity\nof faith. The old man leaned over his fald-stool, mumbling and weeping,\neven crying out now and again in love and devotion, as, like Simeon, he\nsaw his Salvation. The Austrian Emperor twice administered the Lavabo;\nthe German sovereign, who had lost his throne and all but his life upon\nhis conversion four years before, by a new privilege placed and withdrew\nthe cushion, as his Lord kneeled before the Lord of them both. So\nmovement by movement the gorgeous drama was enacted; the murmuring of\nthe crowds died to a stillness that was but one wordless prayer as the\ntiny White Disc rose between the white hands, and the thin angelic music\npealed in the dome. For here was the one hope of these thousands, as\nmighty and as little as once within the Manger. There was none other\nthat fought for them but only God. Surely then, if the blood of men and\nthe tears of women could not avail to move the Judge and Observer of all\nfrom His silence, surely at least here the bloodless Death of His only\nSon, that once on Calvary had darkened heaven and rent the earth,\npleaded now with such sorrowful splendour upon this island of faith amid\na sea of laughter and hatred--this at least must avail! How could it\nnot?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPercy had just sat down, tired out with the long ceremonies, when the\ndoor opened abruptly, and the Cardinal, still in his robes, came in\nswiftly, shutting the door behind him.\n\n\u201cFather Franklin,\u201d he said, in a strange breathless voice, \u201cthere is the\nworst of news. Felsenburgh is appointed President of Europe.\u201d\n\n\nII\n\nIt was late that night before Percy returned, completely exhausted by\nhis labours. For hour after hour he had sat with the Cardinal, opening\ndespatches that poured into the electric receivers from all over Europe,\nand were brought in one by one into the quiet sitting-room. Three times\nin the afternoon the Cardinal had been sent for, once by the Pope and\ntwice to the Quirinal.\n\nThere was no doubt at all that the news was true; and it seemed that\nFelsenburgh must have waited deliberately for the offer. All others he\nhad refused. There had been a Convention of the Powers, each of whom had\nbeen anxious to secure him, and each of whom had severally failed; these\nprivate claims had been withdrawn, and an united message sent. The new\nproposal was to the effect that Felsenburgh should assume a position\nhitherto undreamed of in democracy; that he should receive a House of\nGovernment in every capital of Europe; that his veto of any measure\nshould be final for three years; that any measure he chose to introduce\nthree times in three consecutive years should become law; that his title\nshould be that of President of Europe. From his side practically nothing\nwas asked, except that he should refuse any other official position\noffered him that did not receive the sanction of all the Powers. And all\nthis, Percy saw very well, involved the danger of an united Europe\nincreased tenfold. It involved all the stupendous force of Socialism\ndirected by a brilliant individual. It was the combination of the\nstrongest characteristics of the two methods of government. The offer\nhad been accepted by Felsenburgh after eight hours\u2019 silence.\n\nIt was remarkable, too, to observe how the news had been accepted by the\ntwo other divisions of the world. The East was enthusiastic; America was\ndivided. But in any case America was powerless: the balance of the world\nwas overwhelmingly against her.\n\nPercy threw himself, as he was, on to his bed, and lay there with\ndrumming pulses, closed eyes and a huge despair at his heart. The world\nindeed had risen like a giant over the horizons of Rome, and the holy\ncity was no better now than a sand castle before a tide. So much he\ngrasped. As to how ruin would come, in what form and from what\ndirection, he neither knew nor cared. Only he knew now that it would\ncome.\n\nHe had learned by now something of his own temperament; and he turned\nhis eyes inwards to observe himself bitterly, as a doctor in mortal\ndisease might with a dreadful complacency diagnose his own symptoms. It\nwas even a relief to turn from the monstrous mechanism of the world to\nsee in miniature one hopeless human heart. For his own religion he no\nlonger feared; he knew, as absolutely as a man may know the colour of\nhis eyes, that it was secure again and beyond shaking. During those\nweeks in Rome the cloudy deposit had run clear and the channel was once\nmore visible. Or, better still, that vast erection of dogma, ceremony,\ncustom and morals in which he had been educated, and on which he had\nlooked all his life (as a man may stare upon some great set-piece that\nbewilders him), seeing now one spark of light, now another, flare and\nwane in the darkness, had little by little kindled and revealed itself\nin one stupendous blaze of divine fire that explains itself. Huge\nprinciples, once bewildering and even repellent, were again luminously\nself-evident; he saw, for example, that while Humanity-Religion\nendeavoured to abolish suffering the Divine Religion embraced it, so\nthat the blind pangs even of beasts were within the Father\u2019s Will and\nScheme; or that while from one angle one colour only of the web of life\nwas visible--material, or intellectual, or artistic--from another the\nSupernatural was as eminently obvious. Humanity-Religion could only be\ntrue if at least half of man\u2019s nature, aspirations and sorrows were\nignored. Christianity, on the other hand, at least included and\naccounted for these, even if it did not explain them. This ... and this\n... and this ... all made the one and perfect whole. There was the\nCatholic Faith, more certain to him than the existence of himself: it\nwas true and alive. He might be damned, but God reigned. He might go\nmad, but Jesus Christ was Incarnate Deity, proving Himself so by death\nand Resurrection, and John his Vicar. These things were as the bones of\nthe Universe--facts beyond doubting--if they were not true, nothing\nanywhere was anything but a dream.\n\nDifficulties?--Why, there were ten thousand. He did not in the least\nunderstand why God had made the world as it was, nor how Hell could be\nthe creation of Love, nor how bread was transubstantiated into the Body\nof God but--well, these things were so. He had travelled far, he began\nto see, from his old status of faith, when he had believed that divine\ntruth could be demonstrated on intellectual grounds. He had learned now\n(he knew not how) that the supernatural cried to the supernatural; the\nChrist without to the Christ within; that pure human reason indeed could\nnot contradict, yet neither could it adequately prove the mysteries of\nfaith, except on premisses visible only to him who receives Revelation\nas a fact; that it is the moral state, rather than the intellectual, to\nwhich the Spirit of God speaks with the greater certitude. That which he\nhad both learned and taught he now knew, that Faith, having, like man\nhimself, a body and a spirit--an historical expression and an inner\nverity--speaks now by one, now by another. This man believes because he\nsees--accepts the Incarnation or the Church from its credentials; that\nman, perceiving that these things are spiritual facts, yields himself\nwholly to the message and authority of her who alone professes them, as\nwell as to the manifestation of them upon the historical plane; and in\nthe darkness leans upon her arm. Or, best of all, because he has\nbelieved, now he sees.\n\nSo he looked with a kind of interested indolence at other tracts of his\nnature.\n\nFirst, there was his intellect, puzzled beyond description, demanding,\nWhy, why, why? Why was it allowed? How was it conceivable that God did\nnot intervene, and that the Father of men could permit His dear world to\nbe so ranged against Him? What did He mean to do? Was this eternal\nsilence never to be broken? It was very well for those that had the\nFaith, but what of the countless millions who were settling down in\ncontented blasphemy? Were these not, too, His children and the sheep of\nHis pasture? What was the Catholic Church made for if not to convert the\nworld, and why then had Almighty God allowed it, on the one side, to\ndwindle to a handful, and, on the other, the world to find its peace\napart from Him?\n\nHe considered his emotions, but there was no comfort there, no stimulus.\nOh! yes; he could pray still, by mere cold acts of the will, and his\ntheology told him that God accepted such. He could say \u201c_Adveniat regnum\ntuum. ... Fiat voluntas tua_,\u201d five thousand times a day, if God wanted\nthat; but there was no sting or touch, no sense of vibration through the\ncords that his will threw up to the Heavenly Throne. What in the world\nthen did God want him to do? Was it just then to repeat formulas, to lie\nstill, to open despatches, to listen through the telephone, and to\nsuffer?\n\nAnd then the rest of the world--the madness that had seized upon the\nnations; the amazing stories that had poured in that day of the men in\nParis, who, raving like Bacchantes, had stripped themselves naked in the\nPlace de Concorde, and stabbed themselves to the heart, crying out to\nthunders of applause that life was too enthralling to be endured; of the\nwoman who sang herself mad last night in Spain, and fell laughing and\nfoaming in the concert hall at Seville; of the crucifixion of the\nCatholics that morning in the Pyrenees, and the apostasy of three\nbishops in Germany.... And this ... and this ... and a thousand more\nhorrors were permitted, and God made no sign and spoke no word....\n\nThere was a tap, and Percy sprang up as the Cardinal came in.\n\nHe looked horribly worn; and his eyes had a kind of sunken brilliance\nthat revealed fever. He made a little motion to Percy to sit down, and\nhimself sat in the deep chair, trembling a little, and gathering his\nbuckled feet beneath his red-buttoned cassock.\n\n\u201cYou must forgive me, father,\u201d he said. \u201cI am anxious for the Bishop\u2019s\nsafety. He should be here by now.\u201d\n\nThis was the Bishop of Southwark, Percy remembered, who had left England\nearly that morning.\n\n\u201cHe is coming straight through, your Eminence?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; he should have been here by twenty-three. It is after midnight, is\nit not?\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, the bells chimed out the half-hour.\n\nIt was nearly quiet now. All day the air had been full of sound; mobs\nhad paraded the suburbs; the gates of the City had been barred, yet that\nwas only an earnest of what was to be expected when the world understood\nitself.\n\nThe Cardinal seemed to recover himself after a few minutes\u2019 silence.\n\n\u201cYou look tired out, father,\u201d he said kindly.\n\nPercy smiled.\n\n\u201cAnd your Eminence?\u201d he said.\n\nThe old man smiled too.\n\n\u201cWhy, yes,\u201d he said. \u201cI shall not last much longer, father. And then it\nwill be you to suffer.\u201d\n\nPercy sat up, suddenly, sick at heart.\n\n\u201cWhy, yes,\u201d said the Cardinal. \u201cThe Holy Father has arranged it. You are\nto succeed me, you know. It need be no secret.\u201d\n\nPercy drew a long trembling breath.\n\n\u201cEminence,\u201d he began piteously.\n\nThe other lifted a thin old hand.\n\n\u201cI understand all that,\u201d he said softly. \u201cYou wish to die, is it not\nso?--and be at peace. There are many who wish that. But we must suffer\nfirst. _Et pati et mori_. Father Franklin, there must be no faltering.\u201d\n\nThere was a long silence.\n\nThe news was too stunning to convey anything to the priest but a sense\nof horrible shock. The thought had simply never entered his mind that\nhe, a man under forty, should be considered eligible to succeed this\nwise, patient old prelate. As for the honour--Percy was past that now,\neven had he thought of it. There was but one view before him--of a long\nand intolerable journey, on a road that went uphill, to be traversed\nwith a burden on his shoulders that he could not support.\n\nYet he recognised its inevitability. The fact was announced to him as\nindisputable; it was to be; there was nothing to be said. But it was as\nif one more gulf had opened, and he stared into it with a dull, sick\nhorror, incapable of expression.\n\nThe Cardinal first broke the silence.\n\n\u201cFather Franklin,\u201d he said, \u201cI have seen to-day a picture of\nFelsenburgh. Do you know whom I at first took it for?\u201d\n\nPercy smiled listlessly.\n\n\u201cYes, father, I took it for you. Now, what do you make of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand, Eminence.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy---\u201d He broke off, suddenly changing the subject.\n\n\u201cThere was a murder in the City to-day,\u201d he said. \u201cA Catholic stabbed a\nblasphemer.\u201d\n\nPercy glanced at him again.\n\n\u201cOh! yes; he has not attempted to escape,\u201d went on the old man. \u201cHe is\nin gaol.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd---\u201d\n\n\u201cHe will be executed. The trial will begin to-morrow.... It is sad\nenough. It is the first murder for eight months.\u201d\n\nThe irony of the position was evident enough to Percy as he sat\nlistening to the deepening silence outside in the starlit night. Here\nwas this poor city pretending that nothing was the matter, quietly\nadministering its derided justice; and there, outside, were the forces\ngathering that would put an end to all. His enthusiasm seemed dead.\nThere was no thrill from the thought of the splendid disregard of\nmaterial facts of which this was one tiny instance, none of despairing\ncourage or drunken recklessness. He felt like one who watches a fly\nwashing his face on the cylinder of an engine--the huge steel slides\nalong bearing the tiny life towards enormous death--another moment and\nit will be over; and yet the watcher cannot interfere. The supernatural\nthus lay, perfect and alive, but immeasurably tiny; the huge forces were\nin motion, the world was heaving up, and Percy could do nothing but\nstare and frown. Yet, as has been said, there was no shadow on his\nfaith; the fly he knew was greater than the engine from the superiority\nof its order of life; if it were crushed, life would not be the final\nsufferer; so much he knew, but how it was so, he did not know.\n\nAs the two sat there, again came a step and a tap; and a servant\u2019s face\nlooked in.\n\n\u201cHis Lordship is come, Eminence,\u201d he said.\n\nThe Cardinal rose painfully, supporting himself by the table. Then he\npaused, seeming to remember something, and fumbled in his pocket.\n\n\u201cSee that, father,\u201d he said, and pushed a small silver disc towards the\npriest. \u201cNo; when I am gone.\u201d\n\nPercy closed the door and came back, taking up the little round object.\n\nIt was a coin, fresh from the mint. On one side was the familiar wreath\nwith the word \u201cfivepence\u201d in the midst, with its Esperanto equivalent\nbeneath, and on the other the profile of a man, with an inscription.\nPercy turned it to read:\n\n\u201cJULIAN FELSENBURGH, LA PREZIDANTE DE UROPO.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nIt was at ten o\u2019clock on the following morning that the Cardinals were\nsummoned to the Pope\u2019s presence to hear the allocution.\n\nPercy, from his seat among the Consultors, watched them come in, men of\nevery nation and temperament and age--the Italians all together,\ngesticulating, and flashing teeth; the Anglo-Saxons steady-faced and\nserious; an old French Cardinal leaning on his stick, walking with the\nEnglish Benedictine. It was one of the great plain stately rooms of\nwhich the Vatican now chiefly consisted, seated length wise like a\nchapel. At the lower end, traversed by the gangway, were the seats of\nthe Consultors; at the upper end, the dais with the papal throne. Three\nor four benches with desks before them, standing out beyond the\nConsultors\u2019 seats, were reserved for the arrivals of the day before\n--prelates and priests who had poured into Rome from every European\ncountry on the announcement of the amazing news.\n\nPercy had not an idea as to what would be said. It was scarcely possible\nthat nothing but platitudes would be uttered, yet what else could be\nsaid in view of the complete doubtfulness of the situation? All that was\nknown even this morning was that the Presidentship of Europe was a fact;\nthe little silver coin he had seen witnessed to that; that there had\nbeen an outburst of persecution, repressed sternly by local authorities;\nand that Felsenburgh was to-day to begin his tour from capital to\ncapital. He was expected in Turin by the end of the week. From every\nCatholic centre throughout the world had come in messages imploring\nguidance; it was said that apostasy was rising like a tidal wave, that\npersecution threatened everywhere, and that even bishops were beginning\nto yield.\n\nAs for the Holy Father, all was doubtful. Those who knew, said nothing;\nand the only rumour that escaped was to the effect that he had spent all\nnight in prayer at the tomb of the Apostle....\n\nThe murmur died suddenly to a rustle and a silence; there was a ripple\nof sinking heads along the seats as the door beside the canopy opened,\nand a moment later John, _Pater Patrum_, was on his throne.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt first Percy understood nothing. He stared only, as at a picture,\nthrough the dusty sunlight that poured in through the shrouded windows,\nat the scarlet lines to right and left, up to the huge scarlet canopy,\nand the white figure that sat there. Certainly, these southerners\nunderstood the power of effect. It was as vivid and impressive as a\nvision of the Host in a jewelled monstrance. Every accessory was\ngorgeous, the high room, the colour of the robes, the chains and\ncrosses, and as the eye moved along to its climax it was met by a piece\nof dead white--as if glory was exhausted and declared itself impotent to\ntell the supreme secret. Scarlet and purple and gold were well enough\nfor those who stood on the steps of the throne--they needed it; but for\nHim who sat there nothing was needed. Let colours die and sounds faint\nin the presence of God\u2019s Viceroy. Yet what expression was required found\nitself adequately provided in that beautiful oval face, the poised\nimperious head, the sweet brilliant eyes and the clean-curved lips that\nspoke so strongly. There was not a sound in the room, not a rustle, nor\na breathing--even without it seemed as if the world were allowing the\nsupernatural to state its defence uninterruptedly, before summing up and\nclamouring condemnation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPercy made a violent effort at self-repression, clenched his hands and\nlistened.\n\n\u201c... Since this then is so, sons in Jesus Christ, it is for us to\nanswer. We wrestle not, as the Doctor of the Gentiles teaches us,\n_against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, against\nthe rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of\nwickedness in the high places. Wherefore_, he continues, _take unto you\nthe armour of God_; and he further declares to us its nature--_the\ngirdle of truth, the breastplate of justice, the shoes of peace, the\nshield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit._\n\n\u201cBy this, therefore, the Word of God bids us to war, but not with the\nweapons of this world, for neither is His kingdom of this world; and it\nis to remind you of the principles of this warfare that we have summoned\nyou to Our Presence.\u201d\n\nThe voice paused, and there was a rustling sigh along the seats. Then\nthe voice continued on a slightly higher note.\n\n\u201cIt has ever been the wisdom of Our predecessors, as is also their duty,\nwhile keeping silence at certain seasons, at others to speak freely the\nwhole counsel of God. From this duty We Ourself must not be deterred by\nthe knowledge of Our own weakness and ignorance, but to trust rather\nthat He Who has placed Us on this throne will deign to speak through Our\nmouth and use Our words to His glory.\n\n\u201cFirst, then, it is necessary to utter Our sentence as to the new\nmovement, as men call it, which has latterly been inaugurated by the\nrulers of this world.\n\n\u201cWe are not unmindful of the blessings of peace and unity, nor do We\nforget that the appearance of these things has been the fruit of much\nthat we have condemned. It is this appearance of peace that has deceived\nmany, causing them to doubt the promise of the Prince of Peace that it\nis through Him alone that we have access to the Father. That true peace,\npassing understanding, concerns not only the relations of men between\nthemselves, but, supremely, the relations of men with their Maker; and\nit is in this necessary point that the efforts of the world are found\nwanting. It is not indeed to be wondered at that in a world which has\nrejected God this necessary matter should be forgotten. Men have\nthought--led astray by seducers--that the unity of nations was the\ngreatest prize of this life, forgetting the words of our Saviour, Who\nsaid that He came to bring not peace but a sword, and that it is through\nmany tribulations that we enter God\u2019s Kingdom. First, then, there should\nbe established the peace of man with God, and after that the unity of\nman with man will follow. _Seek ye first_, said Jesus Christ, _the\nkingdom of God--and then all these things shall be added unto you._\n\n\u201cFirst, then, We once more condemn and anathematise the opinions of\nthose who teach and believe the contrary of this; and we renew once more\nall the condemnations uttered by Ourself or Our predecessors against all\nthose societies, organisations and communities that have been formed for\nthe furtherance of an unity on another than a divine foundation; and We\nremind Our children throughout the world that it is forbidden to them to\nenter or to aid or to approve in any manner whatsoever any of those\nbodies named in such condemnations.\u201d\n\nPercy moved in his seat, conscious of a touch of impatience.... The\nmanner was superb, tranquil and stately as a river; but the matter a\ntrifle banal. Here was this old reprobation of Freemasonry, repeated in\nunoriginal language.\n\n\u201cSecondly,\u201d went on the steady voice, \u201cWe wish to make known to you Our\ndesires for the future; and here We tread on what many have considered\ndangerous ground.\u201d\n\nAgain came that rustle. Percy saw more than one cardinal lean forward\nwith hand crooked at ear to hear the better. It was evident that\nsomething important was coming.\n\n\u201cThere are many points,\u201d went on the high voice, \u201cof which it is not Our\nintention to speak at this time, for of their own nature they are\nsecret, and must be treated of on another occasion. But what We say\nhere, We say to the world. Since the assaults of Our enemies are both\nopen and secret, so too must be Our defences. This then is Our\nintention.\u201d\n\nThe Pope paused again, lifted one hand as if mechanically to his breast,\nand grasped the cross that hung there.\n\n\u201cWhile the army of Christ is one, it consists of many divisions, each of\nwhich has its proper function and object. In times past God has raised\nup companies of His servants to do this or that particular work--the\nsons of St. Francis to preach poverty, those of St. Bernard to labour in\nprayer with all holy women dedicating themselves to this purpose, the\nSociety of Jesus for the education of youth and the conversion of the\nheathen--together with all the other Religious Orders whose names are\nknown throughout the world. Each such company was raised up at a\nparticular season of need, and each has corresponded nobly with the\ndivine vocation. It has also been the especial glory of each, for the\nfurtherance of its intention, while pursuing its end, to cut off from\nitself all such activities (good in themselves) which would hinder that\nwork for which God had called it into being--following in this matter\nthe words of our Redeemer, _Every branch that beareth fruit, He purgeth\nit that it may bring forth more fruit._ At this present season, then, it\nappears to Our Humility that all such Orders (which once more We commend\nand bless) are not perfectly suited by the very conditions of their\nrespective Rules to perform the great work which the time requires. Our\nwarfare lies not with ignorance in particular, whether of the heathens\nto whom the Gospel has not yet come, or of those whose fathers have\nrejected it, nor with _the deceitful riches of this world_, nor with\n_science falsely so-called_, nor indeed with any one of those\nstrongholds of infidelity against whom We have laboured in the past.\nRather it appears as if at last the time was come of which the apostle\nspoke when he said that _that day shall not come, except there come a\nfalling away first, and that Man of Sin be revealed, the Son of\nPerdition, who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called\nGod._\n\n\u201cIt is not with this or that force that we are concerned, but rather\nwith the unveiled immensity of that power whose time was foretold, and\nwhose destruction is prepared.\u201d\n\nThe voice paused again, and Percy gripped the rail before him to stay\nthe trembling of his hands. There was no rustle now, nothing but a\nsilence that tingled and shook. The Pope drew a long breath, turned his\nhead slowly to right and left, and went on more deliberately than ever.\n\n\u201cIt seems good, then, to Our Humility, that the Vicar of Christ should\nhimself invite God\u2019s children to this new warfare; and it is Our\nintention to enroll under the title of the Order of Christ Crucified the\nnames of all who offer themselves to this supreme service. In doing this\nWe are aware of the novelty of Our action, and the disregard of all such\nprecautions as have been necessary in the past. We take counsel in this\nmatter with none save Him Who we believe has inspired it.\n\n\u201cFirst, then, let Us say, that although obedient service will be\nrequired from all who shall be admitted to this Order, Our primary\nintention in instituting it lies in God\u2019s regard rather than in man\u2019s,\nin appealing to Him Who asks our generosity rather than to those who\ndeny it, and dedicating once more by a formal and deliberate act our\nsouls and bodies to the heavenly Will and service of Him Who alone can\nrightly claim such offering, and will accept our poverty.\n\n\u201cBriefly, we dictate only the following conditions.\n\n\u201cNone shall be capable of entering the Order except such as shall be\nabove the age of seventeen years.\n\n\u201cNo badge, habit, nor insignia shall be attached to it.\n\n\u201cThe Three Evangelical Counsels shall be the foundation of the Rule, to\nwhich we add a fourth intention, namely, that of a desire to receive the\ncrown of martyrdom and a purpose of embracing it.\n\n\u201cThe bishop of every diocese, if he himself shall enter the Order, shall\nbe the superior within the limits of his own jurisdiction, and alone\nshall be exempt from the literal observance of the Vow of Poverty so\nlong as he retains his see. Such bishops as do not feel the vocation to\nthe Order shall retain their sees under the usual conditions, but shall\nhave no Religious claim on the members of the Order.\n\n\u201cFurther, We announce Our intention of Ourself entering the Order as its\nsupreme prelate, and of making Our profession within the course of a few\ndays.\n\n\u201cFurther, We declare that in Our Own pontificate none shall be elevated\nto the Sacred College save those who have made their profession in the\nOrder; and We shall dedicate shortly the Basilica of St. Peter and St.\nPaul as the central church of the Order, in which church We shall raise\nto the altars without any delay those happy souls who shall lay down\ntheir lives in the pursuance of their vocation.\n\n\u201cOf that vocation it is unnecessary to speak beyond indicating that it\nmay be pursued under any conditions laid down by the Superiors. As\nregards the novitiate, its conditions and requirements, we shall shortly\nissue the necessary directions. Each diocesan superior (for it is Our\nhope that none will hold back) shall have all such rights as usually\nappertain to Religious Superiors, and shall be empowered to employ his\nsubjects in any work that, in his opinion, shall subserve the glory of\nGod and the salvation of souls. It is Our Own intention to employ in Our\nservice none except those who shall make their profession.\u201d\n\nHe raised his eyes once more, seemingly without emotion, then he\ncontinued:\n\n\u201cSo far, then, We have determined. On other matters We shall take\ncounsel immediately; but it is Our wish that these words shall be\ncommunicated to all the world, that there may be no delay in making\nknown what it is that Christ through His Vicar asks of all who profess\nthe Divine Name. We offer no rewards except those which God Himself has\npromised to those that love Him, and lay down their life for Him; no\npromise of peace, save of that which passeth understanding; no home save\nthat which befits pilgrims and sojourners who seek a City to come; no\nhonour save the world\u2019s contempt; no life, save that which is hid with\nChrist in God.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nI\n\nOliver Brand, seated in his little private room at Whitehall, was\nexpecting a visitor. It was already close upon ten o\u2019clock, and at\nhalf-past he must be in the House. He had hoped that Mr. Francis,\nwhoever he might be, would not detain him long. Even now, every moment\nwas a respite, for the work had become simply prodigious during the last\nweeks.\n\nBut he was not reprieved for more than a minute, for the last boom from\nthe Victoria Tower had scarcely ceased to throb when the door opened and\na clerkly voice uttered the name he was expecting.\n\nOliver shot one quick look at the stranger, at his drooping lids and\ndown-turned mouth, summed him up fairly and accurately in the moments\nduring which they seated themselves, and went briskly to business.\n\n\u201cAt twenty-five minutes past, sir, I must leave this room,\u201d he said.\n\u201cUntil then---\u201d he made a little gesture.\n\nMr. Francis reassured him.\n\n\u201cThank you, Mr. Brand--that is ample time. Then, if you will excuse\nme---\u201d He groped in his breast-pocket, and drew out a long envelope.\n\n\u201cI will leave this with you,\u201d he said, \u201cwhen I go. It sets out our\ndesires at length and our names. And this is what I have to say, sir.\u201d\n\nHe sat back, crossed his legs, and went on, with a touch of eagerness in\nhis voice.\n\n\u201cI am a kind of deputation, as you know,\u201d he said. \u201cWe have something\nboth to ask and to offer. I am chosen because it was my own idea. First,\nmay I ask a question?\u201d\n\nOliver bowed.\n\n\u201cI wish to ask nothing that I ought not. But I believe it is practically\ncertain, is it not?--that Divine Worship is to be restored throughout\nthe kingdom?\u201d\n\nOliver smiled.\n\n\u201cI suppose so,\u201d he said. \u201cThe bill has been read for the third time,\nand, as you know, the President is to speak upon it this evening.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe will not veto it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe suppose not. He has assented to it in Germany.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust so,\u201d said Mr. Francis. \u201cAnd if he assents here, I suppose it will\nbecome law immediately.\u201d\n\nOliver leaned over this table, and drew out the green paper that\ncontained the Bill.\n\n\u201cYou have this, of course---\u201d he said. \u201cWell, it becomes law at once;\nand the first feast will be observed on the first of October.\n\u2018Paternity,\u2019 is it not? Yes, Paternity.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere will be something of a rush then,\u201d said the other eagerly. \u201cWhy,\nthat is only a week hence.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not charge of this department,\u201d said Oliver, laying back the\nBill. \u201cBut I understand that the ritual will be that already in use in\nGermany. There is no reason why we should be peculiar.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the Abbey will be used?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, yes.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, sir,\u201d said Mr. Francis, \u201cof course I know the Government\nCommission has studied it all very closely, and no doubt has its own\nplans. But it appears to me that they will want all the experience they\ncan get.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo doubt.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Mr. Brand, the society which I represent consists entirely of men\nwho were once Catholic priests. We number about two hundred in London. I\nwill leave a pamphlet with you, if I may, stating our objects, our\nconstitution, and so on. It seemed to us that here was a matter in which\nour past experience might be of service to the Government. Catholic\nceremonies, as you know, are very intricate, and some of us studied them\nvery deeply in old days. We used to say that Masters of Ceremonies were\nborn, not made, and we have a fair number of those amongst us. But\nindeed every priest is something of a ceremonialist.\u201d\n\nHe paused.\n\n\u201cYes, Mr. Francis?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sure the Government realises the immense importance of all going\nsmoothly. If Divine Service was at all grotesque or disorderly, it would\nlargely defeat its own object. So I have been deputed to see you, Mr.\nBrand, and to suggest to you that here is a body of men--reckon it as at\nleast twenty-five--who have had special experience in this kind of\nthing, and are perfectly ready to put themselves at the disposal of the\nGovernment.\u201d\n\nOliver could not resist a faint flicker of a smile at the corner of his\nmouth. It was a very grim bit of irony, he thought, but it seemed\nsensible enough.\n\n\u201cI quite understand, Mr. Francis. It seems a very reasonable suggestion.\nBut I do not think I am the proper person. Mr. Snowford---\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes, sir, I know. But your speech the other day inspired us all.\nYou said exactly what was in all our hearts--that the world could not\nlive without worship; and that now that God was found at last---\u201d\n\nOliver waved his hand. He hated even a touch of flattery.\n\n\u201cIt is very good of you, Mr. Francis. I will certainly speak to Mr.\nSnowford. I understand that you offer yourselves as--as Masters of\nCeremonies--?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir; and sacristans. I have studied the German ritual very\ncarefully; it is more elaborate than I had thought it. It will need a\ngood deal of adroitness. I imagine that you will want at least a dozen\n_Ceremoniarii_ in the Abbey; and a dozen more in the vestries will\nscarcely be too much.\u201d\n\nOliver nodded abruptly, looking curiously at the eager pathetic face of\nthe man opposite him; yet it had something, too, of that mask-like\npriestly look that he had seen before in others like him. This was\nevidently a devotee.\n\n\u201cYou are all Masons, of course?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cWhy, of course, Mr. Brand.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good. I will speak to Mr. Snowford to-day if I can catch him.\u201d\n\nHe glanced at the clock. There were yet three or four minutes.\n\n\u201cYou have seen the new appointment in Rome, sir,\u201d went on Mr. Francis.\n\nOliver shook his head. He was not particularly interested in Rome just\nnow.\n\n\u201cCardinal Martin is dead--he died on Tuesday--and his place is already\nfilled.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes--the new man was once a friend of mine--Franklin, his name\nis--Percy Franklin.\u201d\n\n\u201cEh?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter, Mr. Brand? Did you know him?\u201d\n\nOliver was eyeing him darkly, a little pale.\n\n\u201cYes; I knew him,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cAt least, I think so.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was at Westminster until a month or two ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said Oliver, still looking at him. \u201cAnd you knew him, Mr.\nFrancis?\u201d\n\n\u201cI knew him--yes.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!--well, I should like to have a talk some day about him.\u201d\n\nHe broke off. It yet wanted a minute to his time.\n\n\u201cAnd that is all?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cThat is all my actual business, sir,\u201d answered the other. \u201cBut I hope\nyou will allow me to say how much we all appreciate what you have done,\nMr. Brand. I do not think it is possible for any, except ourselves, to\nunderstand what the loss of worship means to us. It was very strange at\nfirst---\u201d\n\nHis voice trembled a little, and he stopped. Oliver felt interested, and\nchecked himself in his movement to rise.\n\n\u201cYes, Mr. Francis?\u201d\n\nThe melancholy brown eyes turned on him full.\n\n\u201cIt was an illusion, of course, sir--we know that. But I, at any rate,\ndare to hope that it was not all wasted--all our aspirations and\npenitence and praise. We mistook our God, but none the less it reached\nHim--it found its way to the Spirit of the World. It taught us that the\nindividual was nothing, and that He was all. And now---\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d said the other softly. He was really touched.\n\nThe sad brown eyes opened full.\n\n\u201cAnd now Mr. Felsenburgh is come.\u201d He swallowed in his throat. \u201cJulian\nFelsenburgh!\u201d There was a world of sudden passion in his gentle voice,\nand Oliver\u2019s own heart responded.\n\n\u201cI know, sir,\u201d he said; \u201cI know all that you mean.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! to have a Saviour at last!\u201d cried Francis. \u201cOne that can be seen\nand handled and praised to His Face! It is like a dream--too good to be\ntrue!\u201d\n\nOliver glanced at the clock, and rose abruptly, holding out his hand.\n\n\u201cForgive me, sir. I must not stay. You have touched me very deeply.... I\nwill speak to Snowford. Your address is here, I understand?\u201d\n\nHe pointed to the papers.\n\n\u201cYes, Mr. Brand. There is one more question.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must not stay, sir,\u201d said Oliver, shaking his head.\n\n\u201cOne instant--is it true that this worship will be compulsory?\u201d\n\nOliver bowed as he gathered up his papers.\n\n\nII\n\nMabel, seated in the gallery that evening behind the President\u2019s chair,\nhad already glanced at her watch half-a-dozen times in the last hour,\nhoping each time that twenty-one o\u2019clock was nearer than she feared. She\nknew well enough by now that the President of Europe would not be\nhalf-a-minute either before or after his time. His supreme punctuality\nwas famous all over the continent. He had said Twenty-One, so it was to\nbe twenty-one.\n\nA sharp bell-note impinged from beneath, and in a moment the drawling\nvoice of the speaker stopped. Once more she lifted her wrist, saw that\nit wanted five minutes of the hour; then she leaned forward from her\ncorner and stared down into the House.\n\nA great change had passed over it at the metallic noise. All down the\nlong brown seats members were shifting and arranging themselves more\ndecorously, uncrossing their legs, slipping their hats beneath the\nleather fringes. As she looked, too, she saw the President of the House\ncoming down the three steps from his chair, for Another would need it in\na few moments.\n\nThe house was full from end to end; a late comer ran in from the\ntwilight of the south door and looked distractedly about him in the full\nlight before he saw his vacant place. The galleries at the lower end\nwere occupied too, down there, where she had failed to obtain a seat.\nYet from all the crowded interior there was no sound but a sibilant\nwhispering; from the passages behind she could hear again the quick\nbell-note repeat itself as the lobbies were cleared; and from Parliament\nSquare outside once more came the heavy murmur of the crowd that had\nbeen inaudible for the last twenty minutes. When that ceased she would\nknow that he was come.\n\nHow strange and wonderful it was to be here--on this night of all, when\nthe President was to speak! A month ago he had assented to a similar\nBill in Germany, and had delivered a speech on the same subject at\nTurin. To-morrow he was to be in Spain. No one knew where he had been\nduring the past week. A rumour had spread that his volor had been seen\npassing over Lake Como, and had been instantly contradicted. No one knew\neither what he would say to-night. It might be three words or twenty\nthousand. There were a few clauses in the Bill--notably those bearing on\nthe point as to when the new worship was to be made compulsory on all\nsubjects over the age of seven--it might be he would object and veto\nthese. In that case all must be done again, and the Bill re-passed,\nunless the House accepted his amendment instantly by acclamation.\n\nMabel herself was inclined to these clauses. They provided that,\nalthough worship was to be offered in every parish church of England on\nthe ensuing first day of October, this was not to be compulsory on all\nsubjects till the New Year; whereas, Germany, who had passed the Bill\nonly a month before, had caused it to come into full force immediately,\nthus compelling all her Catholic subjects either to leave the country\nwithout delay or suffer the penalties. These penalties were not\nvindictive: on a first offence a week\u2019s detention only was to be given;\non the second, one month\u2019s imprisonment; on the third, one year\u2019s; and\non the fourth, perpetual imprisonment until the criminal yielded. These\nwere merciful terms, it seemed; for even imprisonment itself meant no\nmore than reasonable confinement and employment on Government works.\nThere were no mediaeval horrors here; and the act of worship demanded\nwas so little, too; it consisted of no more than bodily presence in the\nchurch or cathedral on the four new festivals of Maternity, Life,\nSustenance and Paternity, celebrated on the first day of each quarter.\nSunday worship was to be purely voluntary.\n\nShe could not understand how any man could refuse this homage. These\nfour things were facts--they were the manifestations of what she called\nthe Spirit of the World--and if others called that Power God, yet surely\nthese ought to be considered as His functions. Where then was the\ndifficulty? It was not as if Christian worship were not permitted, under\nthe usual regulations. Catholics could still go to mass. And yet\nappalling things were threatened in Germany: not less than twelve\nthousand persons had already left for Rome; and it was rumoured that\nforty thousand would refuse this simple act of homage a few days hence.\nIt bewildered and angered her to think of it.\n\nFor herself the new worship was a crowning sign of the triumph of\nHumanity. Her heart had yearned for some such thing as this--some\npublic corporate profession of what all now believed. She had so\nresented the dulness of folk who were content with action and never\nconsidered its springs. Surely this instinct within her was a true one;\nshe desired to stand with her fellows in some solemn place, consecrated\nnot by priests but by the will of man; to have as her inspirers sweet\nsinging and the peal of organs; to utter her sorrow with thousands\nbeside her at her own feebleness of immolation before the Spirit of all;\nto sing aloud her praise of the glory of life, and to offer by sacrifice\nand incense an emblematic homage to That from which she drew her being,\nand to whom one day she must render it again. Ah! these Christians had\nunderstood human nature, she had told herself a hundred times: it was\ntrue that they had degraded it, darkened light, poisoned thought,\nmisinterpreted instinct; but they had understood that man must worship\n--must worship or sink.\n\nFor herself she intended to go at least once a week to the little old\nchurch half-a-mile away from her home, to kneel there before the sunlit\nsanctuary, to meditate on sweet mysteries, to present herself to That\nwhich she was yearning to love, and to drink, it might be, new draughts\nof life and power.\n\nAh! but the Bill must pass first.... She clenched her hands on the rail,\nand stared steadily before her on the ranks of heads, the open gangways,\nthe great mace on the table, and heard, above the murmur of the crowd\noutside and the dying whispers within, her own heart beat.\n\nShe could not see Him, she knew. He would come in from beneath through\nthe door that none but He might use, straight into the seat beneath the\ncanopy. But she would hear His voice--that must be joy enough for\nher....\n\nAh! there was silence now outside; the soft roar had died. He had come\nthen. And through swimming eyes she saw the long ridges of heads rise\nbeneath her, and through drumming ears heard the murmur of many feet.\nAll faces looked this way; and she watched them as a mirror to see the\nreflected light of His presence. There was a gentle sobbing somewhere in\nthe air--was it her own or another\u2019s? ... the click of a door; a great\nmellow booming over-head, shock after shock, as the huge tenor bells\ntolled their three strokes; and, in an instant, over the white faces\npassed a ripple, as if some breeze of passion shook the souls within;\nthere was a swaying here and there; and a passionless voice spoke half a\ndozen words in Esperanto, out of sight:\n\n\u201cEnglishmen, I assent to the Bill of Worship.\u201d\n\n\nIII\n\nIt was not until mid-day breakfast on the following morning that husband\nand wife met again. Oliver had slept in town and telephoned about eleven\no\u2019clock that he would be home immediately, bringing a guest with him:\nand shortly before noon she heard their voices in the hall.\n\nMr. Francis, who was presently introduced to her, seemed a harmless kind\nof man, she thought, not interesting, though he seemed in earnest about\nthis Bill. It was not until breakfast was nearly over that she\nunderstood who he was.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t go, Mabel,\u201d said her husband, as she made a movement to rise.\n\u201cYou will like to hear about this, I expect. My wife knows all that I\nknow,\u201d he added.\n\nMr. Francis smiled and bowed.\n\n\u201cI may tell her about you, sir?\u201d said Oliver again.\n\n\u201cWhy, certainly.\u201d\n\nThen she heard that he had been a Catholic priest a few months before,\nand that Mr. Snowford was in consultation with him as to the ceremonies\nin the Abbey. She was conscious of a sudden interest as she heard this.\n\n\u201cOh! do talk,\u201d she said. \u201cI want to hear everything.\u201d\n\nIt seemed that Mr. Francis had seen the new Minister of Public Worship\nthat morning, and had received a definite commission from him to take\ncharge of the ceremonies on the first of October. Two dozen of his\ncolleagues, too, were to be enrolled among the _ceremoniarii_, at least\ntemporarily--and after the event they were to be sent on a lecturing\ntour to organise the national worship throughout the country.\n\nOf course things would be somewhat sloppy at first, said Mr. Francis;\nbut by the New Year it was hoped that all would be in order, at least in\nthe cathedrals and principal towns.\n\n\u201cIt is important,\u201d he said, \u201cthat this should be done as soon as\npossible. It is very necessary to make a good impression. There are\nthousands who have the instinct of worship, without knowing how to\nsatisfy it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is perfectly true,\u201d said Oliver. \u201cI have felt that for a long\ntime. I suppose it is the deepest instinct in man.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs to the ceremonies---\u201d went on the other, with a slightly important\nair. His eyes roved round a moment; then he dived into his\nbreast-pocket, and drew out a thin red-covered book.\n\n\u201cHere is the Order of Worship for the Feast of Paternity,\u201d he said. \u201cI\nhave had it interleaved, and have made a few notes.\u201d\n\nHe began to turn the pages, and Mabel, with considerable excitement,\ndrew her chair a little closer to listen.\n\n\u201cThat is right, sir,\u201d said the other. \u201cNow give us a little lecture.\u201d\n\nMr. Francis closed the book on his finger, pushed his plate aside, and\nbegan to discourse.\n\n\u201cFirst,\u201d he said, \u201cwe must remember that this ritual is based almost\nentirely upon that of the Masons. Three-quarters at least of the entire\nfunction will be occupied by that. With that the _ceremoniarii_ will not\ninterfere, beyond seeing that the insignia are ready in the vestries and\nproperly put on. The proper officials will conduct the rest.... I need\nnot speak of that then. The difficulties begin with the last quarter.\u201d\n\nHe paused, and with a glance of apology began arranging forks and\nglasses before him on the cloth.\n\n\u201cNow here,\u201d he said, \u201cwe have the old sanctuary of the abbey. In the\nplace of the reredos and Communion table there will be erected the large\naltar of which the ritual speaks, with the steps leading up to it from\nthe floor. Behind the altar--extending almost to the old shrine of the\nConfessor--will stand the pedestal with the emblematic figure upon it;\nand--so far as I understand from the absence of directions--each such\nfigure will remain in place until the eve of the next quarterly feast.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat kind of figure?\u201d put in the girl.\n\nFrancis glanced at her husband.\n\n\u201cI understand that Mr. Markenheim has been consulted,\u201d he said. \u201cHe will\ndesign and execute them. Each is to represent its own feast. This for\nPaternity---\u201d\n\nHe paused again.\n\n\u201cYes, Mr. Francis?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis one, I understand, is to be the naked figure of a man.\u201d\n\n\u201cA kind of Apollo--or Jupiter, my dear,\u201d put in Oliver.\n\nYes--that seemed all right, thought Mabel. Mr. Francis\u2019s voice moved on\nhastily.\n\n\u201cA new procession enters at this point, after the discourse,\u201d he said.\n\u201cIt is this that will need special marshalling. I suppose no rehearsal\nwill be possible?\u201d\n\n\u201cScarcely,\u201d said Oliver, smiling.\n\nThe Master of Ceremonies sighed.\n\n\u201cI feared not. Then we must issue very precise printed instructions.\nThose who take part will withdraw, I imagine, during the hymn, to the\nold chapel of St. Faith. That is what seems to me the best.\u201d\n\nHe indicated the chapel.\n\n\u201cAfter the entrance of the procession all will take their places on\nthese two sides--here--and here--while the celebrant with the sacred\nministers---\u201d\n\n\u201cEh?\u201d\n\nMr. Francis permitted a slight grimace to appear on his face; he flushed\na little.\n\n\u201cThe President of Europe---\u201d He broke off. \u201cAh! that is the point. Will\nthe President take part? That is not made clear in the ritual.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe think so,\u201d said Oliver. \u201cHe is to be approached.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, if not, I suppose the Minister of Public Worship will officiate.\nHe with his supporters pass straight up to the foot of the altar.\nRemember that the figure is still veiled, and that the candles have been\nlighted during the approach of the procession. There follow the\nAspirations printed in the ritual with the responds. These are sung by\nthe choir, and will be most impressive, I think. Then the officiant\nascends the altar alone, and, standing, declaims the Address, as it is\ncalled. At the close of it--at the point, that is to say, marked here\nwith a star, the thurifers will leave the chapel, four in number. One\nascends the altar, leaving the others swinging their thurifers at its\nfoot--hands his to the officiant and retires. Upon the sounding of a\nbell the curtains are drawn back, the officiant tenses the image in\nsilence with four double swings, and, as he ceases the choir sings the\nappointed antiphon.\u201d\n\nHe waved his hands.\n\n\u201cThe rest is easy,\u201d he said. \u201cWe need not discuss that.\u201d\n\nTo Mabel\u2019s mind even the previous ceremonies seemed easy enough. But she\nwas undeceived.\n\n\u201cYou have no idea, Mrs. Brand,\u201d went on the _ceremoniarius_, \u201cof the\ndifficulties involved even in such a simple matter as this. The\nstupidity of people is prodigious. I foresee a great deal of hard work\nfor us all.... Who is to deliver the discourse, Mr. Brand?\u201d\n\nOliver shook his head.\n\n\u201cI have no idea,\u201d he said. \u201cI suppose Mr. Snowford will select.\u201d\n\nMr. Francis looked at him doubtfully.\n\n\u201cWhat is your opinion of the whole affair, sir?\u201d he said.\n\nOliver paused a moment.\n\n\u201cI think it is necessary,\u201d he began. \u201cThere would not be such a cry for\nworship if it was not a real need. I think too--yes, I think that on the\nwhole the ritual is impressive. I do not see how it could be\nbettered....\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Oliver?\u201d put in his wife, questioningly.\n\n\u201cNo--there is nothing--except ... except I hope the people will\nunderstand it.\u201d\n\nMr. Francis broke in.\n\n\u201cMy dear sir, worship involves a touch of mystery. You must remember\nthat. It was the lack of that that made Empire Day fail in the last\ncentury. For myself, I think it is admirable. Of course much must depend\non the manner in which it is presented. I see many details at present\nundecided--the colour of the curtains, and so forth. But the main plan\nis magnificent. It is simple, impressive, and, above all, it is\nunmistakable in its main lesson---\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that you take to be--?\u201d\n\n\u201cI take it that it is homage offered to Life,\u201d said the other slowly.\n\u201cLife under four aspects--Maternity corresponds to Christmas and the\nChristian fable; it is the feast of home, love, faithfulness. Life\nitself is approached in spring, teeming, young, passionate. Sustenance\nin midsummer, abundance, comfort, plenty, and the rest, corresponding\nsomewhat to the Catholic Corpus Christi; and Paternity, the protective,\ngenerative, masterful idea, as winter draws on.... I understand it was a\nGerman thought.\u201d\n\nOliver nodded.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I suppose it will be the business of the speaker to\nexplain all this.\u201d\n\n\u201cI take it so. It appears to me far more suggestive than the alternative\nplan--Citizenship, Labour, and so forth. These, after all, are\nsubordinate to Life.\u201d\n\nMr. Francis spoke with an extraordinary suppressed enthusiasm, and the\npriestly look was more evident than ever. It was plain that his heart at\nleast demanded worship.\n\nMabel clasped her hands suddenly.\n\n\u201cI think it is beautiful,\u201d she said softly, \u201cand--and it is so real.\u201d\n\nMr. Francis turned on her with a glow in his brown eyes.\n\n\u201cAh! yes, madam. That is it. There is no Faith, as we used to call it:\nit is the vision of Facts that no one can doubt; and the incense\ndeclares the sole divinity of Life as well as its mystery.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat of the figures?\u201d put in Oliver.\n\n\u201cA stone image is impossible, of course. It must be clay for the\npresent. Mr. Markenheim is to set to work immediately. If the figures\nare approved they can then be executed in marble.\u201d\n\nAgain Mabel spoke with a soft gravity.\n\n\u201cIt seems to me,\u201d she said, \u201cthat this is the last thing that we needed.\nIt is so hard to keep our principles clear--we must have a body for\nthem--some kind of expression---\u201d\n\nShe paused.\n\n\u201cYes, Mabel?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not mean,\u201d she went on, \u201cthat some cannot live without it, but\nmany cannot. The unimaginative need concrete images. There must be some\nchannel for their aspirations to flow through--- Ah! I cannot express\nmyself!\u201d\n\nOliver nodded slowly. He, too, seemed to be in a meditative mood.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd this, I suppose, will mould men\u2019s thoughts too: it\nwill keep out all danger of superstition.\u201d\n\nMr. Francis turned on him abruptly.\n\n\u201cWhat do you think of the Pope\u2019s new Religious Order, sir?\u201d\n\nOliver\u2019s face took on it a tinge of grimness.\n\n\u201cI think it is the worst step he ever took--for himself, I mean. Either\nit is a real effort, in which case it will provoke immense\nindignation--or it is a sham, and will discredit him. Why do you ask?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was wondering whether any disturbance will be made in the abbey.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should be sorry for the brawler.\u201d\n\nA bell rang sharply from the row of telephone labels. Oliver rose and\nwent to it. Mabel watched him as he touched a button--mentioned his\nname, and put his ear to the opening.\n\n\u201cIt is Snowford\u2019s secretary,\u201d he said abruptly to the two expectant\nfaces. \u201cSnowford wants to--ah!\u201d\n\nAgain he mentioned his name and listened. They heard a sentence or two\nfrom him that seemed significant.\n\n\u201cAh! that is certain, is it? I am sorry.... Yes.... Oh! but that is\nbetter than nothing.... Yes; he is here.... Indeed. Very well; we will\nbe with you directly.\u201d\n\nHe looked on the tube, touched the button again, and came back to them.\n\n\u201cI am sorry,\u201d he said. \u201cThe President will take no part at the Feast.\nBut it is uncertain whether he will not be present. Mr. Snowford wants\nto see us both at once, Mr. Francis. Markenheim is with him.\u201d\n\nBut though Mabel was herself disappointed, she thought he looked graver\nthan the disappointment warranted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nI\n\nPercy Franklin, the new Cardinal-Protector of England, came slowly along\nthe passage leading from the Pope\u2019s apartments, with Hans Steinmann,\nCardinal-Protector of Germany, blowing at his side. They entered the\nlift, still in silence, and passed out, two splendid vivid figures, one\nerect and virile, the other bent, fat, and very German from spectacles\nto flat buckled feet.\n\nAt the door of Percy\u2019s suite, the Englishman paused, made a little\ngesture of reverence, and went in without a word.\n\nA secretary, young Mr. Brent, lately from England, stood up as his\npatron came in.\n\n\u201cEminence,\u201d he said, \u201cthe English papers are come.\u201d\n\nPercy put out a hand, took a paper, passed on into his inner room, and\nsat down.\n\nThere it all was--gigantic headlines, and four columns of print broken\nby startling title phrases in capital letters, after the fashion set by\nAmerica a hundred years ago. No better way even yet had been found of\nmisinforming the unintelligent.\n\nHe looked at the top. It was the English edition of the _Era_. Then he\nread the headlines. They ran as follows:\n\n\u201cTHE NATIONAL WORSHIP. BEWILDERING SPLENDOUR. RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM. THE\nABBEY AND GOD. CATHOLIC FANATIC. EX-PRIESTS AS FUNCTIONARIES.\u201d\n\nHe ran his eyes down the page, reading the vivid little phrases, and\ndrawing from the whole a kind of impressionist view of the scenes in the\nAbbey on the previous day, of which he had already been informed by the\ntelegraph, and the discussion of which had been the purpose of his\ninterview just now with the Holy Father.\n\nThere plainly was no additional news; and he was laying the paper down\nwhen his eye caught a name.\n\n\u201cIt is understood that Mr. Francis, the _ceremoniarius_ (to whom the\nthanks of all are due for his reverent zeal and skill), will proceed\nshortly to the northern towns to lecture on the Ritual. It is\ninteresting to reflect that this gentleman only a few months ago was\nofficiating at a Catholic altar. He was assisted in his labours by\ntwenty-four confreres with the same experience behind them.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood God!\u201d said Percy aloud. Then he laid the paper down.\n\nBut his thoughts had soon left this renegade behind, and once more he\nwas running over in his mind the significance of the whole affair, and\nthe advice that he had thought it his duty to give just now upstairs.\n\nBriefly, there was no use in disputing the fact that the inauguration of\nPantheistic worship had been as stupendous a success in England as in\nGermany. France, by the way, was still too busy with the cult of human\nindividuals, to develop larger ideas.\n\nBut England was deeper; and, somehow, in spite of prophecy, the affair\nhad taken place without even a touch of bathos or grotesqueness. It had\nbeen said that England was too solid and too humorous. Yet there had\nbeen extraordinary scenes the day before. A great murmur of enthusiasm\nhad rolled round the Abbey from end to end as the gorgeous curtains ran\nback, and the huge masculine figure, majestic and overwhelming, coloured\nwith exquisite art, had stood out above the blaze of candles against the\ntall screen that shrouded the shrine. Markenheim had done his work well;\nand Mr. Brand\u2019s passionate discourse had well prepared the popular mind\nfor the revelation. He had quoted in his peroration passage after\npassage from the Jewish prophets, telling of the City of Peace whose\nwalls rose now before their eyes.\n\n\u201c_Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is\nrisen upon thee.... For behold I create new heavens and a new earth; and\nthe former shall not be remembered nor come into mind.... Violence shall\nno more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy\nborders. O thou so long afflicted, tossed with tempest and not\ncomforted; behold I will lay thy stones with fair colours, and thy\nfoundations with sapphires.... I will make thy windows of agates and thy\ngates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones. Arise,\nshine, for thy light is come._\u201d\n\nAs the chink of the censer-chains had sounded in the stillness, with one\nconsent the enormous crowd had fallen on its knees, and so remained, as\nthe smoke curled up from the hands of the rebel figure who held the\nthurible. Then the organ had begun to blow, and from the huge massed\nchorus in the transepts had rolled out the anthem, broken by one\npassionate cry, from some mad Catholic. But it had been silenced in an\ninstant....\n\nIt was incredible--utterly incredible, Percy had told himself. Yet the\nincredible had happened; and England had found its worship once\nmore--the necessary culmination of unimpeded subjectivity. From the\nprovinces had come the like news. In cathedral after cathedral had been\nthe same scenes. Markenheim\u2019s masterpiece, executed in four days after\nthe passing of the bill, had been reproduced by the ordinary machinery,\nand four thousand replicas had been despatched to every important\ncentre. Telegraphic reports had streamed into the London papers that\neverywhere the new movement had been received with acclamation, and that\nhuman instincts had found adequate expression at last. If there had not\nbeen a God, mused Percy reminiscently, it would have been necessary to\ninvent one. He was astonished, too, at the skill with which the new cult\nhad been framed. It moved round no disputable points; there was no\npossibility of divergent political tendencies to mar its success, no\nover-insistence on citizenship, labour and the rest, for those who were\nsecretly individualistic and idle. Life was the one fount and centre of\nit all, clad in the gorgeous robes of ancient worship. Of course the\nthought had been Felsenburgh\u2019s, though a German name had been mentioned.\nIt was Positivism of a kind, Catholicism without Christianity, Humanity\nworship without its inadequacy. It was not man that was worshipped but\nthe Idea of man, deprived of his supernatural principle. Sacrifice,\ntoo, was recognised--the instinct of oblation without the demand made by\ntranscendent Holiness upon the blood-guiltiness of man.... In fact,--in\nfact, said Percy, it was exactly as clever as the devil, and as old as\nCain.\n\nThe advice he had given to the Holy Father just now was a counsel of\ndespair, or of hope; he really did not know which. He had urged that a\nstringent decree should be issued, forbidding any acts of violence on\nthe part of Catholics. The faithful were to be encouraged to be patient,\nto hold utterly aloof from the worship, to say nothing unless they were\nquestioned, to suffer bonds gladly. He had suggested, in company with\nthe German Cardinal, that they two should return to their respective\ncountries at the close of the year, to encourage the waverers; but the\nanswer had been that their vocation was to remain in Rome, unless\nsomething unforeseen happened.\n\nAs for Felsenburgh, there was little news. It was said that he was in\nthe East; but further details were secret. Percy understood quite well\nwhy he had not been present at the worship as had been expected. First,\nit would have been difficult to decide between the two countries that\nhad established it; and, secondly, he was too brilliant a politician to\nrisk the possible association of failure with his own person; thirdly,\nthere was something the matter with the East.\n\nThis last point was difficult to understand; it had not yet become\nexplicit, but it seemed as if the movement of last year had not yet run\nits course. It was undoubtedly difficult to explain the new President\u2019s\nconstant absences from his adopted continent, unless there was something\nthat demanded his presence elsewhere; but the extreme discretion of the\nEast and the stringent precautions taken by the Empire made it\nimpossible to know any details. It was apparently connected with\nreligion; there were rumours, portents, prophets, ecstatics there.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nUpon Percy himself had fallen a subtle change which he himself was\nrecognising. He no longer soared to confidence or sank to despair. He\nsaid his mass, read his enormous correspondence, meditated strictly;\nand, though he felt nothing he knew everything. There was not a tinge of\ndoubt upon his faith, but neither was there emotion in it. He was as one\nwho laboured in the depths of the earth, crushed even in imagination,\nyet conscious that somewhere birds sang, and the sun shone, and water\nran. He understood his own state well enough, and perceived that he had\ncome to a reality of faith that was new to him, for it was sheer\nfaith--sheer apprehension of the Spiritual--without either the dangers\nor the joys of imaginative vision. He expressed it to himself by saying\nthat there were three processes through which God led the soul: the\nfirst was that of external faith, which assents to all things presented\nby the accustomed authority, practises religion, and is neither\ninterested nor doubtful; the second follows the quickening of the\nemotional and perceptive powers of the soul, and is set about with\nconsolations, desires, mystical visions and perils; it is in this plane\nthat resolutions are taken and vocations found and shipwrecks\nexperienced; and the third, mysterious and inexpressible, consists in\nthe re-enactment in the purely spiritual sphere of all that has preceded\n(as a play follows a rehearsal), in which God is grasped but not\nexperienced, grace is absorbed unconsciously and even distastefully, and\nlittle by little the inner spirit is conformed in the depths of its\nbeing, far within the spheres of emotion and intellectual perception, to\nthe image and mind of Christ.\n\nSo he lay back now, thinking, a long, stately, scarlet figure, in his\ndeep chair, staring out over Holy Rome seen through the misty September\nhaze. How long, he wondered, would there be peace? To his eyes even\nalready the air was black with doom.\n\nHe struck his hand-bell at last.\n\n\u201cBring me Father Blackmore\u2019s Last report,\u201d he said, as his secretary\nappeared.\n\n\nII\n\nPercy\u2019s intuitive faculties were keen by nature and had been vastly\nincreased by cultivation. He had never forgotten Father Blackmore\u2019s\nshrewd remarks of a year ago; and one of his first acts as\nCardinal-Protector had been to appoint that priest on the list of\nEnglish correspondents. Hitherto he had received some dozen letters, and\nnot one of them had been without its grain of gold. Especially he had\nnoticed that one warning ran through them all, namely, that sooner or\nlater there would be some overt act of provocation on the part of\nEnglish Catholics; and it was the memory of this that had inspired his\nvehement entreaties to the Pope this morning. As in the Roman and\nAfrican persecutions of the first three centuries, so now, the greatest\ndanger to the Catholic community lay not in the unjust measures of the\nGovernment but in the indiscreet zeal of the faithful themselves. The\nworld desired nothing better than a handle to its blade. The scabbard\nwas already cast away.\n\nWhen the young man had brought the four closely written sheets, dated\nfrom Westminster, the previous evening, Percy turned at once to the last\nparagraph before the usual Recommendations.\n\n\u201cMr. Brand\u2019s late secretary, Mr. Phillips, whom your Eminence commended\nto me, has been to see me two or three times. He is in a curious state.\nHe has no faith; yet, intellectually, he sees no hope anywhere but in\nthe Catholic Church. He has even begged for admission to the Order of\nChrist Crucified, which of course is impossible. But there is no doubt\nhe is sincere; otherwise he would have professed Catholicism. I have\nintroduced him to many Catholics in the hope that they may help him. I\nshould much wish your Eminence to see him.\u201d\n\nBefore leaving England, Percy had followed up the acquaintance he had\nmade so strangely over Mrs. Brand\u2019s reconciliation to God, and, scarcely\nknowing why, had commended him to the priest. He had not been\nparticularly impressed by Mr. Phillips; he had thought him a timid,\nundecided creature, yet he had been struck by the extremely unselfish\naction by which the man had forfeited his position. There must surely be\na good deal behind.\n\nAnd now the impulse had come to send for him. Perhaps the spiritual\natmosphere of Rome would precipitate faith. In any case, the\nconversation of Mr. Brand\u2019s late secretary might be instructive.\n\nHe struck the bell again.\n\n\u201cMr. Brent,\u201d he said, \u201cin your next letter to Father Blackmore, tell him\nthat I wish to see the man whom he proposed to send--Mr. Phillips.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Eminence.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no hurry. He can send him at his leisure.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Eminence.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he must not come till January. That will be time enough, unless\nthere is urgent reason.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Eminence.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe development of the Order of Christ Crucified had gone forward with\nalmost miraculous success. The appeal issued by the Holy Father\nthroughout Christendom had been as fire among stubble. It seemed as if\nthe Christian world had reached exactly that point of tension at which a\nnew organisation of this nature was needed, and the response had\nstartled even the most sanguine. Practically the whole of Rome with its\nsuburbs--three millions in all--had run to the enrolling stations in\nSt. Peter\u2019s as starving men run to food, and desperate to the storming\nof a breach. For day after day the Pope himself had sat enthroned below\nthe altar of the Chair, a glorious, radiant figure, growing ever white\nand weary towards evening, imparting his Blessing with a silent sign to\neach individual of the vast crowd that swarmed up between the barriers,\nfresh from fast and Communion, to kneel before his new Superior and kiss\nthe Pontifical ring. The requirements had been as stringent as\ncircumstances allowed. Each postulant was obliged to go to confession to\na specially authorised priest, who examined sharply into motives and\nsincerity, and only one-third of the applicants had been accepted. This,\nthe authorities pointed out to the scornful, was not an excessive\nproportion; for it was to be remembered that most of those who had\npresented themselves had already undergone a sifting fierce as fire. Of\nthe three millions in Rome, two millions at least were exiles for their\nfaith, preferring to live obscure and despised in the shadow of God\nrather than in the desolate glare of their own infidel countries.\n\nOn the fifth evening of the enrolment of novices an astonishing incident\nhad taken place. The old King of Spain (Queen Victoria\u2019s second son),\nalready on the edge of the grave, had just risen and tottered before his\nRuler; it seemed for an instant as if he would fall, when the Pope\nhimself, by a sudden movement, had risen, caught him in his arms and\nkissed him; and then, still standing, had spread his arms abroad and\ndelivered a _fervorino_ such as never had been heard before in the\nhistory of the basilica.\n\n\u201c_Benedictus Dominus!_\u201d he cried, with upraised face and shining eyes.\n\u201cBlessed be the Lord God of Israel, for He hath visited and redeemed His\npeople. I, John, Vicar of Christ, Servant of Servants, and sinner among\nsinners, bid you be of good courage in the Name of God. By Him Who hung\non the Cross, I promise eternal life to all who persevere in His Order.\nHe Himself has said it. _To him that overcometh I will give a crown of\nlife._\n\n\u201cLittle children; fear not him that killeth the body. There is no more\nthat he can do. God and His Mother are amongst us....\u201d\n\nSo his voice had poured on, telling the enormous awe-stricken crowd of\nthe blood that already had been shed on the place where they stood, of\nthe body of the Apostle that lay scarcely fifty yards away, urging,\nencouraging, inspiring. They had vowed themselves to death, if that were\nGod\u2019s Will; and if not, the intention would be taken for the deed. They\nwere under obedience now; their wills were no longer theirs but God\u2019s;\nunder chastity--for their bodies were bought with a price; under\npoverty, and theirs was the kingdom of heaven.\n\nHe had ended by a great silent Benediction of the City and the World:\nand there were not wanting a half-dozen of the faithful who had seen,\nthey thought, a white shape in the form of a bird that hung in the air\nwhile he spoke white as a mist, translucent as water....\n\nThe consequent scenes in the city and suburbs had been unparalleled, for\nthousands of families had with one consent dissolved human ties.\nHusbands had found their way to the huge houses on the Quirinal set\napart for them; wives to the Aventine; while the children, as confident\nas their parents, had swarmed over to the Sisters of St. Vincent who had\nreceived at the Pope\u2019s orders the gift of three streets to shelter them\nin. Everywhere the smoke of burning went up in the squares where\nhousehold property, rendered useless by the vows of poverty, were\nconsumed by their late owners; and daily long trains moved out from the\nstation outside the walls carrying jubilant loads of those who were\ndespatched by the Pope\u2019s delegates to be the salt of men, consumed in\ntheir function, and leaven plunged in the vast measures of the infidel\nworld. And that infidel world welcomed their coming with bitter\nlaughter.\n\nFrom the rest of Christendom had poured in news of success. The same\nprecautions had been observed as in Rome, for the directions issued were\nprecise and searching; and day after day came in the long rolls of the\nnew Religious drawn up by the diocesan superiors.\n\nWithin the last few days, too, other lists had arrived, more glorious\nthan all. Not only did reports stream in that already the Order was\nbeginning its work and that already broken communications were being\nre-established, that devoted missioners were in process of organising\nthemselves, and that hope was once more rising in the most desperate\nhearts; but better than all this was the tidings of victory in another\nsphere. In Paris forty of the new-born Order had been burned alive in\none day in the Latin quarter, before the Government intervened. From\nSpain, Holland, Russia had come in other names. In Dusseldorf eighteen\nmen and boys, surprised at their singing of Prime in the church of Saint\nLaurence, had been cast down one by one into the city-sewer, each\nchanting as he vanished:\n\n\u201c_Christi Fili Dei vivi miserere nobis,_\u201d\n\nand from the darkness had come up the same broken song till it was\nsilenced with stones. Meanwhile, the German prisons were thronged with\nthe first batches of recusants. The world shrugged its shoulders, and\ndeclared that they had brought it on themselves, while yet it deprecated\nmob-violence, and requested the attention of the authorities and the\ndecisive repression of this new conspiracy of superstition. And within\nSt. Peter\u2019s Church the workmen were busy at the long rows of new altars,\naffixing to the stone diptychs the brass-forged names of those who had\nalready fulfilled their vows and gained their crowns.\n\nIt was the first word of God\u2019s reply to the world\u2019s challenge.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs Christmas drew on it was announced that the Sovereign pontiff would\nsing mass on the last day of the year, at the papal altar of Saint\nPeter\u2019s, on behalf of the Order; and preparations began to be made.\n\nIt was to be a kind of public inauguration of the new enterprise; and,\nto the astonishment of all, a special summons was issued to all members\nof the Sacred College throughout the world to be present, unless\nhindered by sickness. It seemed as if the Pope were determined that\nthe world should understand that war was declared; for, although the\ncommand would not involve the absence of any Cardinal from his province\nfor more than five days, yet many inconveniences must surely result.\nHowever, it had been said, and it was to be done.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was a strange Christmas.\n\nPercy was ordered to attend the Pope at his second mass, and himself\nsaid his three at midnight in his own private oratory. For the first\ntime in his life he saw that of which he had heard so often, the\nwonderful old-world Pontifical procession, lit by torches, going through\nthe streets from the Lateran to St. Anastasia, where the Pope for the\nlast few years had restored the ancient custom discontinued for nearly a\ncentury-and-a-half. The little basilica was reserved, of course, in\nevery corner for the peculiarly privileged; but the streets outside\nalong the whole route from the Cathedral to the church--and, indeed, the\nother two sides of the triangle as well, were one dense mass of silent\nheads and flaming torches. The Holy Father was attended at the altar by\nthe usual sovereigns; and Percy from his place watched the heavenly\ndrama of Christ\u2019s Passion enacted through the veil of His nativity at\nthe hands of His old Angelic Vicar. It was hard to perceive Calvary\nhere; it was surely the air of Bethlehem, the celestial light, not the\nsupernatural darkness, that beamed round the simple altar. It was the\nChild called Wonderful that lay there beneath the old hands, rather than\nthe stricken Man of Sorrows.\n\n_Adeste fideles_ sang the choir from the tribune.--Come, let us adore,\nrather than weep; let us exult, be content, be ourselves like little\nchildren. As He for us became a child, let us become childlike for Him.\nLet us put on the garments of infancy and the shoes of peace. _For the\nLord hath reigned; He is clothed with beauty: the Lord is clothed with\nstrength and hath girded Himself. He hath established the world which\nshall not be moved: His throne is prepared from of old. He is from\neverlasting. Rejoice greatly then, O daughter of Zion, shout for joy, O\ndaughter of Jerusalem; behold thy King cometh, to thee, the Holy One,\nthe Saviour of the world._ It will be time, then, to suffer by and bye,\nwhen the Prince of this world cometh upon the Prince of Heaven.\n\nSo Percy mused, standing apart in his gorgeousness, striving to make\nhimself little and simple. Surely nothing was too hard for God! Might\nnot this mystic Birth once more do what it had done before--bring into\nsubjection through the might of its weakness every proud thing that\nexalts itself above all that is called God? It had drawn wise Kings once\nacross the desert, as well as shepherds from their flocks. It had kings\nabout it now, kneeling with the poor and foolish, kings who had laid\ndown their crowns, who brought the gold of loyal hearts, the myrrh of\ndesired martyrdom, and the incense of a pure faith. Could not republics,\ntoo, lay aside their splendour, mobs be tamed, selfishness deny itself,\nand wisdom confess its ignorance?...\n\nThen he remembered Felsenburgh; and his heart sickened within him.\n\n\nIII\n\nSix days later, Percy rose as usual, said his mass, breakfasted, and\nsat down to say office until his servant should summon him to vest for\nthe Pontifical mass.\n\nHe had learned to expect bad news now so constantly--of apostasies,\ndeaths, losses--that the lull of the previous week had come to him with\nextraordinary refreshment. It appeared to him as if his musings in St.\nAnastasia had been truer than he thought, and that the sweetness of the\nold feast had not yet wholly lost its power even over a world that\ndenied its substance. For nothing at all had happened of importance. A\nfew more martyrdoms had been chronicled, but they had been isolated\ncases; and of Felsenburgh there had been no tidings at all. Europe\nconfessed its ignorance of his business.\n\nOn the other hand, to-morrow, Percy knew very well, would be a day of\nextraordinary moment in England and Germany at any rate; for in England\nit was appointed as the first occasion of compulsory worship throughout\nthe country, while it was the second in Germany. Men and women would\nhave to declare themselves now.\n\nHe had seen on the previous evening a photograph of the image that was\nto be worshipped next day in the Abbey; and, in a fit of loathing, had\ntorn it to shreds. It represented a nude woman, huge and majestic,\nentrancingly lovely, with head and shoulders thrown back, as one who\nsees a strange and heavenly vision, arms downstretched and hands a\nlittle raised, with wide fingers, as in astonishment--the whole\nattitude, with feet and knees pressed together, suggestive of\nexpectation, hope and wonder; in devilish mockery her long hair was\ncrowned with twelve stars. This, then, was the spouse of the other, the\nembodiment of man\u2019s ideal maternity, still waiting for her child....\n\nWhen the white scraps lay like poisonous snow at his feet, he had sprung\nacross the room to his _prie-dieu_, and fallen there in an agony of\nreparation.\n\n\u201cOh! Mother, Mother!\u201d he cried to the stately Queen of Heaven who, with\nHer true Son long ago in Her arms, looked down on him from Her\nbracket--no more than that.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut he was still again this morning, and celebrated Saint Silvester,\nPope and Martyr, the last saint in the procession of the Christian year,\nwith tolerable equanimity. The sights of last night, the throng of\nofficials, the stately, scarlet, unfamiliar figures of the Cardinals who\nhad come in from north, south, east and west--these helped to reassure\nhim again--unreasonably, as he knew, yet effectually. The very air was\nelectric with expectation. All night the piazza had been crowded by a\nhuge, silent mob waiting till the opening of the doors at seven o\u2019clock.\nNow the church itself was full, and the piazza full again. Far down the\nstreet to the river, so far as he could see as he had leaned from his\nwindow just now, lay that solemn motionless pavement of heads. The roof\nof the colonnade showed a fringe of them, the house-tops were black--and\nthis in the bitter cold of a clear, frosty morning, for it was announced\nthat after mass and the proceeding of the members of the Order past the\nPontifical Throne, the Pope would give Apostolic Benediction to the City\nand the World.\n\nPercy finished Terce, closed his book and lay back; his servant would be\nhere in a minute now.\n\nHis mind began to run over the function, and he reflected that the\nentire Sacred College (with the exception of the Cardinal-Protector of\nJerusalem, detained by sickness), numbering sixty-four members, would\ntake part. This would mean an unique sight by and bye. Eight years\nbefore, he remembered, after the freedom of Rome, there had been a\nsimilar assembly; but the Cardinals at that time amounted to no more\nthan fifty-three all told, and four had been absent.\n\nThen he heard voices in his ante-room, a quick step, and a loud English\nexpostulation. That was curious, and he sat up.\n\nThen he heard a sentence.\n\n\u201cHis Eminence must go to vest; it is useless.\u201d\n\nThere was a sharp answer, a faint scuffle, and a snatch at the handle.\nThis was indecent; so Percy stood up, made three strides of it to the\ndoor, and tore it open.\n\nA man stood there, whom at first he did not recognise, pale and\ndisordered.\n\n\u201cWhy---\u201d began Percy, and recoiled.\n\n\u201cMr. Phillips!\u201d he said.\n\nThe other threw out his hands.\n\n\u201cIt is I, sir--your Eminence--this moment arrived. It is life and death.\nYour servant tells me---\u201d\n\n\u201cWho sent you?\u201d\n\n\u201cFather Blackmore.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood news or bad?\u201d\n\nThe man rolled his eyes towards the servant, who still stood erect and\noffended a yard away; and Percy understood.\n\nHe put his hand on the other\u2019s arm, drawing him through the doorway.\n\n\u201cTap upon this door in two minutes, James,\u201d he said.\n\nThey passed across the polished floor together; Percy went to his usual\nplace in the window, leaned against the shutter, and spoke.\n\n\u201cTell me in one sentence, sir,\u201d he said to the breathless man.\n\n\u201cThere is a plot among the Catholics. They intend destroying the Abbey\nto-morrow with explosives. I knew that the Pope---\u201d\n\nPercy cut him short with a gesture.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nI\n\nThe volor-stage was comparatively empty this afternoon, as the little\nparty of six stepped out on to it from the lift. There was nothing to\ndistinguish these from ordinary travellers. The two Cardinals of Germany\nand England were wrapped in plain furs, without insignia of any kind;\ntheir chaplains stood near them, while the two men-servants hurried\nforward with the bags to secure a private compartment.\n\nThe four kept complete silence, watching the busy movements of the\nofficials on board, staring unseeingly at the sleek, polished monster\nthat lay netted in steel at their feet, and the great folded fins that\nwould presently be cutting the thin air at a hundred and fifty miles an\nhour.\n\nThen Percy, by a sudden movement, turned from the others, went to the\nopen window that looked over Rome, and leaned there with his elbows on\nthe sill, looking.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was a strange view before him.\n\nIt was darkening now towards sunset, and the sky, primrose-green\noverhead, deepened to a clear tawny orange above the horizon, with a\nsanguine line or two at the edge, and beneath that lay the deep evening\nviolet of the city, blotted here and there by the black of cypresses and\ncut by the thin leafless pinnacles of a poplar grove that aspired\nwithout the walls. But right across the picture rose the enormous dome,\nof an indescribable tint; it was grey, it was violet--it was what the\neye chose to make it--and through it, giving its solidity the air of a\nbubble, shone the southern sky, flushed too with faint orange. It was\nthis that was supreme and dominant; the serrated line of domes, spires\nand pinnacles, the crowded roofs beneath, in the valley dell\u2019 Inferno,\nthe fairy hills far away--all were but the annexe to this mighty\ntabernacle of God. Already lights were beginning to shine, as for thirty\ncenturies they had shone; thin straight skeins of smoke were ascending\nagainst the darkening sky. The hum of this Mother of cities was\nbeginning to be still, for the keen air kept folks indoors; and the\nevening peace was descending that closed another day and another year.\nBeneath in the narrow streets Percy could see tiny figures, hurrying\nlike belated ants; the crack of a whip, the cry of a woman, the wail of\na child came up to this immense elevation like details of a murmur from\nanother world. They, too, would soon be quiet, and there would be peace.\n\nA heavy bell beat faintly from far away, and the drowsy city turned to\nmurmur its good-night to the Mother of God. From a thousand towers came\nthe tiny melody, floating across the great air spaces, in a thousand\naccents, the solemn bass of St. Peter\u2019s, the mellow tenor of the\nLateran, the rough cry from some old slum church, the peevish tinkle\nof convents and chapels--all softened and made mystical in this grave\nevening air--it was the wedding of delicate sound and clear light.\nAbove, the liquid orange sky; beneath, this sweet, subdued ecstasy of\nbells.\n\n\u201c_Alma Redemptoris Mater_,\u201d whispered Percy, his eyes wet with tears.\n\u201c_Gentle Mother of the Redeemer--the open door of the sky, star of the\nsea--have mercy on sinners._ _The Angel of the Lord announced it to\nMary, and she conceived of the Holy Ghost_.... _Pour, therefore, Lord,\nThy grace into our hearts. Let us, who know Christ\u2019s incarnation, rise\nthrough passion and cross to the glory of Resurrection--through the\nsame Christ our Lord._\u201d\n\nAnother bell clanged sharply close at hand, calling him down to earth,\nand wrong, and labour and grief; and he turned to see the motionless\nvolor itself one blaze of brilliant internal light, and the two priests\nfollowing the German Cardinal across the gangway.\n\nIt was the rear compartment that the men had taken; and when he had seen\nthat the old man was comfortable, still without a word he passed out\nagain into the central passage to see the last of Rome.\n\nThe exit-door had now been snapped, and as Percy stood at the opposite\nwindow looking out at the high wall that would presently sink beneath\nhim, throughout the whole of the delicate frame began to run the\nvibration of the electric engine. There was the murmur of talking\nsomewhere, a heavy step shook the floor, a bell clanged again, twice,\nand a sweet wind-chord sounded. Again it sounded; the vibration ceased,\nand the edge of the high wall against the tawny sky on which he had\nfixed his eyes sank suddenly like a dropped bar, and he staggered a\nlittle in his place. A moment later the dome rose again, and itself\nsank, the city, a fringe of towers and a mass of dark roofs, pricked\nwith light, span like a whirlpool; the jewelled stars themselves sprang\nthis way and that; and with one more long cry the marvellous machine\nrighted itself, beat with its wings, and settled down, with the note of\nthe flying air passing through rising shrillness into vibrant silence,\nto its long voyage to the north.\n\nFurther and further sank the city behind; it was a patch now: greyness\non black. The sky seemed to grow more huge and all-containing as the\nearth relapsed into darkness; it glowed like a vast dome of wonderful\nglass, darkening even as it glowed; and as Percy dropped his eyes once\nmore round the extreme edge of the car the city was but a line and a\nbubble--a line and a swelling--a line, and nothingness.\n\nHe drew a long breath, and went back to his friends.\n\n\nII\n\n\u201cTell me again,\u201d said the old Cardinal, when the two were settled down\nopposite to one another, and the chaplains were gone to another\ncompartment. \u201cWho is this man?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis man? He was secretary to Oliver Brand, one of our politicians. He\nfetched me to old Mrs. Brand\u2019s death bed, and lost his place in\nconsequence. He is in journalism now. He is perfectly honest. No, he is\nnot a Catholic, though he longs to be one. That is why they confided in\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd they?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know nothing of them, except that they are a desperate set. They have\nenough faith to act, but not enough to be patient.... I suppose they\nthought this man would sympathise. But unfortunately he has a\nconscience, and he also sees that any attempt of this kind would be the\nlast straw on the back of toleration. Eminence, do you realise how\nviolent the feeling is against us?\u201d\n\nThe old man shook his head lamentably.\n\n\u201cDo I not?\u201d he murmured. \u201cAnd my Germans are in it? Are you sure?\u201d\n\n\u201cEminence, it is a vast plot. It has been simmering for months. There\nhave been meetings every week. They have kept the secret marvellously.\nYour Germans only delayed that the blow might be more complete. And now,\nto-morrow---\u201d Percy drew back with a despairing gesture.\n\n\u201cAnd the Holy Father?\u201d\n\n\u201cI went to him as soon as mass was over. He withdrew all opposition, and\nsent for you. It is our one chance, Eminence.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you think our plan will hinder it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no idea, but I can think of nothing else. I shall go straight to\nthe Archbishop and tell him all. We arrive, I believe, at three o\u2019clock,\nand you in Berlin about seven, I suppose, by German time. The function\nis fixed for eleven. By eleven, then, we shall have done all that is\npossible. The Government will know, and they will know, too, that we are\ninnocent in Rome. I imagine they will cause it to be announced that the\nCardinal-Protector and the Archbishop, with his coadjutors, will be\npresent in the sacristies. They will double every guard; they will\nparade volors overhead--and then--well! in God\u2019s hands be the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think the conspirators will attempt it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no idea,\u201d said Percy shortly.\n\n\u201cI understand they have alternative plans.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust so. If all is clear, they intend dropping the explosive from\nabove; if not, at least three men have offered to sacrifice themselves\nby taking it into the Abbey themselves.... And you, Eminence?\u201d\n\nThe old man eyed him steadily.\n\n\u201cMy programme is yours,\u201d he said. \u201cEminence, have you considered the\neffect in either case? If nothing happens---\u201d\n\n\u201cIf nothing happens we shall be accused of a fraud, of seeking to\nadvertise ourselves. If anything happens--well, we shall all go before\nGod together. Pray God it may be the second,\u201d he added passionately.\n\n\u201cIt will be at least easier to bear,\u201d observed the old man.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, Eminence. I should not have said that.\u201d\n\nThere fell a silence between the two, in which no sound was heard but\nthe faint untiring vibration of the screw, and the sudden cough of a man\nin the next compartment. Percy leaned his head wearily on his hand, and\nstared from the window.\n\nThe earth was now dark beneath them--an immense emptiness; above, the\nhuge engulfing sky was still faintly luminous, and through the high\nfrosty mist through which they moved stars glimmered now and again, as\nthe car swayed and tacked across the wind.\n\n\u201cIt will be cold among the Alps,\u201d murmured Percy. Then he broke off.\n\u201cAnd I have not one shred of evidence,\u201d he said; \u201cnothing but the word\nof a man.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you are sure?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sure.\u201d\n\n\u201cEminence,\u201d said the German suddenly, staring straight into his face,\n\u201cthe likeness is extraordinary.\u201d\n\nPercy smiled listlessly. He was tired of bearing that.\n\n\u201cWhat do you make of it?\u201d persisted the other.\n\n\u201cI have been asked that before,\u201d said Percy. \u201cI have no views.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt seems to me that God means something,\u201d murmured the German heavily,\nstill staring at him.\n\n\u201cWell, Eminence?\u201d\n\n\u201cA kind of antithesis--a reverse of the medal. I do not know.\u201d\n\nAgain there was silence. A chaplain looked in through the glazed door, a\nhomely, blue-eyed German, and was waved away once more.\n\n\u201cEminence,\u201d said the old man abruptly, \u201cthere is surely more to speak\nof. Plans to be made.\u201d\n\nPercy shook his head.\n\n\u201cThere are no plans to be made,\u201d he said. \u201cWe know nothing but the\nfact--no names--nothing. We--we are like children in a tiger\u2019s cage. And\none of us has just made a gesture in the tiger\u2019s face.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose we shall communicate with one another?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf we are in existence.\u201d\n\nIt was curious how Percy took the lead. He had worn his scarlet for\nabout three months, and his companion for twelve years; yet it was the\nyounger who dictated plans and arranged. He was scarcely conscious of\nits strangeness, however. Ever since the shocking news of the morning,\nwhen a new mine had been sprung under the shaking Church, and he had\nwatched the stately ceremonial, the gorgeous splendour, the dignified,\ntranquil movements of the Pope and his court, with a secret that burned\nhis heart and brain--above all, since that quick interview in which old\nplans had been reversed and a startling decision formed, and a blessing\ngiven and received, and a farewell looked not uttered--all done in\nhalf-an-hour--his whole nature had concentrated itself into one keen\ntense force, like a coiled spring. He felt power tingling to his\nfinger-tips--power and the dulness of an immense despair. Every prop had\nbeen cut, every brace severed; he, the City of Rome, the Catholic\nChurch, the very supernatural itself, seemed to hang now on one single\nthing--the Finger of God. And if that failed--well, nothing would ever\nmatter any more....\n\nHe was going now to one of two things--ignominy or death. There was no\nthird thing--unless, indeed, the conspirators were actually taken with\ntheir instruments upon them. But that was impossible. Either they would\nrefrain, knowing that God\u2019s ministers would fall with them, and in that\ncase there would be the ignominy of a detected fraud, of a miserable\nattempt to win credit. Or they would not refrain; they would count the\ndeath of a Cardinal and a few bishops a cheap price to pay for\nrevenge--and in that case well, there was Death and Judgment. But Percy\nhad ceased to fear. No ignominy could be greater than that which he\nalready bore--the ignominy of loneliness and discredit. And death could\nbe nothing but sweet--it would at least be knowledge and rest. He was\nwilling to risk all on God.\n\nThe other, with a little gesture of apology, took out his office book\npresently, and began to read.\n\nPercy looked at him with an immense envy. Ah! if only he were as old as\nthat! He could bear a year or two more of this misery, but not fifty\nyears, he thought. It was an almost endless vista that (even if things\nwent well) opened before him, of continual strife, self-repression,\nenergy, misrepresentation from his enemies. The Church was sinking\nfurther every day. What if this new spasm of fervour were no more than\nthe dying flare of faith? How could he bear that? He would have to see\nthe tide of atheism rise higher and more triumphant every day;\nFelsenburgh had given it an impetus of whose end there was no\nprophesying. Never before had a single man wielded the full power of\ndemocracy. Then once more he looked forward to the morrow. Oh! if it\ncould but end in death!... _Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur!_ ...\n\nIt was no good; it was cowardly to think in this fashion. After all, God\nwas God--He takes up the isles as a very little thing.\n\nPercy took out his office book, found Prime and St. Sylvester, signed\nhimself with the cross, and began to pray. A minute later the two\nchaplains slipped in once more, and sat down; and all was silent, save\nfor that throb of the screw, and the strange whispering rush of air\noutside.\n\n\nIII\n\nIt was about nineteen o\u2019clock that the ruddy English conductor looked in\nat the doorway, waking Percy from his doze.\n\n\u201cDinner will be served in half-an-hour, gentlemen,\u201d he said (speaking\nEsperanto, as the rule was on international cars). \u201cWe do not stop at\nTurin to-night.\u201d\n\nHe shut the door and went out, and the sound of closing doors came down\nthe corridor as he made the same announcement to each compartment.\n\nThere were no passengers to descend at Turin, then, reflected Percy; and\nno doubt a wireless message had been received that there were none to\ncome on board either. That was good news: it would give him more time in\nLondon. It might even enable Cardinal Steinmann to catch an earlier\nvolor from Paris to Berlin; but he was not sure how they ran. It was a\npity that the German had not been able to catch the thirteen o\u2019clock\nfrom Rome to Berlin direct. So he calculated, in a kind of superficial\ninsensibility.\n\nHe stood up presently to stretch himself. Then he passed out and along\nthe corridor to the lavatory to wash his hands.\n\nHe became fascinated by the view as he stood before the basin at the\nrear of the car, for even now they were passing over Turin. It was a\nblur of light, vivid and beautiful, that shone beneath him in the midst\nof this gulf of darkness, sweeping away southwards into the gloom as the\ncar sped on towards the Alps. How little, he thought, seemed this great\ncity seen from above; and yet, how mighty it was! It was from that\nglimmer, already five miles behind, that Italy was controlled; in one of\nthese dolls\u2019 houses of which he had caught but a glimpse, men sat in\ncouncil over souls and bodies, and abolished God, and smiled at His\nChurch. And God allowed it all, and made no sign. It was there that\nFelsenburgh had been, a month or two ago--Felsenburgh, his double! And\nagain the mental sword tore and stabbed at his heart.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA few minutes later, the four ecclesiastics were sitting at their round\ntable in a little screened compartment of the dining-room in the bows of\nthe air-ship. It was an excellent dinner, served, as usual, from the\nkitchen in the bowels of the volor, and rose, course by course, with a\nsmooth click, into the centre of the table. There was a bottle of red\nwine to each diner, and both table and chairs swung easily to the very\nslight motion of the ship. But they did not talk much, for there was\nonly one subject possible to the two cardinals, and the chaplains had\nnot yet been admitted into the full secret.\n\nIt was growing cold now, and even the hot-air foot-rests did not quite\ncompensate for the deathly iciness of the breath that began to stream\ndown from the Alps, which the ship was now approaching at a slight\nincline. It was necessary to rise at least nine thousand feet from the\nusual level, in order to pass the frontier of the Mont Cenis at a safe\nangle; and at the same time it was necessary to go a little slower over\nthe Alps themselves, owing to the extreme rarity of the air, and the\ndifficulty in causing the screw to revolve sufficiently quickly to\ncounteract it.\n\n\u201cThere will be clouds to-night,\u201d said a voice clear and distinct from\nthe passage, as the door swung slightly to a movement of the car.\n\nPercy got up and closed it.\n\nThe German Cardinal began to grow a little fidgety towards the end of\ndinner.\n\n\u201cI shall go back,\u201d he said at last. \u201cI shall be better in my fur rug.\u201d\n\nHis chaplain dutifully went after him, leaving his own dinner\nunfinished, and Percy was left alone with Father Corkran, his English\nchaplain lately from Scotland.\n\nHe finished his wine, ate a couple of figs, and then sat staring out\nthrough the plate-glass window in front.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d he said. \u201cExcuse me, father. There are the Alps at last.\u201d\n\nThe front of the car consisted of three divisions, in the centre of one\nof which stood the steersman, his eyes looking straight ahead, and his\nhands upon the wheel. On either side of him, separated from him by\naluminium walls, was contrived a narrow slip of a compartment, with a\nlong curved window at the height of a man\u2019s eyes, through which a\nmagnificent view could be obtained. It was to one of these that Percy\nwent, passing along the corridor, and seeing through half-opened doors\nother parties still over their wine. He pushed the spring door on the\nleft and went through.\n\nHe had crossed the Alps three times before in his life, and well\nremembered the extraordinary effect they had had on him, especially as\nhe had once seen them from a great altitude upon a clear day--an\neternal, immeasurable sea of white ice, broken by hummocks and wrinkles\nthat from below were soaring peaks named and reverenced; and, beyond,\nthe spherical curve of the earth\u2019s edge that dropped in a haze of air\ninto unutterable space. But this time they seemed more amazing than\never, and he looked out on them with the interest of a sick child.\n\nThe car was now ascending; rapidly towards the pass up across the huge\ntumbled slopes, ravines, and cliffs that lie like outworks of the\nenormous wall. Seen from this great height they were in themselves\ncomparatively insignificant, but they at least suggested the vastness of\nthe bastions of which they were no more than buttresses. As Percy\nturned, he could see the moonless sky alight with frosty stars, and the\ndimness of the illumination made the scene even more impressive; but as\nhe turned again, there was a change. The vast air about him seemed now\nto be perceived through frosted glass. The velvet blackness of the pine\nforests had faded to heavy grey, the pale glint of water and ice seen\nand gone again in a moment, the monstrous nakedness of rock spires and\nslopes, rising towards him and sliding away again beneath with a\ncrawling motion--all these had lost their distinctness of outline, and\nwere veiled in invisible white. As he looked yet higher to right and\nleft the sight became terrifying, for the giant walls of rock rushing\ntowards him, the huge grotesque shapes towering on all sides, ran upward\ninto a curtain of cloud visible only from the dancing radiance thrown\nupon it by the brilliantly lighted car. Even as he looked, two straight\nfingers of splendour, resembling horns, shot out, as the bow\nsearchlights were turned on; and the car itself, already travelling at\nhalf-speed, dropped to quarter-speed, and began to sway softly from side\nto side as the huge air-planes beat the mist through which they moved,\nand the antennae of light pierced it. Still up they went, and on--yet\nswift enough to let Percy see one great pinnacle rear itself, elongate,\nsink down into a cruel needle, and vanish into nothingness a thousand\nfeet below. The motion grew yet more nauseous, as the car moved up at a\nsharp angle preserving its level, simultaneously rising, advancing and\nswaying. Once, hoarse and sonorous, an unfrozen torrent roared like a\nbeast, it seemed within twenty yards, and was dumb again on the instant.\nNow, too, the horns began to cry, long, lamentable hootings, ringing\nsadly in that echoing desolation like the wail of wandering souls; and\nas Percy, awed beyond feeling, wiped the gathering moisture from the\nglass, and stared again, it appeared as if he floated now, motionless\nexcept for the slight rocking beneath his feet, in a world of whiteness,\nas remote from earth as from heaven, poised in hopeless infinite space,\nblind, alone, frozen, lost in a white hell of desolation.\n\n\nOnce, as he stared, a huge whiteness moved towards him through the veil,\nslid slowly sideways and down, disclosing, as the car veered, a gigantic\nslope smooth as oil, with one cluster of black rock cutting it like the\nfingers of a man\u2019s hand groping from a mountainous wave.\n\nThen, as once more the car cried aloud like a lost sheep, there answered\nit, it seemed scarcely ten yards away, first one windy scream of dismay,\nanother and another; a clang of bells, a chorus broke out; and the air\nwas full of the beating of wings.\n\n\nIV\n\nThere was one horrible instant before a clang of a bell, the answering\nscream, and a whirling motion showed that the steersman was alert. Then\nlike a stone the car dropped, and Percy clutched at the rail before him\nto steady the terrible sensation of falling into emptiness. He could\nhear behind him the crash of crockery, the bumping of heavy bodies, and\nas the car again checked on its wide wings, a rush of footsteps broke\nout and a cry or two of dismay. Outside, but high and far away, the\nhooting went on; the air was full of it, and in a flash he recognised\nthat it could not be one or ten or twenty cars, but at least a hundred\nthat had answered the call, and that somewhere overhead were hooting and\nflapping. The invisible ravines and cliffs on all sides took up the\ncrying; long wails whooped and moaned and died amid a clash of bells,\nfurther and further every instant, but now in every direction, behind,\nabove, in front, and far to right and left. Once more the car began to\nmove, sinking in a long still curve towards the face of the mountain;\nand as it checked, and began to sway again on its huge wings, he turned\nto the door, seeing as he did so, through the cloudy windows in the\nglow of light, a spire of rock not thirty feet below rising from the\nmist, and one smooth shoulder of snow curving away into invisibility.\n\nWithin, the car shewed brutal signs of the sudden check: the doors of\nthe dining compartments, as he passed along, were flung wide; glasses,\nplates, pools of wine and tumbled fruit rolled to and fro on the heaving\nfloors; one man, sitting helplessly on the ground, rolled vacant,\nterrified eyes upon the priest. He glanced in at the door through which\nhe had come just now, and Father Corkran staggered up from his seat and\ncame towards him, reeling at the motion underfoot; simultaneously there\nwas a rush from the opposite door, where a party of Americans had been\ndining; and as Percy, beckoning with his head, turned again to go down\nto the stern-end of the ship, he found the narrow passage blocked with\nthe crowd that had run out. A babble of talking and cries made questions\nimpossible; and Percy, with his chaplain behind him, gripped the\naluminium panelling, and step by step began to make his way in search of\nhis friends.\n\nHalf-way down the passage, as he pushed and struggled, a voice made\nitself heard above the din; and in the momentary silence that followed,\nagain sounded the far-away crying of the volors overhead.\n\n\u201cSeats, gentlemen, seats,\u201d roared the voice. \u201cWe are moving\nimmediately.\u201d\n\nThen the crowd melted as the conductor came through, red-faced and\ndetermined, and Percy, springing into his wake, found his way clear to\nthe stern.\n\nThe Cardinal seemed none the worse. He had been asleep, he explained,\nand saved himself in time from rolling on to the floor; but his old face\ntwitched as he talked.\n\n\u201cBut what is it?\u201d he said. \u201cWhat is the meaning?\u201d\n\nFather Bechlin related how he had actually seen one of the troop of\nvolors within five yards of the window; it was crowded with faces, he\nsaid, from stem to stern. Then it had soared suddenly, and vanished in\nwhorls of mist.\n\nPercy shook his head, saying nothing. He had no explanation.\n\n\u201cThey are inquiring, I understand,\u201d said Father Bechlin again. \u201cThe\nconductor was at his instrument just now.\u201d\n\nThere was nothing to be seen from the windows now. Only, as Percy stared\nout, still dazed with the shock, he saw the cruel needle of rock\nwavering beneath as if seen through water, and the huge shoulder of snow\nswaying softly up and down. It was quieter outside. It appeared that the\nflock had passed, only somewhere from an infinite height still sounded a\nfitful wailing, as if a lonely bird were wandering, lost in space.\n\n\u201cThat is the signalling volor,\u201d murmured Percy to himself.\n\nHe had no theory--no suggestion. Yet the matter seemed an ominous one.\nIt was unheard of that an encounter with a hundred volors should take\nplace, and he wondered why they were going southwards. Again the name of\nFelsenburgh came to his mind. What if that sinister man were still\nsomewhere overhead?\n\n\u201cEminence,\u201d began the old man again. But at that instant the car began\nto move.\n\nA bell clanged, a vibration tingled underfoot, and then, soft as a\nflake of snow, the great ship began to rise, its movement perceptible\nonly by the sudden drop and vanishing of the spire of rock at which\nPercy still stared. Slowly the snowfield too began to flit downwards, a\nblack cleft, whisked smoothly into sight from above, and disappeared\nagain below, and a moment later once more the car seemed poised in white\nspace as it climbed the slope of air down which it had dropped just now.\nAgain the wind-chord rent the atmosphere; and this time the answer was\nas faint and distant as a cry from another world. The speed quickened,\nand the steady throb of the screw began to replace the swaying motion of\nthe wings. Again came the hoot, wild and echoing through the barren\nwilderness of rock walls beneath, and again with a sudden impulse the\ncar soared. It was going in great circles now, cautious as a cat,\nclimbing, climbing, punctuating the ascent with cry after cry, searching\nthe blind air for dangers. Once again a vast white slope came into\nsight, illuminated by the glare from the windows, sinking ever more and\nmore swiftly, receding and approaching--until for one instant a jagged\nline of rocks grinned like teeth through the mist, dropped away and\nvanished, and with a clash of bells, and a last scream of warning, the\nthrob of the screw passed from a whirr to a rising note, and the note to\nstillness, as the huge ship, clear at last of the frontier peaks, shook\nout her wings steady once more, and set out for her humming flight\nthrough space.... Whatever it was, was behind them now, vanished into\nthe thick night.\n\nThere was a sound of talking from the interior of the car, hasty,\nbreathless voices, questioning, exclaiming, and the authoritative terse\nanswer of the guard. A step came along outside, and Percy sprang to meet\nit, but, as he laid his hand on the door, it was pushed from without,\nand to his astonishment the English guard came straight through, closing\nit behind him.\n\nHe stood there, looking strangely at the four priests, with compressed\nlips and anxious eyes.\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d cried Percy.\n\n\u201cAll right, gentlemen. But I\u2019m thinking you\u2019d better descend at Paris. I\nknow who you are, gentlemen--and though I\u2019m not a Catholic---\u201d\n\nHe stopped again.\n\n\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, man---\u201d began Percy.\n\n\u201cOh! the news, gentlemen. Well, it was two hundred cars going to Rome.\nThere is a Catholic plot, sir, discovered in London---\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo wipe out the Abbey. So they\u2019re going---\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir--to wipe out Rome.\u201d\n\nThen he was gone again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nI\n\nIt was nearly sixteen o\u2019clock on the same day, the last day of the year,\nthat Mabel went into the little church that stood in the street beneath\nher house.\n\nThe dark was falling softly layer on layer; across the roofs to westward\nburned the smouldering fire of the winter sunset, and the interior was\nfull of the dying light. She had slept a little in her chair that\nafternoon, and had awakened with that strange cleansed sense of spirit\nand mind that sometimes follows such sleep. She wondered later how she\ncould have slept at such a time, and above all, how it was that she had\nperceived nothing of that cloud of fear and fury that even now was\nfalling over town and country alike. She remembered afterwards an\nunusual busy-ness on the broad tracks beneath her as she had looked out\non them from her windows, and an unusual calling of horns and whistles;\nbut she thought nothing of it, and passed down an hour later for a\nmeditation in the church.\n\nShe had grown to love the quiet place, and came in often like this to\nsteady her thoughts and concentrate them on the significance that lay\nbeneath the surface of life--the huge principles upon which all lived,\nand which so plainly were the true realities. Indeed, such devotion was\nbecoming almost recognised among certain classes of people. Addresses\nwere delivered now and then; little books were being published as guides\nto the interior life, curiously resembling the old Catholic books on\nmental prayer.\n\nShe went to-day to her usual seat, sat down, folded her hands, looked\nfor a minute or two upon the old stone sanctuary, the white image and\nthe darkening window. Then she closed her eyes and began to think,\naccording to the method she followed.\n\nFirst she concentrated her attention on herself, detaching it from all\nthat was merely external and transitory, withdrawing it inwards ...\ninwards, until she found that secret spark which, beneath all frailties\nand activities, made her a substantial member of the divine race of\nhumankind.\n\nThis then was the first step.\n\nThe second consisted in an act of the intellect, followed by one of the\nimagination. All men possessed that spark, she considered.... Then she\nsent out her powers, sweeping with the eyes of her mind the seething\nworld, seeing beneath the light and dark of the two hemispheres, the\ncountless millions of mankind--children coming into the world, old men\nleaving it, the mature rejoicing in it and their own strength. Back\nthrough the ages she looked, through those centuries of crime and\nblindness, as the race rose through savagery and superstition to a\nknowledge of themselves; on through the ages yet to come, as generation\nfollowed generation to some climax whose perfection, she told herself,\nshe could not fully comprehend because she was not of it. Yet, she told\nherself again, that climax had already been born; the birthpangs were\nover; for had not He come who was the heir of time?...\n\nThen by a third and vivid act she realised the unity of all, the central\nfire of which each spark was but a radiation--that vast passionless\ndivine being, realising Himself up through these centuries, one yet\nmany, Him whom men had called God, now no longer unknown, but recognised\nas the transcendent total of themselves--Him who now, with the coming of\nthe new Saviour, had stirred and awakened and shown Himself as One.\n\nAnd there she stayed, contemplating the vision of her mind, detaching\nnow this virtue, now that for particular assimilation, dwelling on her\ndeficiencies, seeing in the whole the fulfilment of all aspirations, the\nsum of all for which men had hoped--that Spirit of Peace, so long\nhindered yet generated too perpetually by the passions of the world,\nforced into outline and being by the energy of individual lives,\nrealising itself in pulse after pulse, dominant at last, serene,\nmanifest, and triumphant. There she stayed, losing the sense of\nindividuality, merging it by a long sustained effort of the will,\ndrinking, as she thought, long breaths of the spirit of life and\nlove....\n\nSome sound, she supposed afterwards, disturbed her, and she opened her\neyes; and there before her lay the quiet pavement, glimmering through\nthe dusk, the step of the sanctuary, the rostrum on the right, and the\npeaceful space of darkening air above the white Mother-figure and\nagainst the tracery of the old window. It was here that men had\nworshipped Jesus, that blood-stained Man of Sorrow, who had borne, even\non His own confession, not peace but a sword. Yet they had knelt, those\nblind and hopeless Christians.... Ah! the pathos of it all, the\ndespairing acceptance of any creed that would account for sorrow, the\nwild worship of any God who had claimed to bear it!\n\nAnd again came the sound, striking across her peace, though as yet she\ndid not understand why.\n\nIt was nearer now; and she turned in astonishment to look down the dusky\nnave.\n\nIt was from without that the sound had come, that strange murmur, that\nrose and fell again as she listened.\n\nShe stood up, her heart quickening a little--only once before had she\nheard such a sound, once before, in a square, where men raged about a\npoint beneath a platform....\n\nShe stepped swiftly out of her seat, passed down the aisle, drew back\nthe curtains beneath the west window, lifted the latch and stepped out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe street, from where she looked over the railings that barred the\nentrance to the church, seemed unusually empty and dark. To right and\nleft stretched the houses, overhead the darkening sky was flushed with\nrose; but it seemed as if the public lights had been forgotten. There\nwas not a living being to be seen.\n\nShe had put her hand on the latch of the gate, to open it and go out,\nwhen a sudden patter of footsteps made her hesitate; and the next\ninstant a child appeared panting, breathless and terrified, running with\nher hands before her.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re coming, they\u2019re coming,\u201d sobbed the child, seeing the face\nlooking at her. Then she clung to the bars, staring over her shoulder.\n\nMabel lifted the latch in an instant; the child sprang in, ran to the\ndoor and beat against it, then turning, seized her dress and cowered\nagainst her. Mabel shut the gate.\n\n\u201cThere, there,\u201d she said. \u201cWho is it? Who are coming?\u201d\n\nBut the child hid her face, drawing at the kindly skirts; and the next\nmoment came the roar of voices and the trampling of footsteps.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was not more than a few seconds before the heralds of that grim\nprocession came past. First came a flying squadron of children,\nlaughing, terrified, fascinated, screaming, turning their heads as they\nran, with a dog or two yelping among them, and a few women drifting\nsideways along the pavements. A face of a man, Mabel saw as she glanced\nin terror upwards, had appeared at the windows opposite, pale and\neager--some invalid no doubt dragging himself to see. One group--a\nwell-dressed man in grey, a couple of women carrying babies, a\nsolemn-faced boy--halted immediately before her on the other side of the\nrailings, all talking, none listening, and these too turned their faces\nto the road on the left, up which every instant the clamour and\ntrampling grew. Yet she could not ask. Her lips moved; but no sound came\nfrom them. She was one incarnate apprehension. Across her intense fixity\nmoved pictures of no importance of Oliver as he had been at breakfast,\nof her own bedroom with its softened paper, of the dark sanctuary and\nthe white figure on which she had looked just now.\n\nThey were coming thicker now; a troop of young men with their arms\nlinked swayed into sight, all talking or crying aloud, none\nlistening--all across the roadway, and behind them surged the crowd,\nlike a wave in a stone-fenced channel, male scarcely distinguishable\nfrom female in that pack of faces, and under that sky that grew darker\nevery instant. Except for the noise, which Mabel now hardly noticed, so\nthick and incessant it was, so complete her concentration in the sense\nof sight--except for that, it might have been, from its suddenness and\noverwhelming force, some mob of phantoms trooping on a sudden out of\nsome vista of the spiritual world visible across an open space, and\nabout to vanish again in obscurity. That empty street was full now on\nthis side and that so far as she could see; the young men were\ngone--running or walking she hardly knew--round the corner to the right,\nand the entire space was one stream of heads and faces, pressing so\nfiercely that the group at the railings were detached like weeds and\ndrifted too, sideways, clutching at the bars, and swept away too and\nvanished. And all the while the child tugged and tore at her skirts.\n\nCertain things began to appear now above the heads of the crowd--objects\nshe could not distinguish in the failing light--poles, and fantastic\nshapes, fragments of stuff resembling banners, moving as if alive,\nturning from side to side, borne from beneath.\n\nFaces, distorted with passion, looked at her from time to time as the\nmoving show went past, open mouths cried at her; but she hardly saw\nthem. She was watching those strange emblems, straining her eyes through\nthe dusk, striving to distinguish the battered broken shapes,\nhalf-guessing, yet afraid to guess.\n\nThen, on a sudden, from the hidden lamps beneath the eaves, light leaped\ninto being--that strong, sweet, familiar light, generated by the great\nengines underground that, in the passion of that catastrophic day, all\nmen had forgotten; and in a moment all changed from a mob of phantoms\nand shapes into a pitiless reality of life and death.\n\nBefore her moved a great rood, with a figure upon it, of which one arm\nhung from the nailed hand, swinging as it went; an embroidery streamed\nbehind with the swiftness of the motion.\n\nAnd next after it came the naked body of a child, impaled, white and\nruddy, the head fallen upon the breast, and the arms, too, dangling and\nturning.\n\nAnd next the figure of a man, hanging by the neck, dressed, it seemed,\nin a kind of black gown and cape, with its black-capped head twisting\nfrom the twisting rope.\n\n\nII\n\nThe same night Oliver Brand came home about an hour before midnight.\n\nFor himself, what he had heard and seen that day was still too vivid and\ntoo imminent for him to judge of it coolly. He had seen, from his\nwindows in Whitehall, Parliament Square filled with a mob the like of\nwhich had not been known in England since the days of Christianity--a\nmob full of a fury that could scarcely draw its origin except from\nsources beyond the reach of sense. Thrice during the hours that followed\nthe publication of the Catholic plot and the outbreak of mob-law he had\ncommunicated with the Prime Minister asking whether nothing could be\ndone to allay the tumult; and on both occasions he had received the\ndoubtful answer that what could be done would be done, that force was\ninadmissible at present; but that the police were doing all that was\npossible.\n\nAs regarded the despatch of the volors to Rome, he had assented by\nsilence, as had the rest of the Council. That was, Snowford had said, a\njudicial punitive act, regrettable but necessary. Peace, in this\ninstance, could not be secured except on terms of war--or rather, since\nwar was obsolete--by the sternness of justice. These Catholics had shown\nthemselves the avowed enemies of society; very well, then society must\ndefend itself, at least this once. Man was still human. And Oliver had\nlistened and said nothing.\n\nAs he passed in one of the Government volors over London on his way\nhome, he had caught more than one glimpse of what was proceeding beneath\nhim. The streets were as bright as day, shadowless and clear in the\nwhite light, and every roadway was a crawling serpent. From beneath rose\nup a steady roar of voices, soft and woolly, punctuated by cries. From\nhere and there ascended the smoke of burning; and once, as he flitted\nover one of the great squares to the south of Battersea, he had seen as\nit were a scattered squadron of ants running as if in fear or\npursuit.... He knew what was happening.... Well, after all, man was not\nyet perfectly civilised.\n\nHe did not like to think of what awaited him at home. Once, about five\nhours earlier, he had listened to his wife\u2019s voice through the\ntelephone, and what he had heard had nearly caused him to leave all and\ngo to her. Yet he was scarcely prepared for what he found.\n\nAs he came into the sitting-room, there was no sound, except that\nfar-away hum from the seething streets below. The room seemed strangely\ndark and cold; the only light that entered was through one of the\nwindows from which the curtains were withdrawn, and, silhouetted against\nthe luminous sky beyond, was the upright figure of a woman, looking and\nlistening....\n\nHe pressed the knob of the electric light; and Mabel turned slowly\ntowards him. She was in her day-dress, with a cloak thrown over her\nshoulders, and her face was almost as that of a stranger. It was\nperfectly colourless, her lips were compressed and her eyes full of an\nemotion which he could not interpret. It might equally have been anger,\nterror or misery.\n\nShe stood there in the steady light, motionless, looking at him.\n\nFor a moment he did not trust himself to speak. He passed across to the\nwindow, closed it and drew the curtains. Then he took that rigid figure\ngently by the arm.\n\n\u201cMabel,\u201d he said, \u201cMabel.\u201d\n\nShe submitted to be drawn towards the sofa, but there was no response to\nhis touch. He sat down and looked up at her with a kind of despairing\napprehension.\n\n\u201cMy dear, I am tired out,\u201d he said.\n\nStill she looked at him. There was in her pose that rigidity that actors\nsimulate; yet he knew it for the real thing. He had seen that silence\nonce or twice before in the presence of a horror--once at any rate, at\nthe sight of a splash of blood on her shoe.\n\n\u201cWell, my darling, sit down, at least,\u201d he said.\n\nShe obeyed him mechanically--sat, and still stared at him. In the\nsilence once more that soft roar rose and died from the invisible world\nof tumult outside the windows. Within here all was quiet. He knew\nperfectly that two things strove within her, her loyalty to her faith\nand her hatred of those crimes in the name of justice. As he looked on\nher he saw that these two were at death grips, that hatred was\nprevailing, and that she herself was little more than a passive\nbattlefield. Then, as with a long-drawn howl of a wolf, there surged and\nsank the voices of the mob a mile away, the tension broke.... She threw\nherself forward towards him, he caught her by the wrists, and so she\nrested, clasped in his arms, her face and bosom on his knees, and her\nwhole body torn by emotion.\n\nFor a full minute neither spoke. Oliver understood well enough, yet at\npresent he had no words. He only drew her a little closer to himself,\nkissed her hair two or three times, and settled himself to hold her. He\nbegan to rehearse what he must say presently.\n\nThen she raised her flushed face for an instant, looked at him\npassionately, dropped her head again and began to sob out broken words.\n\nHe could only catch a sentence here and there, yet he knew what she was\nsaying....\n\nIt was the ruin of all her hopes, she sobbed, the end of her religion.\nLet her die, die and have done with it! It was all gone, gone, swept\naway in this murderous passion of the people of her faith ... they were\nno better than Christians, after all, as fierce as the men on whom they\navenged themselves, as dark as though the Saviour, Julian, had never\ncome; it was all lost ... War and Passion and Murder had returned to the\nbody from which she had thought them gone forever.... The burning\nchurches, the hunted Catholics, the raging of the streets on which she\nhad looked that day, the bodies of the child and the priest carried on\npoles, the burning churches and convents. ... All streamed out,\nincoherent, broken by sobs, details of horror, lamentations, reproaches,\ninterpreted by the writhing of her head and hands upon his knees. The\ncollapse was complete.\n\nHe put his hands again beneath her arms and raised her. He was worn out\nby his work, yet he knew he must quiet her. This was more serious than\nany previous crisis. Yet he knew her power of recovery.\n\n\u201cSit down, my darling,\u201d he said. \u201cThere ... give me your hands. Now\nlisten to me.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe made really an admirable defence, for it was what he had been\nrepeating to himself all day. Men were not yet perfect, he said; there\nran in their veins the blood of men who for twenty centuries had been\nChristians.... There must be no despair; faith in man was of the very\nessence of religion, faith in man\u2019s best self, in what he would become,\nnot in what at present he actually was. They were at the beginning of\nthe new religion, not in its maturity; there must be sourness in the\nyoung fruit. ... Consider, too, the provocation! Remember the appalling\ncrime that these Catholics had contemplated; they had set themselves to\nstrike the new Faith in its very heart....\n\n\u201cMy darling,\u201d he said, \u201cmen are not changed in an instant. What if those\nChristians had succeeded!... I condemn it all as strongly as you. I saw\na couple of newspapers this afternoon that are as wicked as anything\nthat the Christians have ever done. They exulted in all these crimes. It\nwill throw the movement back ten years.... Do you think that there are\nnot thousands like yourself who hate and detest this violence?... But\nwhat does faith mean, except that we know that mercy will prevail?\nFaith, patience and hope--these are our weapons.\u201d\n\nHe spoke with passionate conviction, his eyes fixed on hers, in a fierce\nendeavour to give her his own confidence, and to reassure the remnants\nof his own doubtfulness. It was true that he too hated what she hated,\nyet he saw things that she did not.... Well, well, he told himself, he\nmust remember that she was a woman.\n\nThe look of frantic horror passed slowly out of her eyes, giving way to\nacute misery as he talked, and as his personality once more began to\ndominate her own. But it was not yet over.\n\n\u201cBut the volors,\u201d she cried, \u201cthe volors! That is deliberate; that is\nnot the work of the mob.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy darling, it is no more deliberate than the other. We are all human,\nwe are all immature. Yes, the Council permitted it, ... permitted it,\nremember. The German Government, too, had to yield. We must tame nature\nslowly, we must not break it.\u201d\n\nHe talked again for a few minutes, repeating his arguments, soothing,\nreassuring, encouraging; and he saw that he was beginning to prevail.\nBut she returned to one of his words.\n\n\u201cPermitted it! And you permitted it.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear; I said nothing, either for it or against. I tell you that if we\nhad forbidden it there would have been yet more murder, and the people\nwould have lost their rulers. We were passive, since we could do\nnothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! but it would have been better to die.... Oh, Oliver, let me die at\nleast! I cannot bear it.\u201d\n\nBy her hands which he still held he drew her nearer yet to himself.\n\n\u201cSweetheart,\u201d he said gravely, \u201ccannot you trust me a little? If I could\ntell you all that passed to-day, you would understand. But trust me that\nI am not heartless. And what of Julian Felsenburgh?\u201d\n\nFor a moment he saw hesitation in her eyes; her loyalty to him and her\nloathing of all that had happened strove within her. Then once again\nloyalty prevailed, the name of Felsenburgh weighed down the balance, and\ntrust came back with a flood of tears.\n\n\u201cOh, Oliver,\u201d she said, \u201cI know I trust you. But I am so weak, and all\nis so terrible. And He so strong and merciful. And will He be with us\nto-morrow?\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt struck midnight from the clock-tower a mile away as they yet sat and\ntalked. She was still tremulous from the struggle; but she looked at him\nsmiling, still holding his hands. He saw that the reaction was upon her\nin full force at last.\n\n\u201cThe New Year, my husband,\u201d she said, and rose as she said it, drawing\nhim after her.\n\n\u201cI wish you a happy New Year,\u201d she said. \u201cOh help me, Oliver.\u201d\n\nShe kissed him, and drew back, still holding his hands, looking at him\nwith bright tearful eyes.\n\n\u201cOliver,\u201d she cried again, \u201cI must tell you this.... Do you know what I\nthought before you came?\u201d\n\nHe shook his head, staring at her greedily. How sweet she was! He felt\nher grip tighten on his hands.\n\n\u201cI thought I could not bear it,\u201d she whispered--\u201cthat I must end it\nall--ah! you know what I mean.\u201d\n\nHis heart flinched as he heard her; and he drew her closer again to\nhimself.\n\n\u201cIt is all over! it is all over,\u201d she cried. \u201cAh! do not look like that!\nI could not tell you if it was not.\u201d\u2019\n\nAs their lips met again there came the vibration of an electric bell\nfrom the next room, and Oliver, knowing what it meant, felt even in that\ninstant a tremor shake his heart. He loosed her hands, and still smiled\nat her.\n\n\u201cThe bell!\u201d she said, with a flash of apprehension.\n\n\u201cBut it is all well between us again?\u201d\n\nHer face steadied itself into loyalty and confidence.\n\n\u201cIt is all well,\u201d she said; and again the impatient bell tingled. \u201cGo,\nOliver; I will wait here.\u201d\n\nA minute later he was back again, with a strange look on his white face,\nand his lips compressed. He came straight up to her, taking her once\nmore by the hands, and looking steadily into her steady eyes. In the\nhearts of both of them resolve and faith were holding down the emotion\nthat was not yet dead. He drew a long breath.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said in an even voice, \u201cit is over.\u201d\n\nHer lips moved; and that deadly paleness lay on her cheeks. He gripped\nher firmly.\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d he said. \u201cYou must face it. It is over. Rome is gone. Now we\nmust build something better.\u201d\n\nShe threw herself sobbing into his arms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nI\n\nLong before dawn on the first morning of the New Year the approaches to\nthe Abbey were already blocked. Victoria Street, Great George Street,\nWhitehall--even Millbank Street itself--were full and motionless. Broad\nSanctuary, divided by the low-walled motor-track, was itself cut into\ngreat blocks and wedges of people by the ways which the police kept open\nfor the passage of important personages, and Palace Yard was kept\nrigidly clear except for one island, occupied by a stand which was\nitself full from top to bottom and end to end. All roofs and parapets\nwhich commanded a view of the Abbey were also one mass of heads.\nOverhead, like solemn moons, burned the white lights of the electric\nglobes.\n\nIt was not known at exactly what hour the tumult had steadied itself to\ndefinite purpose, except to a few weary controllers of the temporary\nturnstiles which had been erected the evening before. It had been\nannounced a week previously that, in consideration of the enormous\ndemand for seats, all persons who presented their worship-ticket at an\nauthorised office, and followed the directions issued by the police,\nwould be accounted as having fulfilled the duties of citizenship in that\nrespect, and it was generally made known that it was the Government\u2019s\nintention to toll the great bell of the Abbey at the beginning of the\nceremony and at the incensing of the image, during which period silence\nmust be as far as possible preserved by all those within hearing.\n\nLondon had gone completely mad on the announcement of the Catholic plot\non the afternoon before. The secret had leaked out about fourteen\no\u2019clock, an hour after the betrayal of the scheme to Mr. Snowford; and\npractically all commercial activities had ceased on the instant. By\nfifteen-and-a-half all stores were closed, the Stock Exchange, the City\noffices, the West End establishments--all had as by irresistible impulse\nsuspended business, and from within two hours after noon until nearly\nmidnight, when the police had been adequately reinforced and enabled to\ndeal with the situation, whole mobs and armies of men, screaming\nsquadrons of women, troops of frantic youths, had paraded the streets,\nhowling, denouncing, and murdering. It was not known how many deaths had\ntaken place, but there was scarcely a street without the signs of\noutrage. Westminster Cathedral had been sacked, every altar overthrown,\nindescribable indignities performed there. An unknown priest had\nscarcely been able to consume the Blessed Sacrament before he was seized\nand throttled; the Archbishop with eleven priests and two bishops had\nbeen hanged at the north end of the church, thirty-five convents had\nbeen destroyed, St. George\u2019s Cathedral burned to the ground; and it was\nreported even, by the evening papers, that it was believed that, for the\nfirst time since the introduction of Christianity into England, there\nwas not one Tabernacle left within twenty miles of the Abbey. \u201cLondon,\u201d\nexplained the _New People_, in huge headlines, \u201cwas cleansed at last of\ndingy and fantastic nonsense.\u201d\n\nIt was known at about fifteen-and-a-half o\u2019clock that at least seventy\nvolors had left for Rome, and half-an-hour later that Berlin had\nreinforced them by sixty more. At midnight, fortunately at a time when\nthe police had succeeded in shepherding the crowds into some kind of\norder, the news was flashed on to cloud and placard alike that the grim\nwork was done, and that Rome had ceased to exist. The early morning\npapers added a few details, pointing out, of course, the coincidence of\nthe fall with the close of the year, relating how, by an astonishing\nchance, practically all the heads of the hierarchy throughout the world\nhad been assembled in the Vatican which had been the first object of\nattack, and how these, in desperation, it was supposed, had refused to\nleave the City when the news came by wireless telegraphy that the\npunitive force was on its way. There was not a building left in Rome;\nthe entire place, Leonine City, Trastevere, suburbs--everything was\ngone; for the volors, poised at an immense height, had parcelled out the\nCity beneath them with extreme care, before beginning to drop the\nexplosives; and five minutes after the first roar from beneath and the\nfirst burst of smoke and flying fragments, the thing was finished. The\nvolors had then dispersed in every direction, pursuing the motor and\nrail-tracks along which the population had attempted to escape so soon\nas the news was known; and it was supposed that not less than thirty\nthousand belated fugitives had been annihilated by this foresight. It\nwas true, remarked the _Studio_, that many treasures of incalculable\nvalue had been destroyed, but this was a cheap price to pay for the\nfinal and complete extermination of the Catholic pest. \u201cThere comes a\npoint,\u201d it remarked, \u201cwhen destruction is the only cure for a\nvermin-infested house,\u201d and it proceeded to observe that now that the\nPope with the entire College of Cardinals, all the ex-Royalties of\nEurope, all the most frantic religionists from the inhabited world who\nhad taken up their abode in the \u201cHoly City\u201d were gone at a stroke, a\nrecrudescence of the superstition was scarcely to be feared elsewhere.\nYet care must even now be taken against any relenting. Catholics (if any\nwere left bold enough to attempt it) must no longer be allowed to take\nany kind of part in the life of any civilised country. So far as\nmessages had come in from other countries, there was but one chorus of\napproval at what had been done.\n\nA few papers regretted the incident, or rather the spirit which had lain\nbehind it. It was not seemly, they said, that Humanitarians should have\nrecourse to violence; yet not one pretended that anything could be felt\nbut thanksgiving for the general result. Ireland, too, must be brought\ninto line; they must not dally any longer.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was now brightening slowly towards dawn, and beyond the river through\nthe faint wintry haze a crimson streak or two began to burn. But all was\nsurprisingly quiet, for this crowd, tired out with an all-night watch,\nchilled by the bitter cold, and intent on what lay before them, had no\nenergy left for useless effort. Only from packed square and street and\nlane went up a deep, steady murmur like the sound of the sea a mile\naway, broken now and again by the hoot and clang of a motor and the rush\nof its passage as it tore eastwards round the circle through Broad\nSanctuary and vanished citywards. And the light broadened and the\nelectric globes sickened and paled, and the haze began to clear a\nlittle, showing, not the fresh blue that had been hoped for from the\ncold of the night, but a high, colourless vault of cloud, washed with\ngrey and faint rose-colour, as the sun came up, a ruddy copper disc,\nbeyond the river.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt nine o\u2019clock the excitement rose a degree higher. The police between\nWhitehall and the Abbey, looking from their high platforms strung along\nthe route, whence they kept watch and controlled the wire palisadings,\nshowed a certain activity, and a minute later a police-car whirled\nthrough the square between the palings, and vanished round the Abbey\ntowers. The crowd murmured and shuffled and began to expect, and a cheer\nwas raised when a moment later four more cars appeared, bearing the\nGovernment insignia, and disappeared in the same direction. These were\nthe officials, they said, going to Dean\u2019s Yard, where the procession\nwould assemble.\n\nAt about a quarter to ten the crowd at the west end of Victoria Street\nbegan to raise its voice in a song, and by the time that was over, and\nthe bells had burst out from the Abbey towers, a rumour had somehow made\nits entrance that Felsenburgh was to be present at the ceremony. There\nwas no assignable reason for this, neither then nor afterwards; in fact,\nthe _Evening Star_ declared that it was one more instance of the\nastonishing instinct of human beings _en masse_; for it was not until an\nhour later that even the Government were made aware of the facts. Yet\nthe truth remained that at half-past ten one continuous roar went up,\ndrowning even the brazen clamour of the bells, reaching round to\nWhitehall and the crowded pavements of Westminster Bridge, demanding\nJulian Felsenburgh. Yet there had been absolutely no news of the\nPresident of Europe for the last fortnight, beyond an entirely\nunsupported report that he was somewhere in the East.\n\nAnd all the while the motors poured from all directions towards the\nAbbey and disappeared under the arch into Dean\u2019s Yard, bearing those\nfortunate persons whose tickets actually admitted them to the church\nitself. Cheers ran and rippled along the lines as the great men were\nrecognised--Lord Pemberton, Oliver Brand and his wife, Mr. Caldecott,\nMaxwell, Snowford, with the European delegates--even melancholy-faced\nMr. Francis himself, the Government _ceremoniarius_, received a\ngreeting. But by a quarter to eleven, when the pealing bells paused, the\nstream had stopped, the barriers issued out to stop the roads, the wire\npalisadings vanished, and the crowd for an instant, ceasing its roaring,\nsighed with relief at the relaxed pressure, and surged out into the\nroadways. Then once more the roaring began for Julian Felsenburgh.\n\nThe sun was now high, still a copper disc, above the Victoria Tower, but\npaler than an hour ago; the whiteness of the Abbey, the heavy greys of\nParliament House, the ten thousand tints of house-roofs, heads,\nstreamers, placards began to disclose themselves.\n\nA single bell tolled five minutes to the hour, and the moments slipped\nby, until once more the bell stopped, and to the ears of those within\nhearing of the great west doors came the first blare of the huge organ,\nreinforced by trumpets. And then, as sudden and profound as the hush of\ndeath, there fell an enormous silence.\n\n\nII\n\nAs the five-minutes bell began, sounding like a continuous wind-note in\nthe great vaults overhead, solemn and persistent, Mabel drew a long\nbreath and leaned back in her seat from the rigid position in which for\nthe last half-hour she had been staring out at the wonderful sight. She\nseemed to herself to have assimilated it at last, to be herself once\nmore, to have drunk her fill of the triumph and the beauty. She was as\none who looks upon a summer sea on the morning after a storm. And now\nthe climax was at hand.\n\nFrom end to end and side to side the interior of the Abbey presented a\ngreat broken mosaic of human faces; living slopes, walls, sections and\ncurves. The south transept directly opposite to her, from pavement to\nrose window, was one sheet of heads; the floor was paved with them, cut\nin two by the scarlet of the gangway leading from the chapel of St.\nFaith--on the right, the choir beyond the open space before the\nsanctuary was a mass of white figures, scarved and surpliced; the high\norgan gallery, beneath which the screen had been removed, was crowded\nwith them, and, far down beneath, the dim nave stretched the same\nendless pale living pavement to the shadow beneath the west window.\nBetween every group of columns behind the choir-stalls, before her, to\nright, left, and behind, were platforms contrived in the masonry; and\nthe exquisite roof, fan-tracery and soaring capital, alone gave the eye\nan escape from humanity. The whole vast space was full, it seemed, of\ndelicate sunlight that streamed in from the artificial light set outside\neach window, and poured the ruby and the purple and the blue from the\nold glass in long shafts of colour across the dusty air, and in broken\npatches on the faces and dresses behind. The murmur of ten thousand\nvoices filled the place, supplying, it seemed, a solemn accompaniment to\nthat melodious note that now pulsed above it. And finally, more\nsignificant than all, was the empty carpeted sanctuary at her feet, the\nenormous altar with its flight of steps, the gorgeous curtain and the\ngreat untenanted sedilia.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMabel needed some such reassurance, for last night, until the coming of\nOliver, had passed for her as a kind of appalling waking dream. From the\nfirst shock of what she had seen outside the church, through those hours\nof waiting, with the knowledge that this was the way in which the Spirit\nof Peace asserted its superiority, up to that last moment when, in her\nhusband\u2019s arms, she had learned of the Fall of Rome, it had appeared to\nher as if her new world had suddenly corrupted about her. It was\nincredible, she told herself, that this ravening monster, dripping blood\nfrom claws and teeth, that had arisen roaring in the night, could be the\nHumanity that had become her God. She had thought revenge and cruelty\nand slaughter to be the brood of Christian superstition, dead and buried\nunder the new-born angel of light, and now it seemed that the monsters\nyet stirred and lived. All the evening she had sat, walked, lain about\nher quiet house with the horror heavy about her, flinging open a window\nnow and again in the icy air to listen with clenched hands to the cries\nand the roarings of the mob that raged in the streets beneath, the\nclanks, the yells and the hoots of the motor-trains that tore up from\nthe country to swell the frenzy of the city--to watch the red glow of\nfire, the volumes of smoke that heaved up from the burning chapels and\nconvents.\n\nShe had questioned, doubted, resisted her doubts, flung out frantic acts\nof faith, attempted to renew the confidence that she attained in her\nmeditation, told herself that traditions died slowly; she had knelt,\ncrying out to the spirit of peace that lay, as she knew so well, at the\nheart of man, though overwhelmed for the moment by evil passion. A line\nor two ran in her head from one of the old Victorian poets:\n\nYou doubt If any one Could think or bid it? How could it come about?...\nWho did it? Not men! Not here! Oh! not beneath the sun.... The torch\nthat smouldered till the cup o\u2019er-ran The wrath of God which is the\nwrath of Man!\n\nShe had even contemplated death, as she had told her husband--the taking\nof her own life, in a great despair with the world. Seriously she had\nthought of it; it was an escape perfectly in accord with her morality.\nThe useless and agonising were put out of the world by common consent;\nthe Euthanasia houses witnessed to it. Then why not she?... For she\ncould not bear it!... Then Oliver had come, she had fought her way back\nto sanity and confidence; and the phantom had gone again.\n\nHow sensible and quiet he had been, she was beginning to tell herself\nnow, as the quiet influence of this huge throng in this glorious place\nof worship possessed her once more--how reasonable in his explanation\nthat man was even now only convalescent and therefore liable to relapse.\nShe had told herself that again and again during the night, but it had\nbeen different when he had said so. His personality had once more\nprevailed; and the name of Felsenburgh had finished the work.\n\n\u201cIf He were but here!\u201d she sighed. But she knew He was far away.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was not until a quarter to eleven that she understood that the crowds\noutside were clamouring for Him too, and that knowledge reassured her\nyet further. They knew, then, these wild tigers, where their redemption\nlay; they understood what was their ideal, even if they had not attained\nto it. Ah! if He were but here, there would be no more question: the\nsullen waves would sink beneath His call of peace, the hazy clouds lift,\nthe rumble die to silence. But He was away--away on some strange\nbusiness. Well; He knew His work. He would surely come soon again to His\nchildren who needed Him so terribly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nShe had the good fortune to be alone in a crowd. Her neighbour, a\ngrizzled old man with his daughters beyond, was her only neighbour, and\na stranger. At her left rose up the red-covered barricade over which she\ncould see the sanctuary and the curtain; and her seat in the tribune,\nraised some eight feet above the floor, removed her from any possibility\nof conversation. She was thankful for that: she did not want to talk;\nshe wanted only to control her faculties in silence, to reassert her\nfaith, to look out over this enormous throng gathered to pay homage to\nthe great Spirit whom they had betrayed, to renew her own courage and\nfaithfulness. She wondered what the preacher would say, whether there\nwould be any note of penitence. Maternity was his subject--that benign\naspect of universal life--tenderness, love, quiet, receptive, protective\npassion, the spirit that soothes rather than inspires, that busies\nitself with peaceful tasks, that kindles the lights and fires of home,\nthat gives sleep, food and welcome....\n\nThe bell stopped, and in the instant before the music began she heard,\nclear above the murmur within, the roar of the crowds outside, who still\ndemanded their God. Then, with a crash, the huge organ awoke, pierced by\nthe cry of the trumpets and the maddening throb of drums. There was no\ndelicate prelude here, no slow stirring of life rising through\nlabyrinths of mystery to the climax of sight--here rather was full-orbed\nday, the high noon of knowledge and power, the dayspring from on high,\ndawning in mid-heaven. Her heart quickened to meet it, and her reviving\nconfidence, still convalescent, stirred and smiled, as the tremendous\nchords blared overhead, telling of triumph full-armed. God was man,\nthen, after all--a God who last night had faltered for an hour, but who\nrose again on this morning of a new year, scattering mists, dominant\nover his own passion, all-compelling and all-beloved. God was man, and\nFelsenburgh his Incarnation! Yes, she must believe that! She did\nbelieve that!\n\nThen she saw how already the long procession was winding up beneath the\nscreen, and by imperceptible art the light grew yet more acutely\nbeautiful. They were coming, then, those ministers of a pure worship;\ngrave men who knew in what they believed, and who, even if they did not\nat this moment thrill with feeling (for she knew that in this respect\nher husband for one did not), yet believed the principles of this\nworship and recognised their need of expression for the majority of\nmankind--coming slowly up in fours and pairs and units, led by robed\nvergers, rippling over the steps, and emerging again into the coloured\nsunlight in all their bravery of Masonic apron, badge and jewel. Surely\nhere was reassurance enough.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe sanctuary now held a figure or two. Anxious-faced Mr. Francis, in\nhis robes of office, came gravely down the steps and stood awaiting the\nprocession, directing with almost imperceptible motions his satellites\nwho hovered about the aisles ready to point this way and that to the\nadvancing stream; and the western-most seats were already beginning to\nfill, when on a sudden she recognised that something had happened.\n\nJust now the roaring of the mob outside had provided a kind of underbass\nto the music within, imperceptible except to sub-consciousness, but\nclearly discernible in its absence; and this absence was now a fact.\n\nAt first she thought that the signal of beginning worship had hushed\nthem; and then, with an indescribable thrill, she remembered that in all\nher knowledge only one thing had ever availed to quiet a turbulent\ncrowd. Yet she was not sure; it might be an illusion. Even now the mob\nmight be roaring still, and she only deaf to it; but again with an\necstasy that was very near to agony she perceived that the murmur of\nvoices even within the building had ceased, and that some great wave of\nemotion was stirring the sheets and slopes of faces before her as a wind\nstirs wheat. A moment later, and she was on her feet, gripping the rail,\nwith her heart like an over-driven engine beating pulses of blood,\nfurious and insistent, through every vein; for with great rushing surge\nthat sounded like a sigh, heard even above the triumphant tumult\noverhead, the whole enormous assemblage had risen to its feet.\n\nConfusion seemed to break out in the orderly procession. She saw Mr.\nFrancis run forward quickly, gesticulating like a conductor, and at his\nsignal the long line swayed forward, split, recoiled, and again slid\nswiftly forward, breaking as it did so into twenty streams that poured\nalong the seats and filled them in a moment. Men ran and pushed, aprons\nflapped, hands beckoned, all without coherent words. There was a\nknocking of feet, the crash of an overturned chair, and then, as if a\ngod had lifted his hand for quiet, the music ceased abruptly, sending a\nwild echo that swooned and died in a moment; a great sigh filled its\nplace, and, in the coloured sunshine that lay along the immense length\nof the gangway that ran open now from west to east, far down in the\ndistant nave, a single figure was seen advancing.\n\n\nIII\n\nWhat Mabel saw and heard and felt from eleven o\u2019clock to half-an-hour\nafter noon on that first morning of the New Year she could never\nadequately remember. For the time she lost the continuous consciousness\nof self, the power of reflection, for she was still weak from her\nstruggle; there was no longer in her the process by which events are\nstored, labelled and recorded; she was no more than a being who observed\nas it were in one long act, across which considerations played at\nuncertain intervals. Eyes and ear seemed her sole functions,\ncommunicating direct with a burning heart.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nShe did not even know at what point her senses told her that this was\nFelsenburgh. She seemed to have known it even before he entered, and she\nwatched Him as in complete silence He came deliberately up the red\ncarpet, superbly alone, rising a step or two at the entrance of the\nchoir, passing on and up before her. He was in his English judicial\ndress of scarlet and black, but she scarcely noticed it. For her, too,\nno one else existed but, He; this vast assemblage was gone, poised and\ntransfigured in one vibrating atmosphere of an immense human emotion.\nThere was no one, anywhere, but Julian Felsenburgh. Peace and light\nburned like a glory about Him.\n\nFor an instant after passing he disappeared beyond the speaker\u2019s\ntribune, and the instant after reappeared once more, coming up the\nsteps. He reached his place--she could see His profile beneath her and\nslightly to the left, pure and keen as the blade of a knife, beneath His\nwhite hair. He lifted one white-furred sleeve, made a single motion, and\nwith a surge and a rumble, the ten thousand were seated. He motioned\nagain and with a roar they were on their feet.\n\nAgain there was a silence. He stood now, perfectly still, His hands laid\ntogether on the rail, and His face looking steadily before Him; it\nseemed as if He who had drawn all eyes and stilled all sounds were\nwaiting until His domination were complete, and there was but one will,\none desire, and that beneath His hand. Then He began to speak....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn this again, as Mabel perceived afterwards, there was no precise or\nverbal record within her of what he said; there was no conscious process\nby which she received, tested, or approved what she heard. The nearest\nimage under which she could afterwards describe her emotions to herself,\nwas that when He spoke it was she who was speaking. Her own thoughts,\nher predispositions, her griefs, her disappointment, her passion, her\nhopes--all these interior acts of the soul known scarcely even to\nherself, down even, it seemed, to the minutest whorls and eddies of\nthought, were, by this man, lifted up, cleansed, kindled, satisfied and\nproclaimed. For the first time in her life she became perfectly aware of\nwhat human nature meant; for it was her own heart that passed out upon\nthe air, borne on that immense voice. Again, as once before for a few\nmoments in Paul\u2019s House, it seemed that creation, groaning so long, had\nspoken articulate words at last--had come to growth and coherent thought\nand perfect speech. Yet then He had spoken to men; now it was Man\nHimself speaking. It was not one man who spoke there, it was Man--Man\nconscious of his origin, his destiny, and his pilgrimage between, Man\nsane again after a night of madness--knowing his strength, declaring his\nlaw, lamenting in a voice as eloquent as stringed instruments his own\nfailure to correspond. It was a soliloquy rather than an oration. Rome\nhad fallen, English and Italian streets had run with blood, smoke and\nflame had gone up to heaven, because man had for an instant sunk back to\nthe tiger. Yet it was done, cried the great voice, and there was no\nrepentance; it was done, and ages hence man must still do penance and\nflush scarlet with shame to remember that once he turned his back on\nthe risen light.\n\nThere was no appeal to the lurid, no picture of the tumbling palaces,\nthe running figures, the coughing explosions, the shaking of the earth\nand the dying of the doomed. It was rather with those hot hearts\nshouting in the English and German streets, or aloft in the winter air\nof Italy, the ugly passions that warred there, as the volors rocked at\ntheir stations, generating and fulfilling revenge, paying back plot with\nplot, and violence with violence. For there, cried the voice, was man as\nhe had been, fallen in an instant to the cruel old ages before he had\nlearned what he was and why.\n\nThere was no repentance, said the voice again, but there was something\nbetter; and as the hard, stinging tones melted, the girl\u2019s dry eyes of\nshame filled in an instant with tears. There was something better--the\nknowledge of what crimes man was yet capable of, and the will to use\nthat knowledge. Rome was gone, and it was a lamentable shame; Rome was\ngone, and the air was the sweeter for it; and then in an instant, like\nthe soar of a bird, He was up and away--away from the horrid gulf where\nHe had looked just now, from the fragments of charred bodies, and\ntumbled houses and all the signs of man\u2019s disgrace, to the pure air and\nsunlight to which man must once more set his face. Yet He bore with Him\nin that wonderful flight the dew of tears and the aroma of earth. He had\nnot spared words with which to lash and whip the naked human heart, and\nHe did not spare words to lift up the bleeding, shrinking thing, and\ncomfort it with the divine vision of love....\n\nHistorically speaking, it was about forty minutes before He turned to\nthe shrouded image behind the altar.\n\n\u201cOh! Maternity!\u201d he cried. \u201cMother of us all---\u201d\n\nAnd then, to those who heard Him, the supreme miracle took place.... For\nit seemed now in an instant that it was no longer man who spoke, but One\nwho stood upon the stage of the superhuman. The curtain ripped back, as\none who stood by it tore, panting, at the strings; and there, it seemed,\nface to face stood the Mother above the altar, huge, white and\nprotective, and the Child, one passionate incarnation of love, crying to\nher from the tribune.\n\n\u201cOh! Mother of us all, and Mother of Me!\u201d\n\nSo He praised her to her face, that sublime principle of life, declared\nher glories and her strength, her Immaculate Motherhood, her seven\nswords of anguish driven through her heart by the passion and the\nfollies of her Son--He promised her great things, the recognition of her\ncountless children, the love and service of the unborn, the welcome of\nthose yet quickening within the womb. He named her the Wisdom of the\nMost High, that sweetly orders all things, the Gate of Heaven, House of\nIvory, Comforter of the afflicted, Queen of the World; and, to the\ndelirious eyes of those who looked on her it seemed that the grave face\nsmiled to hear Him....\n\nA great panting as of some monstrous life began to fill the air as the\nmob swayed behind Him, and the torrential voice poured on. Waves of\nemotion swept up and down; there were cries and sobs, the yelping of a\nman beside himself at last, from somewhere among the crowded seats, the\ncrash of a bench, and another and another, and the gangways were full,\nfor He no longer held them passive to listen; He was rousing them to\nsome supreme act. The tide crawled nearer, and the faces stared no\nlonger at the Son but the Mother; the girl in the gallery tore at the\nheavy railing, and sank down sobbing upon her knees. And above all the\nvoice pealed on--and the thin hands blanched to whiteness strained from\nthe wide and sumptuous sleeves as if to reach across the sanctuary\nitself.\n\nIt was a new tale He was telling now, and all to her glory. He was from\nthe East, now they knew, come from some triumph. He had been hailed as\nKing, adored as Divine, as was meet and right--He, the humble superhuman\nson of a Human Mother--who bore not a sword but peace, not a cross but a\ncrown. So it seemed He was saying; yet no man there knew whether He said\nit or not--whether the voice proclaimed it, or their hearts asserted it.\nHe was on the steps of the sanctuary now, still with outstretched hands\nand pouring words, and the mob rolled after him to the rumble of ten\nthousand feet and the sighing of ten thousand hearts.... He was at the\naltar; He was upon it. Again in one last cry, as the crowd broke against\nthe steps beneath, He hailed her Queen and Mother.\n\nThe end came in a moment, swift and inevitable. And for an instant,\nbefore the girl in the gallery sank down, blind with tears, she saw the\ntiny figure poised there at the knees of the huge image, beneath the\nexpectant hands, silent and transfigured in the blaze of light. The\nMother, it seemed, had found her Son at last.\n\nFor an instant she saw it, the soaring columns, the gilding and the\ncolours, the swaying heads, the tossing hands. It was a sea that heaved\nbefore her, lights went up and down, the rose window whirled overhead,\npresences filled the air, heaven flashed away, and the earth shook it\necstasy. Then in the heavenly light, to the crash of drums, above the\nscreaming of the women and the battering of feet, in one thunder-peal of\nworship ten thousand voices hailed Him Lord and God.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III-THE VICTORY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nI\n\nThe little room where the new Pope sat reading was a model of\nsimplicity. Its walls were whitewashed, its roof unpolished rafters, and\nits floor beaten mud. A square table stood in the centre, with a chair\nbeside it; a cold brazier laid for lighting, stood in the wide hearth; a\nbookshelf against the wall held a dozen volumes. There were three doors,\none leading to the private oratory, one to the ante-room, and the third\nto the little paved court. The south windows were shuttered, but through\nthe ill-fitting hinges streamed knife-blades of fiery light from the hot\nEastern day outside.\n\nIt was the time of the mid-day siesta, and except for the brisk scything\nof the _cicade_ from the hill-slope behind the house, all was in deep\nsilence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Pope, who had dined an hour before, had hardly shifted His attitude\nin all that time, so intent was He upon His reading. For the while, all\nwas put away, His own memory of those last three months, the bitter\nanxiety, the intolerable load of responsibility. The book He held was a\ncheap reprint of the famous biography of Julian Felsenburgh, issued a\nmonth before, and He was now drawing to an end.\n\nIt was a terse, well-written book, composed by an unknown hand, and some\neven suspected it to be the disguised work of Felsenburgh himself. More,\nhowever, considered that it was written at least with Felsenburgh\u2019s\nconsent by one of that small body of intimates whom he had admitted to\nhis society--that body which under him now conducted the affairs of West\nand East. From certain indications in the book it had been argued that\nits actual writer was a Westerner.\n\nThe main body of the work dealt with his life, or rather with those two\nor three years known to the world, from his rapid rise in American\npolitics and his mediation in the East down to the event of five months\nago, when in swift succession he had been hailed Messiah in Damascus,\nhad been formally adored in London, and finally elected by an\nextraordinary majority to the Tribuniciate of the two Americas.\n\nThe Pope had read rapidly through these objective facts, for He knew\nthem well enough already, and was now studying with close attention the\nsummary of his character, or rather, as the author rather sententiously\nexplained, the summary of his self-manifestation to the world. He read\nthe description of his two main characteristics, his grasp upon words\nand facts; \u201cwords, the daughters of earth, were wedded in this man to\nfacts, the sons of heaven, and Superman was their offspring.\u201d His minor\ncharacteristics, too, were noticed, his appetite for literature, his\nastonishing memory, his linguistic powers. He possessed, it appeared,\nboth the telescopic and the microscopic eye--he discerned world-wide\ntendencies and movements on the one hand; he had a passionate capacity\nfor detail on the other. Various anecdotes illustrated these remarks,\nand a number of terse aphorisms of his were recorded. \u201cNo man forgives,\u201d\nhe said; \u201che only understands.\u201d \u201cIt needs supreme faith to renounce a\ntranscendent God.\u201d \u201cA man who believes in himself is almost capable of\nbelieving in his neighbour.\u201d Here was a sentence that to the Pope\u2019s mind\nwas significant of that sublime egotism that is alone capable of\nconfronting the Christian spirit: and again, \u201cTo forgive a wrong is to\ncondone a crime,\u201d and \u201cThe strong man is accessible to no one, but all\nare accessible to him.\u201d\n\nThere was a certain pompousness in this array of remarks, but it lay, as\nthe Pope saw very well, not in the speaker but in the scribe. To him who\nhad seen the speaker it was plain how they had been uttered--with no\npontifical solemnity, but whirled out in a fiery stream of eloquence, or\nspoken with that strangely moving simplicity that had constituted his\nfirst assault on London. It was possible to hate Felsenburgh, and to\nfear him; but never to be amused at him.\n\nBut plainly the supreme pleasure of the writer was to trace the analogy\nbetween his hero and nature. In both there was the same apparent\ncontradictoriness--the combination of utter tenderness and utter\nruthlessness. \u201cThe power that heals wounds also inflicts them: that\nclothes the dungheap with sweet growths and grasses, breaks, too, into\nfire and earthquake; that causes the partridge to die for her young,\nalso makes the shrike with his living larder.\u201d So, too, with\nFelsenburgh; He who had wept over the Fall of Rome, a month later had\nspoken of extermination as an instrument that even now might be\njudicially used in the service of humanity. Only it must be used with\ndeliberation, not with passion.\n\nThe utterance had aroused extraordinary interest, since it seemed so\nparadoxical from one who preached peace and toleration; and argument\nhad broken out all over the world. But beyond enforcing the dispersal of\nthe Irish Catholics, and the execution of a few individuals, so far that\nutterance had not been acted upon. Yet the world seemed as a whole to\nhave accepted it, and even now to be waiting for its fulfilment.\n\nAs the biographer pointed out, the world enclosed in physical nature\nshould welcome one who followed its precepts, one who was indeed the\nfirst to introduce deliberately and confessedly into human affairs such\nlaws as those of the Survival of the Fittest and the immorality of\nforgiveness. If there was mystery in the one, there was mystery in the\nother, and both must be accepted if man was to develop.\n\nAnd the secret of this, it seemed, lay in His personality. To see Him\nwas to believe in Him, or rather to accept Him as inevitably true. \u201cWe\ndo not explain nature or escape from it by sentimental regrets: the hare\ncries like a child, the wounded stag weeps great tears, the robin kills\nhis parents; life exists only on condition of death; and these things\nhappen however we may weave theories that explain nothing. Life must be\naccepted on those terms; we cannot be wrong if we follow nature; rather\nto accept them is to find peace--our great mother only reveals her\nsecrets to those who take her as she is.\u201d So, too, with Felsenburgh. \u201cIt\nis not for us to discriminate: His personality is of a kind that does\nnot admit it. He is complete and sufficing for those who trust Him and\nare willing to suffer; an hostile and hateful enigma to those who are\nnot. We must prepare ourselves for the logical outcome of this doctrine.\nSentimentality must not be permitted to dominate reason.\u201d\n\nFinally, then, the writer showed how to this Man belonged properly all\nthose titles hitherto lavished upon imagined Supreme Beings. It was in\npreparation for Him that these types came into the realms of thought and\ninfluenced men\u2019s lives.\n\nHe was the _Creator_, for it was reserved for Him to bring into being\nthe perfect life of union to which all the world had hitherto groaned in\nvain; it was in His own image and likeness that He had made man.\n\nYet He was the _Redeemer_ too, for that likeness had in one sense always\nunderlain the tumult of mistake and conflict. He had brought man out of\ndarkness and the shadow of death, guiding their feet into the way of\npeace. He was the _Saviour_ for the same reason--the _Son of Man_, for\nHe alone was perfectly human; He was the _Absolute_, for He was the\ncontent of Ideals; the _Eternal_, for He had lain always in nature\u2019s\npotentiality and secured by His being the continuity of that order; the\n_Infinite_, for all finite things fell short of Him who was more than\ntheir sum.\n\nHe was _Alpha_, then, and _Omega_, the beginning and the end, the first\nand the last. He was _Dominus et Deus noster_ (as Domitian had been, the\nPope reflected). He was as simple and as complex as life itself--simple\nin its essence, complex in its activities.\n\nAnd last of all, the supreme proof of His mission lay in the immortal\nnature of His message. There was no more to be added to what He had\nbrought to light--for in Him all diverging lines at last found their\norigin and their end. As to whether or no He would prove to be\npersonally immortal was an wholly irrelevant thought; it would be indeed\nfitting if through His means the vital principle should disclose its\nlast secret; but no more than fitting. Already His spirit was in the\nworld; the individual was no more separate from his fellows; death no\nmore than a wrinkle that came and went across the inviolable sea. For\nman had learned at last that the race was all and self was nothing; the\ncell had discovered the unity of the body; even, the greatest thinkers\ndeclared, the consciousness of the individual had yielded the title of\nPersonality to the corporate mass of man--and the restlessness of the\nunit had sunk into the peace of a common Humanity, for nothing but this\ncould explain the cessation of party strife and national\ncompetition--and this, above all, had been the work of Felsenburgh.\n\n\u201c_Behold I am with you always_,\u201d quoted the writer in a passionate\nperoration, \u201c_even now in the consummation of the world; and, the\nComforter is come unto you. I am the Door--the Way, the Truth and the\nLife--the Bread of Life and the Water of Life. My name is Wonderful, the\nPrince of Peace, the Father Everlasting. It is I who am the Desire of\nall nations, the fairest among the children of men--and of my Kingdom\nthere shall be no end_.\u201d\n\nThe Pope laid down the book, and leaned back, closing his eyes.\n\n\nII\n\nAnd as for Himself, what had He to say to all this? A Transcendent God\nWho hid Himself, a Divine Saviour Who delayed to come, a Comforter heard\nno longer in wind nor seen in fire!\n\nThere, in the next room, was a little wooden altar, and above it an iron\nbox, and within that box a silver cup, and within that cup--Something.\nOutside the house, a hundred yards away, lay the domes and plaster roofs\nof a little village called Nazareth; Carmel was on the right, a mile or\ntwo away, Thabor on the left, the plain of Esdraelon in front; and\nbehind, Cana and Galilee, and the quiet lake, and Hermon. And far away\nto the south lay Jerusalem....\n\nIt was to this tiny strip of holy land that the Pope had come--the land\nwhere a Faith had sprouted two thousand years ago, and where, unless God\nspoke in fire from heaven, it would presently be cut down as a cumberer\nof the ground. It was here on this material earth that One had walked\nWhom all men had thought to have been He Who would redeem Israel--in\nthis village that He had fetched water and made boxes and chairs, on\nthat long lake that His Feet had walked, on that high hill that He had\nflamed in glory, on that smooth, low mountain to the north that He had\ndeclared that the meek were blessed and should inherit the earth, that\npeacemakers were the children of God, that they who hungered and\nthirsted should be satisfied.\n\nAnd now it was come to this. Christianity had smouldered away from\nEurope like a sunset on darkening peaks; Eternal Rome was a heap of\nruins; in East and West alike a man had been set upon the throne of God,\nhad been acclaimed as divine. The world had leaped forward; social\nscience was supreme; men had learned consistency; they had learned, too,\nthe social lessons of Christianity apart from a Divine Teacher, or,\nrather, they said, in spite of Him. There were left, perhaps, three\nmillions, perhaps five, at the utmost ten millions--it was impossible to\nknow--throughout the entire inhabited globe who still worshipped Jesus\nChrist as God. And the Vicar of Christ sat in a whitewashed room in\nNazareth, dressed as simply as His master, waiting for the end.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe had done what He could. There had been a week five months ago when\nit had been doubtful whether anything at all could be done. There were\nleft three Cardinals alive, Himself, Steinmann, and the Patriarch of\nJerusalem; the rest lay mangled somewhere in the ruins of Rome. There\nwas no precedent to follow; so the two Europeans had made their way out\nto the East, and to the one town in it where quiet still reigned. With\nthe disappearance of Greek Christianity there had also vanished the last\nremnants of internecine war in Christendom; and by a kind of tacit\nconsent of the world, Christians were allowed a moderate liberty in\nPalestine. Russia, which now held the country as a dependency, had\nsufficient sentiment left to leave it alone; it was true that the holy\nplaces had been desecrated, and remained now only as spots of\nantiquarian interest; the altars were gone but the sites were yet\nmarked, and, although mass could no longer be said there, it was\nunderstood that private oratories were not forbidden.\n\nIt was in this state that the two European Cardinals had found the Holy\nCity; it was not thought wise to wear insignia of any description in\npublic; and it was practically certain even now that the civilised world\nwas unaware of their existence; for within three days of their arrival\nthe old Patriarch had died, yet not before Percy Franklin, surely under\nthe strangest circumstances since those of the first century, had been\nelected to the Supreme Pontificate. It had all been done in a few\nminutes by the dying man\u2019s bedside. The two old men had insisted. The\nGerman had even recurred once more to the strange resemblance between\nPercy and Julian Felsenburgh, and had murmured his old half-heard\nremarks about the antithesis, and the Finger of God; and Percy,\nmarvelling at his superstition, had accepted, and the election was\nrecorded. He had taken the name of Silvester, the last saint in the\nyear, and was the third of that title. He had then retired to Nazareth\nwith his chaplain; Steinmann had gone back to Germany, and been hanged\nin a riot within a fortnight of his arrival.\n\nThe next matter was the creation of new cardinals, and to twenty\npersons, with infinite precautions, briefs had been conveyed. Of these,\nnine had declined; three more had been approached, of whom only one had\naccepted. There were therefore at this moment twelve persons in the\nworld who constituted the Sacred College--two Englishmen, of whom\nCorkran was one; two Americans, a Frenchman, a German, an Italian, a\nSpaniard, a Pole, a Chinaman, a Greek, and a Russian. To these were\nentrusted vast districts over which their control was supreme, subject\nonly to the Holy Father Himself.\n\nAs regarded the Pope\u2019s own life very little need be said. It resembled,\nHe thought, in its outward circumstances that of such a man as Leo the\nGreat, without His worldly importance or pomp. Theoretically, the\nChristian world was under His dominion; practically, Christian affairs\nwere administered by local authorities. It was impossible for a hundred\nreasons for Him to do what He wished with regard to the exchange of\ncommunications. An elaborate cypher had been designed, and a private\ntelegraphic station organised on His roof communicating with another in\nDamascus where Cardinal Corkran had fixed his residence; and from that\ncentre messages occasionally were despatched to ecclesiastical\nauthorities elsewhere; but, for the most part, there was little to be\ndone. The Pope, however, had the satisfaction of knowing that, with\nincredible difficulty, a little progress had been made towards the\nreorganisation of the hierarchy in all countries. Bishops were being\nconsecrated freely; there were not less than two thousand of them all\ntold, and of priests an unknown number. The Order of Christ Crucified\nwas doing excellent work, and the tales of not less than four hundred\nmartyrdoms had reached Nazareth during the last two months, accomplished\nmostly at the hands of the mobs.\n\nIn other respects, also, as well as in the primary object of the Order\u2019s\nexistence (namely, the affording of an opportunity to all who loved God\nto dedicate themselves to Him more perfectly), the new Religious were\ndoing good work. The more perilous tasks--the work of communication\nbetween prelates, missions to persons of suspected integrity--all the\nbusiness, in fact, which was carried on now at the vital risk of the\nagent were entrusted solely to members of the Order. Stringent\ninstructions had been issued from Nazareth that no bishop was to expose\nhimself unnecessarily; each was to regard himself as the heart of his\ndiocese to be protected at all costs save that of Christian honour, and\nin consequence each had surrounded himself with a group of the new\nReligious--men and women--who with extraordinary and generous obedience\nundertook such dangerous tasks as they were capable of performing. It\nwas plain enough by now that had it not been for the Order, the Church\nwould have been little better than paralysed under these new conditions.\n\nExtraordinary facilities were being issued in all directions. Every\npriest who belonged to the Order received universal jurisdiction subject\nto the bishop, if any, of the diocese in which he might be; mass might\nbe said on any day of the year of the Five Wounds, or the Resurrection,\nor Our Lady; and all had the privilege of the portable altar, now\npermitted to be wood. Further ritual requirements were relaxed; mass\nmight be said with any decent vessels of any material capable of\ndestruction, such as glass or china; bread of any description might be\nused; and no vestments were obligatory except the thin thread that now\nrepresented the stole; lights were non-essential; none need wear the\nclerical habit; and rosary, even without beads, was always permissible\ninstead of the Office.\n\nIn this manner priests were rendered capable of giving the sacraments\nand offering the holy sacrifice at the least possible risk to\nthemselves; and these relaxations had already proved of enormous benefit\nin the European prisons, where by this time many thousands of Catholics\nwere undergoing the penalty of refusing public worship.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Pope\u2019s private life was as simple as His room. He had one Syrian\npriest for His chaplain, and two Syrian servants. He said His mass each\nmorning, Himself wearing vestments and His white habit beneath, and\nheard a mass after. He then took His coffee, after changing into the\ntunic and burnous of the country, and spent the morning over business.\nHe dined at noon, slept, and rode out, for the country by reason of its\nindeterminate position was still in the simplicity of a hundred years\nago. He returned at dusk, supped, and worked again till late into the\nnight.\n\nThat was all. His chaplain sent what messages were necessary to\nDamascus; His servants, themselves ignorant of His dignity, dealt with\nthe secular world so far as was required, and the utmost that seemed to\nbe known to His few neighbours was that there lived in the late Sheikh\u2019s\nlittle house on the hill an eccentric European with a telegraph office.\nHis servants, themselves devout Catholics, knew Him for a bishop, but no\nmore than that. They were told only that there was yet a Pope alive, and\nwith that and the sacraments were content.\n\nTo sum up, therefore--the Catholic world knew that their Pope lived\nunder the name of Silvester; and thirteen persons of the entire human\nrace knew that Franklin had been His name, and that the throne of Peter\nrested for the time in Nazareth.\n\nIt was, as a Frenchman had said, just a hundred years ago. Catholicism\nsurvived; but no more.\n\n\nIII\n\nAnd as for His inner life, what can be said of that? He lay now back in\nhis wooden chair, thinking with closed eyes.\n\nHe could not have described it consistently even to Himself, for indeed\nHe scarcely knew it: He acted rather than indulged in reflex thought.\nBut the centre of His position was simple faith. The Catholic Religion,\nHe knew well enough, gave the only adequate explanation of the universe;\nit did not unlock all mysteries, but it unlocked more than any other key\nknown to man; He knew, too, perfectly well, that it was the only system\nof thought that satisfied man as a whole, and accounted for him in his\nessential nature. Further, He saw well enough that the failure of\nChristianity to unite all men one to another rested not upon its\nfeebleness but its strength; its lines met in eternity, not in time.\nBesides, He happened to believe it.\n\nBut to this foreground there were other moods whose shifting was out of\nhis control. In his _exalt_ moods, which came upon Him like a breeze\nfrom Paradise, the background was bright with hope and drama--He saw\nHimself and His companions as Peter and the Apostles must have regarded\nthemselves, as they proclaimed through the world, in temples, slums,\nmarket-places and private houses, the faith that was to shake and\ntransform the world. They had handled the Lord of Life, seen the empty\nsepulchre, grasped the pierced hands of Him Who was their brother and\ntheir God. It was radiantly true, though not a man believed it; the huge\nsuperincumbent weight of incredulity could not disturb a fact that was\nas the sun in heaven. Moreover, the very desperateness of the cause was\ntheir inspiration. There was no temptation to lean upon the arm of\nflesh, for there was none that fought for them but God. Their nakedness\nwas their armour, their slow tongues their persuasiveness, their\nweakness demanded God\u2019s strength, and found it. Yet there was this\ndifference, and it was a significant one. For Peter the spiritual world\nhad an interpretation and a guarantee in the outward events he had\nwitnessed. He had handled the Risen Christ, the external corroborated\nthe internal. But for Silvester it was not so. For Him it was necessary\nso to grasp spiritual truths in the supernatural sphere that the\nexternal events of the Incarnation were proved by rather than proved the\ncertitude of His spiritual apprehension. Certainly, historically\nspeaking, Christianity was true--proved by its records--yet to see that\nneeded illumination. He apprehended the power of the Resurrection,\ntherefore Christ was risen.\n\nTherefore in heavier moods it was different with him. There were\nperiods, lasting sometimes for days together, clouding Him when He\nawoke, stifling Him as He tried to sleep, dulling the very savour of the\nSacrament and the thrill of the Precious Blood; times in which the\ndarkness was so intolerable that even the solid objects of faith\nattenuated themselves to shadow, when half His nature was blind not only\nto Christ, but to God Himself, and the reality of His own\nexistence--when His own awful dignity seemed as the insignia of a fool.\nAnd was it conceivable, His earthly mind demanded, that He and His\ncollege of twelve and His few thousands should be right, and the entire\nconsensus of the civilised world wrong? It was not that the world had\nnot heard the message of the Gospel; it had heard little else for two\nthousand years, and now pronounced it false--false in its external\ncredentials, and false therefore in its spiritual claims. It was a lost\ncause for which He suffered; He was not the last of an august line, He\nwas the smoking wick of a candle of folly; He was the _reductio ad\nabsurdam_ of a ludicrous syllogism based on impossible premises. He was\nnot worth killing, He and His company of the insane--they were no more\nthan the crowned dunces of the world\u2019s school. Sanity sat on the solid\nbenches of materialism. And this heaviness waxed so dark sometimes that\nHe almost persuaded Himself that His faith was gone; the clamours of\nmind so loud that the whisper of the heart was unheard, the desires for\nearthly peace so fierce that supernatural ambitions were silenced--so\ndense was the gloom, that, hoping against hope, believing against\nknowledge, and loving against truth, He cried as One other had cried on\nanother day like this--_Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!_ ... But that, at\nleast, He never failed to cry.\n\nOne thing alone gave Him power to go on, so far at least as His\nconsciousness was concerned, and that was His meditation. He had\ntravelled far in the mystical life since His agonies of effort. Now He\nused no deliberate descents into the spiritual world: He threw, as it\nwere, His hands over His head, and dropped into spacelessness.\nConsciousness would draw Him up, as a cork, to the surface, but He would\ndo no more than repeat His action, until by that cessation of activity,\nwhich is the supreme energy, He floated in the twilight realm of\ntranscendence; and there God would deal with Him--now by an articulate\nsentence, now by a sword of pain, now by an air like the vivifying\nbreath of the sea. Sometimes after Communion He would treat Him so,\nsometimes as He fell asleep, sometimes in the whirl of work. Yet His\nconsciousness did not seem to retain for long such experiences; five\nminutes later, it might be, He would be wrestling once more with the all\nbut sensible phantoms of the mind and the heart.\n\nThere He lay, then, in the chair, revolving the intolerable blasphemies\nthat He had read. His white hair was thin upon His browned temples, His\nhands were as the hands of a spirit, and His young face lined and\npatched with sorrow. His bare feet protruded from beneath His stained\ntunic, and His old brown burnous lay on the floor beside Him....\n\nIt was an hour before He moved, and the sun had already lost half its\nfierceness, when the steps of the horses sounded in the paved court\noutside. Then He sat up, slipped His feet into their shoes, and lifted\nthe burnous from the floor, as the door opened and the lean sun-burned\npriest came through.\n\n\u201cThe horses, Holiness,\u201d said the man.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Pope spoke not one word that afternoon, until the two came towards\nsunset up the bridle-path that leads between Thabor and Nazareth. They\nhad taken their usual round through Cana, mounting a hillock from which\nthe long mirror of Gennesareth could be seen, and passing on, always\nbearing to the right, under the shadow of Thabor until once more\nEsdraelon spread itself beneath like a grey-green carpet, a vast circle,\ntwenty miles across, sprinkled sparsely with groups of huts, white walls\nand roofs, with Nain visible on the other side, Carmel heaving its long\nform far off on the right, and Nazareth nestling a mile or two away on\nthe plateau on which they had halted.\n\nIt was a sight of extraordinary peace, and seemed an extract from some\nold picture-book designed centuries ago. Here was no crowd of roofs, no\npressure of hot humanity, no terrible evidences of civilisation and\nmanufactory and strenuous, fruitless effort. A few tired Jews had come\nback to this quiet little land, as old people may return to their native\nplace, with no hope of renewing their youth, or refinding their ideals,\nbut with a kind of sentimentality that prevails so often over more\nlogical motives, and a few more barrack-like houses had been added here\nand there to the obscure villages in sight. But it was very much as it\nhad been a hundred years ago.\n\nThe plain was half shadowed by Carmel, and half in dusty golden light.\nOverhead the clear Eastern sky was flushed with rose, as it had flushed\nfor Abraham, Jacob, and the Son of David. There was no little cloud\nhere, as a man\u2019s hand, over the sea, charged with both promise and\nterror; no sound of chariot-wheels from earth or heaven, no vision of\nheavenly horses such as a young man had seen thirty centuries ago in\nthis very sky. Here was the old earth and the old heaven, unchanged and\nunchangeable; the patient, returning spring had starred the thin soil\nwith flowers of Bethlehem, and those glorious lilies to which Solomon\u2019s\nscarlet garments might not be compared. There was no whisper from the\nThrone as when Gabriel had once stooped through this very air to hail\nHer who was blessed among women, no breath of promise or hope beyond\nthat which God sends through every movement of His created robe of life.\n\nAs the two halted, and the horses looked out with steady, inquisitive\neyes at the immensity of light and air beneath them, a soft hooting cry\nbroke out, and a shepherd passed below along the hillside a hundred\nyards away, trailing his long shadow behind him, and to the mellow\ntinkle of bells his flock came after, a troop of obedient sheep and\nwilful goats, cropping and following and cropping again as they went on\nto the fold, called by name in that sad minor voice of him who knew\neach, and led instead of driving. The soft clanking grew fainter, the\nshadow of the shepherd shot once to their very feet, as he topped the\nrise, and vanished again as he stepped down once more; and the call grew\nfainter yet, and ceased.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Pope lifted His hand to His eyes for an instant, then smoothed it\ndown His face.\n\nHe nodded across to a dim patch of white walls glimmering through the\nviolet haze of the falling twilight.\n\n\u201cThat place, father,\u201d He said, \u201cwhat is its name?\u201d\n\nThe Syrian priest looked across, back once more at the Pope, and across\nagain.\n\n\u201cThat among the palms, Holiness?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is Megiddo,\u201d he said. \u201cSome call it Armageddon.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nI\n\nAt twenty-three o\u2019clock that night the Syrian priest went out to watch\nfor the coming of the messenger from Tiberias. Nearly two hours\npreviously he had heard the cry of the Russian volor that plied from\nDamascus to Tiberias, and Tiberias to Jerusalem, and even as it was the\nmessenger was a little late.\n\nThese were very primitive arrangements, but Palestine was out of the\nworld--a slip of useless country--and it was necessary for a man to ride\nfrom Tiberias to Nazareth each night with papers from Cardinal Corkran\nto the Pope, and to return with correspondence. It was a dangerous task,\nand the members of the New Order who surrounded the Cardinal undertook\nit by turns. In this manner all matters for which the Pope\u2019s personal\nattention was required, and which were too long and not too urgent,\ncould be dealt with at leisure by him, and an answer returned within the\ntwenty-four hours.\n\nIt was a brilliant moonlit night. The great golden shield was riding\nhigh above Thabor, shedding its strange metallic light down the long\nslopes and over the moor-like country that rose up from before the\nhouse-door--casting too heavy black shadows that seemed far more\nconcrete and solid than the brilliant pale surfaces of the rock slabs or\neven than the diamond flashes from the quartz and crystal that here and\nthere sparkled up the stony pathway. Compared with this clear splendour,\nthe yellow light from the shuttered house seemed a hot and tawdry thing;\nand the priest, leaning against the door-post, his eyes alone alight in\nhis dark face, sank down at last with a kind of Eastern sensuousness to\nbathe himself in the glory, and to spread his lean, brown hands out to\nit.\n\nThis was a very simple man, in faith as well as in life. For him there\nwere neither the ecstasies nor the desolations of his master. It was an\nimmense and solemn joy to him to live here at the spot of God\u2019s\nIncarnation and in attendance upon His Vicar. As regarded the movements\nof the world, he observed them as a man in a ship watches the heaving of\nthe waves far beneath. Of course the world was restless, he half\nperceived, for, as the Latin Doctor had said, all hearts were restless\nuntil they found their rest in God. _Quare fremuerunt gentes?...\nAdversus Dominum, et adversus Christum ejus!_ As to the end--he was not\ngreatly concerned. It might well be that the ship would be overwhelmed,\nbut the moment of the catastrophe would be the end of all things\nearthly. The gates of hell shall not prevail: when Rome falls, the world\nfalls; and when the world falls, Christ is manifest in power. For\nhimself, he imagined that the end was not far away. When he had named\nMegiddo this afternoon it had been in his mind; to him it seemed natural\nthat at the consummation of all things Christ\u2019s Vicar should dwell at\nNazareth where His King had come on earth--and that the Armageddon of\nthe Divine John should be within sight of the scene where Christ had\nfirst taken His earthly sceptre and should take it again. After all, it\nwould not be the first battle that Megiddo had seen. Israel and Amalek\nhad met here; Israel and Assyria; Sesostris had ridden here and\nSennacherib. Christian and Turk had contended here, like Michael and\nSatan, over the place where God\u2019s Body had lain. As to the exact method\nof that end, he had no clear views; it would be a battle of some kind,\nand what field could be found more evidently designed for that than this\nhuge flat circular plain of Esdraelon, twenty miles across, sufficient\nto hold all the armies of the earth in its embrace? To his view once\nmore, ignorant as he was of present statistics, the world was divided\ninto two large sections, Christians and heathens, and he supposed them\nvery much of a size. Something would happen, troops would land at\nKhaifa, they would stream southwards from Tiberias, Damascus and remote\nAsia, northwards from Jerusalem, Egypt and Africa; eastwards from\nEurope; westwards from Asia again and the far-off Americas. And, surely,\nthe time could not be far away, for here was Christ\u2019s Vicar; and, as He\nHimself had said in His gospel of the Advent, _Ubicumque fuerit corpus,\nillie congregabuntur et aquilae._ Of more subtle interpretations of\nprophecy he had no knowledge. For him words were things, not merely\nlabels upon ideas. What Christ and St. Paul and St. John had said--these\nthings were so. He had escaped, owing chiefly to his isolation from the\nworld, that vast expansion of Ritschlian ideas that during the last\ncentury had been responsible for the desertion by so many of any\nintelligible creed. For others this had been the supreme struggle--the\ndifficulty of decision between the facts that words were not things, and\nyet that the things they represented were in themselves objective. But\nto this man, sitting now in the moonlight, listening to the far-off tap\nof hoofs over the hill as the messenger came up from Cana, faith was as\nsimple as an exact science. Here Gabriel had descended on wide feathered\nwings from the Throne of God set beyond the stars, the Holy Ghost had\nbreathed in a beam of ineffable light, the Word had become Flesh as Mary\nfolded her arms and bowed her head to the decree of the Eternal. And\nhere once more, he thought, though it was no more than a guess--yet he\nthought that already the running of chariot-wheels was audible--the\ntumult of the hosts of God gathering about the camp of the saints--he\nthought that already beyond the bars of the dark Gabriel set to his lips\nthe trumpet of doom and heaven was astir. He might be wrong at this\ntime, as others had been wrong at other times, but neither he nor they\ncould be wrong for ever; there must some day be an end to the patience\nof God, even though that patience sprang from the eternity of His\nnature. He stood up, as down the pale moonlit path a hundred yards away\ncame a pale figure of one who rode, with a leather bag strapped to his\ngirdle.\n\n\nII\n\nIt would be about three o\u2019clock in the morning that the priest awoke in\nhis little mud-walled room next to that of the Holy Father\u2019s, and heard\na footstep coming up the stairs. Last evening he had left his master as\nusual beginning to open the pile of letters arrived from Cardinal\nCorkran, and himself had gone straight to his bed and slept. He lay now\na moment or two, still drowsy, listening to the pad of feet, and an\ninstant later sat up abruptly, for a deliberate tap had sounded on the\ndoor. Again it came; he sprang out of bed in his long night-tunic, drew\nit up hastily in his girdle, went to the door and opened it.\n\nThe Pope was standing there, with a little lamp in one hand, for the\ndawn had scarcely yet begun, and a paper in the other.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, Father; but there is a message I must have sent at\nonce to his Eminence.\u201d\n\nTogether they went out through the Pope\u2019s room, the priest, still\nhalf-blind with sleep, passed up the stairs, and emerged into the clear\ncold air of the upper roof. The Pope blew out His lamp, and set it on\nthe parapet.\n\n\u201cYou will be cold, Father; fetch your cloak.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you, Holiness?\u201d\n\nThe other made a little gesture of denial, and went across to the tiny\ntemporary shed where the wireless telegraphic instrument stood.\n\n\u201cFetch your cloak, Father,\u201d He said again over His shoulder. \u201cI will\nring up meanwhile.\u201d\n\nWhen the priest came back three minutes later, in his slippers and\ncloak, carrying another cloak also for his master, the Pope was still\nseated at the table. He did not even move His head as the other came up,\nbut once more pressed on the lever that, communicating with the\ntwelve-foot pole that rose through the pent-house overhead, shot out the\nquivering energy through the eighty miles of glimmering air that lay\nbetween Nazareth and Damascus.\n\nThis simple priest had scarcely even by now become accustomed to this\nextraordinary device invented a century ago and perfected through all\nthose years to this precise exactness--that device by which with the\nhelp of a stick, a bundle of wires, and a box of wheels, something, at\nlast established to be at the root of all matter, if not at the very\nroot of physical life, spoke across the spaces of the world to a tiny\nreceiver tuned by a hair\u2019s breadth to the vibration with which it was\nset in relations.\n\nThe air was surprisingly cold, considering the heat that had preceded\nand would follow it, and the priest shivered a little as he stood clear\nof the roof, and stared, now at the motionless figure in the chair\nbefore him, now at the vast vault of the sky passing, even as he looked,\nfrom a cold colourless luminosity to a tender tint of yellow, as far\naway beyond Thabor and Moab the dawn began to deepen. From the village\nhalf-a-mile away arose the crowing of a cock, thin and brazen as a\ntrumpet; a dog barked once and was silent again; and then, on a sudden,\na single stroke upon a bell hung in the roof recalled him in an instant,\nand told him that his work was to begin.\n\nThe Pope pressed the lever again at the sound, twice, and then, after a\npause, once more--waited a moment for an answer, and then when it came,\nrose and signed to the priest to take his place.\n\nThe Syrian sat down, handing the extra cloak to his master, and waited\nuntil the other had settled Himself in a chair set in such a position at\nthe side of the table that the face of each was visible to the other.\nThen he waited, with his brown fingers poised above the row of keys,\nlooking at the other\u2019s face as He arranged himself to speak. That face,\nhe thought, looking out from the hood, seemed paler than ever in this\ncold light of dawn; the black arched eyebrows accentuated this, and even\nthe steady lips, preparing to speak, seemed white and bloodless. He had\nHis paper in His hand, and His eyes were fixed upon this.\n\n\u201cMake sure it is the Cardinal,\u201d he said abruptly.\n\nThe priest tapped off an enquiry, and, with moving lips, raid off the\nprinted message, as like magic it precipitated itself on to the tall\nwhite sheet of paper that faced him.\n\n\u201cIt is his Eminence, Holiness,\u201d he said softly. \u201cHe is alone at the\ninstrument.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well. Now then; begin.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have received your Eminence\u2019s letter, and have noted the news.... It\nshould have been forwarded by telegraphy--why was that not done?\u201d\n\nThe voice paused, and the priest who had snapped off the message, more\nquickly than a man could write it, read aloud the answer.\n\n\u201c\u2018I did not understand that it was urgent. I thought it was but one\nmore assault. I had intended to communicate more so soon as I heard\nmore.\u201d\u2019\n\n\u201cOf course it was urgent,\u201d came the voice again in the deliberate\nintonation that was used between these two in the case of messages for\ntransmission. \u201cRemember that all news of this kind is always urgent.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018I will remember,\u2019 read the priest. \u2018I regret my mistake.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cYou tell us,\u201d went on the Pope, His eyes still downcast on the paper,\n\u201cthat this measure is decided upon; you name only three authorities.\nGive me, now, all the authorities you have, if you have more.\u201d\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s pause. Then the priest began to read off the names.\n\n\u201cBesides the three Cardinals whose names I sent, the Archbishops of\nThibet, Cairo, Calcutta and Sydney have all asked if the news was true,\nand for directions if it is true; besides others whose names I can\ncommunicate if I may leave the table for a moment.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cDo so,\u201d said the Pope.\n\nAgain there was a pause. Then once more the names began.\n\n\u201c\u2018The Bishops of Bukarest, the Marquesas Islands and Newfoundland. The\nFranciscans in Japan, the Crutched Friars in Morocco, the Archbishops of\nManitoba and Portland, and the Cardinal-Archbisbop of Pekin. I have\ndespatched two members of Christ Crucified to England.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cTell us when the news first arrived, and how.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018I was called up to the instrument yesterday evening at about twenty\no\u2019clock. The Archbishop of Sydney was asking, through our station at\nBombay, whether the news was true. I replied I had heard nothing of it.\nWithin ten minutes four more inquiries had come to the same effect; and\nthree minutes later Cardinal Ruspoli sent the positive news from Turin.\nThis was accompanied by a similar message from Father Petrovski in\nMoscow. Then--- \u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cStop. Why did not Cardinal Dolgorovski communicate it?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018He did communicate it three hours later.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not at once?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018His Eminence had not heard it.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cFind out at what hour the news reached Moscow--not now, but within the\nday.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018I will.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on, then.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Cardinal Malpas communicated it within five minutes of Cardinal\nRuspoli, and the rest of the inquiries arrived before midnight. China\nreported it at twenty-three.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cThen when do you suppose the news was made public?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018It was decided first at the secret London conference, yesterday, at\nabout sixteen o\u2019clock by our time. The Plenipotentiaries appear to have\nsigned it at that hour. After that it was communicated to the world. It\nwas published here half an hour past midnight.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cThen Felsenburgh was in London?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018I am not yet sure. Cardinal Malpas tells me that Felsenburgh gave his\nprovisional consent on the previous day.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good. That is all you know, then?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018I was called up an hour ago by Cardinal Ruspoli again. He tells me\nthat he fears a riot in Florence; it will be the first of many\nrevolutions, he says.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes he ask for anything?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Only for directions.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cTell him that we send him the Apostolic Benediction, and will forward\ndirections within the course of two hours. Select twelve members of the\nOrder for immediate service.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018I will.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cCommunicate that message also, as soon as we have finished, to all the\nSacred College, and bid them communicate it with all discretion to all\nmetropolitans and bishops, that priests and people may know that We bear\nthem in our heart.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018I will, Holiness.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cTell them, finally, that We had foreseen this long ago; that We commend\nthem to the Eternal Father without Whose Providence no sparrow falls to\nthe ground. Bid them be quiet and confident; to do nothing, save confess\ntheir faith when they are questioned. All other directions shall be\nissued to their pastors immediately!\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018I will, Holiness.\u2019\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere was again a pause.\n\nThe Pope had been speaking with the utmost tranquillity as one in a\ndream. His eyes were downcast upon the paper, His whole body as\nmotionless as an image. Yet to the priest who listened, despatching the\nLatin messages, and reading aloud the replies, it seemed, although so\nlittle intelligible news had reached him, as if something very strange\nand great was impending. There was the sense of a peculiar strain in the\nair, and although he drew no deductions from the fact that apparently\nthe whole Catholic world was in frantic communication with Damascus, yet\nhe remembered his meditations of the evening before as he had waited for\nthe messenger. It seemed as if the powers of this world were\ncontemplating one more step--with its nature he was not greatly\nconcerned.\n\nThe Pope spoke again in His natural voice.\n\n\u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat I am about to say now is as if I told it in\nconfession. You understand?--Very well. Now begin.\u201d\n\nThen again the intonation began.\n\n\u201cEminence. We shall say mass of the Holy Ghost in one hour from now. At\nthe end of that time, you will cause that all the Sacred College shall\nbe in touch with yourself, and waiting for our commands. This new\ndecision is unlike any that have preceded it. Surely you understand\nthat now. Two or three plans are in our mind, yet We are not sure yet\nwhich it is that our Lord intends. After mass We shall communicate to\nyou that which He shall show Us to be according to His Will. We beg of\nyou to say mass also, immediately, for Our intention. Whatever must be\ndone must be done quickly. The matter of Cardinal Dolgorovski you may\nleave until later. But we wish to hear the result of your inquiries,\nespecially in London, before mid-day. _Benedicat te Omnipotens Deus,\nPater et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus._\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Amen!\u2019\u201d murmured the priest, reading it from the sheet.\n\n\nIII\n\nThe little chapel in the house below was scarcely more dignified than\nthe other rooms. Of ornaments, except those absolutely essential to\nliturgy and devotion, there were none. In the plaster of the walls were\nindented in slight relief the fourteen stations of the Cross; a small\nstone image of the Mother of God stood in a corner, with an iron-work\ncandlestick before it, and on the solid uncarved stone altar, raised on\na stone step, stood six more iron candlesticks and an iron crucifix. A\ntabernacle, also of iron, shrouded by linen curtains, stood beneath the\ncross; a small stone slab projecting from the wall served as a credence.\nThere was but one window, and this looked into the court, so that the\neyes of strangers might not penetrate.\n\nIt seemed to the Syrian priest as he went about his business--laying out\nthe vestments in the little sacristy that opened out at one side of the\naltar, preparing the cruets and stripping the covering from the\naltar-cloth--that even that slight work was wearying. There seemed a\ncertain oppression in the air. As to how far that was the result of his\nbroken rest he did not know, but he feared that it was one more of those\nscirocco days that threatened. That yellowish tinge of dawn had not\npassed with the sun-rising; even now, as he went noiselessly on his bare\nfeet between the predella and the _prie-dieu_ where the silent white\nfigure was still motionless, he caught now and again, above the roof\nacross the tiny court, a glimpse of that faint sand-tinged sky that was\nthe promise of beat and heaviness.\n\nHe finished at last, lighted the candles, genuflected, and stood with\nbowed head waiting for the Holy Father to rise from His knees. A\nservant\u2019s footstep sounded in the court, coming across to hear mass, and\nsimultaneously the Pope rose and went towards the sacristy, where the\nred vestments of God who came by fire were laid ready for the Sacrifice.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSilvester\u2019s bearing at mass was singularly unostentatious. He moved as\nswiftly as any young priest, His voice was quite even and quite low, and\nhis pace neither rapid nor pompous. According to tradition, He occupied\nhalf-an-hour _ab amictu ad amictum_; and even in the tiny empty chapel\nHe observed to keep His eyes always downcast. And yet this Syrian never\nserved His mass without a thrill of something resembling fear; it was\nnot only his knowledge of the awful dignity of this simple celebrant;\nbut, although he could not have expressed it so, there was an aroma of\nan emotion about the vestmented figure that affected him almost\nphysically--an entire absence of self-consciousness, and in its place\nthe consciousness of some other Presence, a perfection of manner even in\nthe smallest details that could only arise from absolute recollection.\nEven in Rome in the old days it had been one of the sights of Rome to\nsee Father Franklin say mass; seminary students on the eve of ordination\nwere sent to that sight to learn the perfect manner and method.\n\nTo-day all was as usual, but at the Communion the priest looked up\nsuddenly at the moment when the Host had been consumed, with a half\nimpression that either a sound or a gesture had invited it; and, as he\nlooked, his heart began to beat thick and convulsive at the base of his\nthroat. Yet to the outward eyes there was nothing unusual. The figure\nstood there with bowed head, the chin resting on the tips of the long\nfingers, the body absolutely upright, and standing with that curious\nlight poise as if no weight rested upon the feet. But to the inner sense\nsomething was apparent the Syrian could not in the least formulate it to\nhimself; but afterwards he reflected that he had stared expecting some\nvisible or audible manifestation to take place. It was an impression\nthat might be described under the terms of either light or sound; at any\ninstant that delicate vivid force, that to the eyes of the soul burned\nbeneath the red chasuble and the white alb, might have suddenly welled\noutwards under the appearance of a gush of radiant light rendering\nluminous not only the clear brown flesh seen beneath the white hair, but\nthe very texture of the coarse, dead, stained stuffs that swathed the\nrest of the body. Or it might have shown itself in the strain of a long\nchord on strings or wind, as if the mystical union of the dedicated soul\nwith the ineffable Godhead and Humanity of Jesus Christ generated such a\nsound as ceaselessly flows out with the river of life from beneath the\nThrone of the Lamb. Or yet once more it might have declared itself under\nthe guise of a perfume--the very essence of distilled sweetness--such a\nscent as that which, streaming out through the gross tabernacle of a\nsaint\u2019s body, is to those who observe it as the breath of heavenly\nroses....\n\nThe moments passed in that hush of purity and peace; sounds came and\nwent outside, the rattle of a cart far away, the sawing of the first\ncicada in the coarse grass twenty yards away beyond the wall; some one\nbehind the priest was breathing short and thick as under the pressure of\nan intolerable emotion, and yet the figure stood there still, without a\nmovement or sway to break the carved motionlessness of the alb-folds or\nthe perfect poise of the white-shod feet. When He moved at last to\nuncover the Precious Blood, to lay His hands on the altar and adore, it\nwas as if a statue had stirred into life; to the server it was very\nnearly as a shock.\n\nAgain, when the chalice was empty, that first impression reasserted\nitself; the human and the external died in the embrace of the Divine and\nInvisible, and once more silence lived and glowed.... And again as the\nspiritual energy sank back again into its origin, Silvester stretched\nout the chalice.\n\nWith knees that shook and eyes wide in expectation, the priest rose,\nadored, and went to the credence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was customary after the Pope\u2019s mass that the priest himself should\noffer the Sacrifice in his presence, but to-day so soon as the vestments\nhad been laid one by one on the rough chest, Silvester turned to the\npriest.\n\n\u201cPresently,\u201d he said softly. \u201cGo up, father, at once to the roof, and\ntell the Cardinal to be ready. I shall come in five minutes.\u201d\n\nIt was surely a scirocco-day, thought the priest, as he came up on to\nthe flat roof. Overhead, instead of the clear blue proper to that hour\nof the morning, lay a pale yellow sky darkening even to brown at the\nhorizon. Thabor, before him, hung distant and sombre seen through the\nimpalpable atmosphere of sand, and across the plain, as he glanced\nbehind him, beyond the white streak of Nain nothing was visible except\nthe pale outline of the tops of the hills against the sky. Even at this\nmorning hour, too, the air was hot and breathless, broken only by the\nslow-stifling lift of the south-western breeze that, blowing across\ncountless miles of sand beyond far-away Egypt, gathered up the heat of\nthe huge waterless continent and was pouring it, with scarcely a streak\nof sea to soften its malignity, on this poor strip of land. Carmel, too,\nas he turned again, was swathed about its base with mist, half dry and\nhalf damp, and above showed its long bull-head running out defiantly\nagainst the western sky. The very table as he touched it was dry and hot\nto the hand, by mid-day the steel would be intolerable.\n\nHe pressed the lever, and waited; pressed it again, and waited again.\nThere came the answering ring, and he tapped across the eighty miles of\nair that his Eminence\u2019s presence was required at once. A minute or two\npassed, and then, after another rap of the bell, a line flicked out on\nthe new white sheet.\n\n\u201c\u2018I am here. Is it his Holiness?\u2019\u201d\n\nHe felt a hand upon his shoulder, and turned to see Silvester, hooded\nand in white, behind his chair.\n\n\u201cTell him yes. Ask him if there is further news.\u201d\n\nThe Pope went to the chair once more and sat down, and a minute later\nthe priest, with growing excitement, read out the answer.\n\n\u201c\u2018Inquiries are pouring in. Many expect your Holiness to issue a\nchallenge. My secretaries have been occupied since four o\u2019clock. The\nanxiety is indescribable. Some are denying that they have a Pope.\nSomething must be done at once.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d asked the Pope.\n\nAgain the priest read out the answer. \u201c\u2018Yes and no. The news is true. It\nwill be inforced immediately. Unless a step is taken immediately there\nwill be widespread and final apostasy.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good,\u201d murmured the Pope, in his official voice. \u201cNow listen\ncarefully, Eminence.\u201d He was silent for a moment, his fingers joined\nbeneath his chin as just now at mass. Then he spoke.\n\n\u201cWe are about to place ourselves unreservedly in the hands of God. Human\nprudence must no longer restrain us. We command you then, using all\ndiscretion that is possible, to communicate these wishes of ours to the\nfollowing persons under the strictest secrecy, and to no others\nwhatsoever. And for this service you are to employ messengers, taken\nfrom the Order of Christ Crucified, two for each message, which is not\nto be committed to writing in any form. The members of the Sacred\nCollege, numbering twelve; the metropolitans and Patriarchs through the\nentire world, numbering twenty-two; the Generals of the Religious\nOrders: the Society of Jesus, the Friars, the Monks Ordinary, and the\nMonks Contemplative four. These persons, thirty-eight in number, with\nthe chaplain of your Eminence, who shall act as notary, and my own who\nshall assist him, and Ourself--forty-one all told--these persons are to\npresent themselves here at our palace of Nazareth not later than the Eve\nof Pentecost. We feel Ourselves unwilling to decide the steps necessary\nto be taken with reference to the new decree, except we first hear the\ncounsel of our advisers, and give them an opportunity of communicating\nfreely one with another. These words, as we have spoken them, are to be\nforwarded to all those persons whom we have named; and your Eminence\nwill further inform them that our deliberations will not occupy more\nthan four days.\n\n\u201cAs regards the questions of provisioning the council and all matters of\nthat kind, your Eminence will despatch to-day the chaplain of whom we\nhave spoken, who with my own chaplain will at once set about\npreparations, and your Eminence will yourself follow, appointing Father\nMarabout to act in your absence, not later than four days hence.\n\n\u201cFinally, to all who have asked explicit directions in the face of this\nnew decree, communicate this one sentence, and no more.\n\n\u201c_Lose not your confidence which hath a great reward. For yet a little\nwhile, and, He that is to come will come and will not delay_.--Silvester\nthe Bishop, Servant of the Servants of God.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nI\n\nOliver Brand stepped out from the Conference Hall in Westminster on the\nFriday evening, so soon as the business was over and the\nPlenipotentiaries had risen from the table, more concerned as to the\neffect of the news upon his wife than upon the world.\n\nHe traced the beginning of the change to the day five months ago when\nthe President of the World had first declared the development of his\npolicy, and while Oliver himself had yielded to that development, and\nfrom defending it in public had gradually convinced himself of its\nnecessity, Mabel, for the first time in her life, had shown herself\nabsolutely obstinate.\n\nThe woman to his mind seemed to him to have fallen into some kind of\ninsanity. Felsenburgh\u2019s declaration had been made a week or two after\nhis Acclamation at Westminster, and Mabel had received the news of it at\nfirst with absolute incredulity.\n\nThen, when there was no longer any doubt that he had declared the\nextermination of the Supernaturalists to be a possible necessity, there\nhad been a terrible scene between husband and wife. She had said that\nshe had been deceived; that the world\u2019s hope was a monstrous mockery;\nthat the reign of universal peace was as far away as ever; that\nFelsenburgh had betrayed his trust and broken his word. There had been\nan appalling scene. He did not even now like to recall it to his\nimagination. She had quieted after a while, but his arguments, delivered\nwith infinite patience, seemed to produce very little effect. She\nsettled down into silence, hardly answering him. One thing only seemed\nto touch her, and that was when he spoke of the President himself. It\nwas becoming plain to him that she was but a woman after all at the\nmercy of a strong personality, but utterly beyond the reach of logic. He\nwas very much disappointed. Yet he trusted to time to cure her.\n\nThe Government of England had taken swift and skilful steps to reassure\nthose who, like Mabel, recoiled from the inevitable logic of the new\npolicy. An army of speakers traversed the country, defending and\nexplaining; the press was engineered with extraordinary adroitness, and\nit was possible to say that there was not a person among the millions of\nEngland who had not easy access to the Government\u2019s defence.\n\nBriefly, shorn of rhetoric, their arguments were as follows, and there\nwas no doubt that, on the whole, they had the effect of quieting the\namazed revolt of the more sentimental minds.\n\nPeace, it was pointed out, had for the first time in the world\u2019s history\nbecome an universal fact. There was no longer one State, however small,\nwhose interests were not identical with those of one of the three\ndivisions of the world of which it was a dependency, and that first\nstage had been accomplished nearly half-a-century ago. But the second\nstage--the reunion of these three divisions under a common head--an\ninfinitely greater achievement than the former, since the conflicting\ninterests were incalculably more vast--this had been consummated by a\nsingle Person, Who, it appeared, had emerged from humanity at the very\ninstant when such a Character was demanded. It was surely not much to\nask that those on whom these benefits had come should assent to the will\nand judgment of Him through whom they had come. This, then, was an\nappeal to faith.\n\nThe second main argument was addressed to reason. Persecution, as all\nenlightened persons confessed, was the method of a majority of savages\nwho desired to force a set of opinions upon a minority who did not\nspontaneously share them. Now the peculiar malevolence of persecution in\nthe past lay, not in the employment of force, but in the abuse of it.\nThat any one kingdom should dictate religious opinions to a minority of\nits members was an intolerable tyranny, for no one State possessed the\nright to lay down universal laws, the contrary to which might be held by\nits neighbour. This, however, disguised, was nothing else than the\nIndividualism of Nations, a heresy even more disastrous to the\ncommonwealth of the world than the Individualism of the Individual. But\nwith the arrival of the universal community of interests the whole\nsituation was changed. The single personality of the human race had\nsucceeded to the incoherence of divided units, and with that\nconsummation--which might be compared to a coming of age, an entirely\nnew set of rights had come into being. The human race was now a single\nentity with a supreme responsibility towards itself; there were no\nlonger any private rights at all, such as had certainly existed, in the\nperiod previous to this. Man now possessed dominion over every cell\nwhich composed His Mystical Body, and where any such cell asserted\nitself to the detriment of the Body, the rights of the whole were\nunqualified.\n\nAnd there was no religion but one that claimed the equal rights of\nuniversal jurisdiction--and that the Catholic. The sects of the East,\nwhile each retained characteristics of its own, had yet found in the New\nMan the incarnation of their ideals, and had therefore given in their\nallegiance to the authority of the whole Body of whom He was Head. But\nthe very essence of the Catholic Religion was treason to the very idea\nof man. Christians directed their homage to a supposed supernatural\nBeing who was not only--so they claimed--outside of the world but\npositively transcended it. Christians, then--leaving aside the mad fable\nof the Incarnation, which might very well be suffered to die of its own\nfolly--deliberately severed themselves from that Body of which by human\ngeneration they had been made members. They were as mortified limbs\nyielding themselves to the domination of an outside force other than\nthat which was their only life, and by that very act imperilled the\nentire Body. This madness, then, was the one crime which still deserved\nthe name. Murder, theft, rape, even anarchy itself, were as trifling\nfaults compared to this monstrous sin, for while these injured indeed\nthe Body they did not strike at its heart--individuals suffered, and\ntherefore those minor criminals deserved restraint; but the very Life\nwas not struck at. But in Christianity there was a poison actually\ndeadly. Every cell that became infected with it was infected in that\nvery fibre that bound it to the spring of life. This, and this alone,\nwas the supreme crime of High Treason against man--and nothing but\ncomplete removal from the world could be an adequate remedy.\n\nThese, then, were the main arguments addressed to that section of the\nworld which still recoiled from the deliberate utterance of Felsenburgh,\nand their success had been remarkable. Of course, the logic, in itself\nindisputable, had been dressed in a variety of costumes gilded with\nrhetoric, flushed with passion, and it had done its work in such a\nmanner that as summer drew on Felsenburgh had announced privately that\nhe proposed to introduce a bill which should carry out to its logical\nconclusion the policy of which he had spoken.\n\nNow, this too, had been accomplished.\n\n\nII\n\nOliver let himself into his house, and went straight upstairs to Mabel\u2019s\nroom. It would not do to let her hear the news from any but his own\nlips. She was not there, and on inquiry he heard that she had gone out\nan hour before.\n\nHe was disconcerted at this. The decree had been signed half-an-hour\nearlier, and in answer to an inquiry from Lord Pemberton it had been\nstated that there was no longer any reason for secrecy, and that the\ndecision might be communicated to the press. Oliver had hurried away\nimmediately in order to make sure that Mabel should hear the news from\nhim, and now she was out, and at any moment the placards might tell her\nof what had been done.\n\nHe felt extremely uneasy, but for another hour or so was ashamed to act.\nThen he went to the tube and asked another question or two, but the\nservant had no idea of Mabel\u2019s movements; it might be she had gone to\nthe church; sometimes she did at this hour. He sent the woman off to\nsee, and himself sat down again in the window-seat of his wife\u2019s room,\nstaring out disconsolately at the wide array of roofs in the golden\nsunset light, that seemed to his eyes to be strangely beautiful this\nevening. The sky was not that pure gold which it had been every night\nduring this last week; there was a touch of rose in it, and this\nextended across the entire vault so far as he could see from west to\neast. He reflected on what he had lately read in an old book to the\neffect that the abolition of smoke had certainly changed evening colours\nfor the worse.... There had been a couple of severe earthquakes, too, in\nAmerica--he wondered whether there was any connection.... Then his\nthoughts flew back to Mabel....\n\nIt was about ten minutes before he heard her footstep on the stairs, and\nas he stood up she came in.\n\nThere was something in her face that told him that she knew everything,\nand his heart sickened at her pale rigidity. There was no fury\nthere--nothing but white, hopeless despair, and an immense\ndetermination. Her lips showed a straight line, and her eyes, beneath\nher white summer hat, seemed contracted to pinpricks. She stood there,\nclosing the door mechanically behind her, and made no further movement\ntowards him.\n\n\u201cIs it true?\u201d she said.\n\nOliver drew one steady breath, and sat down again.\n\n\u201cIs what true, my dear?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it true,\u201d she said again, \u201cthat all are to be questioned as to\nwhether they believe in God, and to be killed if they confess it?\u201d\n\nOliver licked his dry lips.\n\n\u201cYou put it very harshly,\u201d he said. \u201cThe question is, whether the world\nhas a right---\u201d\n\nShe made a sharp movement with her head.\n\n\u201cIt is true then. And you signed it?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, I beg you not to make a scene. I am tired out. And I will not\nanswer that until you have heard what I have to say.\u201d\n\n\u201cSay it, then.\u201d\n\n\u201cSit down, then.\u201d\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\u201cVery well, then.... Well, this is the point. The world is one now, not\nmany. Individualism is dead. It died when Felsenburgh became President\nof the World. You surely see that absolutely new conditions prevail\nnow--there has never been anything like it before. You know all this as\nwell as I do.\u201d\n\nAgain came that jerk of impatience.\n\n\u201cYou will please to hear me out,\u201d he said wearily. \u201cWell, now that this\nhas happened, there is a new morality; it is exactly like a child coming\nto the age of reason. We are obliged, therefore, to see that this\ncontinues--that there is no going back--no mortification--that all the\nlimbs are in good health. \u2018If thy hand offend thee, cut it off,\u2019 said\nJesus Christ. Well, that is what we say.... Now, for any one to say that\nthey believe in God--I doubt very much whether there is any one who\nreally does believe, or understand what it means--but for any one even\nto say so is the very worst crime conceivable: it is high treason. But\nthere is going to be no violence; it will all be quite quiet and\nmerciful. Why, you have always approved of Euthanasia, as we all do.\nWell, it is that that will be used; and---\u201d\n\nOnce more she made a little movement with her hand. The rest of her was\nlike an image.\n\n\u201cIs this any use?\u201d she asked.\n\nOliver stood up. He could not bear the hardness of her voice.\n\n\u201cMabel, my darling---\u201d\n\nFor an instant her lips shook; then again she looked at him with eyes of\nice.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want that,\u201d she said. \u201cIt is of no use. Then you did sign it?\u201d\n\nOliver had a sense of miserable desperation as he looked back at her.\nHe would infinitely have preferred that she had stormed and wept.\n\n\u201cMabel---\u201d he cried again.\n\n\u201cThen you did sign it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did sign it,\u201d he said at last.\n\nShe turned and went towards the door. He sprang after her.\n\n\u201cMabel, where are you going?\u201d\n\nThen, for the first time in her life, she lied to her husband frankly\nand fully.\n\n\u201cI am going to rest a little,\u201d she said. \u201cI shall see you presently at\nsupper.\u201d\n\nHe still hesitated, but she met his eyes, pale indeed, but so honest\nthat he fell back.\n\n\u201cVery well, my dear.... Mabel, try to understand.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe came down to supper half-an-hour later, primed with logic, and even\nkindled with emotion. The argument seemed to him now so utterly\nconvincing; granted the premises that they both accepted and lived by,\nthe conclusion was simply inevitable.\n\nHe waited a minute or two, and at last went to the tube that\ncommunicated with the servants\u2019 quarters.\n\n\u201cWhere is Mrs. Brand?\u201d he asked.\n\nThere was an instant\u2019s silence, and then the answer came:\n\n\u201cShe left the house half-an-hour ago, sir. I thought you knew.\u201d\n\n\nIII\n\nThat same evening Mr. Francis was very busy in his office over the\ndetails connected with the festival of Sustenance that was to be\ncelebrated on the first of July. It was the first time that the\nparticular ceremony had taken place, and he was anxious that it should\nbe as successful as its predecessors. There were a few differences\nbetween this and the others, and it was necessary that the\n_ceremoniarii_ should be fully instructed.\n\nSo, with his model before him--a miniature replica of the interior of\nthe Abbey, with tiny dummy figures on blocks that could be shifted this\nway and that, he was engaged in adding in a minute ecclesiastical hand\nrubrical notes to his copy of the Order of Proceedings.\n\nWhen the porter therefore rang up a little after twenty-one o\u2019clock,\nthat a lady wished to see him, he answered rather brusquely down the\ntube that it was impossible. But the bell rang again, and to his\nimpatient question, the reply came up that it was Mrs. Brand below, and\nthat she did not ask for more than ten minutes\u2019 conversation. This was\nquite another matter. Oliver Brand was an important personage, and his\nwife therefore had significance, and Mr. Francis apologised, gave\ndirections that she was to come to his ante-room, and rose, sighing,\nfrom his dummy Abbey and officials.\n\nShe seemed very quiet this evening, he thought, as he shook hands with\nher a minute later; she wore her veil down, so that he could not see her\nface very well, but her voice seemed to lack its usual vivacity.\n\n\u201cI am so sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Francis,\u201d she said. \u201cI only want to\nask you one or two questions.\u201d\n\nHe smiled at her encouragingly.\n\n\u201cMr. Brand, no doubt---\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d she said, \u201cMr. Brand has not sent me. It is entirely my own\naffair. You will see my reasons presently. I will begin at once. I know\nI must not keep you.\u201d\n\nIt all seemed rather odd, he thought, but no doubt he would understand\nsoon.\n\n\u201cFirst,\u201d she said, \u201cI think you used to know Father Franklin. He became\na Cardinal, didn\u2019t he?\u201d\n\nMr. Francis assented, smiling.\n\n\u201cDo you know if he is alive?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cHe is dead. He was in Rome, you know, at the time of its\ndestruction.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! You are sure?\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite sure. Only one Cardinal escaped--Steinmann. He was hanged in\nBerlin; and the Patriarch of Jerusalem died a week or two later.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! very well. Well, now, here is a very odd question. I ask for a\nparticular reason, which I cannot explain, but you will soon\nunderstand.... It is this--Why do Catholics believe in God?\u201d\n\nHe was so much taken aback that for a moment he sat staring.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she said tranquilly, \u201cit is a very odd question. But---\u201d she\nhesitated. \u201cWell, I will tell you,\u201d she said. \u201cThe fact is, that I have\na friend who is--is in danger from this new law. I want to be able to\nargue with her; and I must know her side. You are the only priest--I\nmean who has been a priest--whom I ever knew, except Father Franklin. So\nI thought you would not mind telling me.\u201d\n\nHer voice was entirely natural; there was not a tremor or a falter in\nit. Mr. Francis smiled genially, rubbing his hands softly together.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d he said. \u201cYes, I see.... Well, that is a very large question.\nWould not to-morrow, perhaps---?\u201d\n\n\u201cI only want just the shortest answer,\u201d she said. \u201cIt is really\nimportant for me to know at once. You see, this new law comes into\nforce---\u201d\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\u201cWell--very briefly, I should say this: Catholics say that God can be\nperceived by reason; that from the arrangements of the world they can\ndeduce that there must have been an Arranger--a Mind, you understand.\nThen they say that they deduce other things about God--that He is Love,\nfor example, because of happiness---\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the pain?\u201d she interrupted.\n\nHe smiled again.\n\n\u201cYes. That is the point--that is the weak point.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what do they say about that?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, briefly, they say that pain is the result of sin---\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd sin? You see, I know nothing at all, Mr. Francis.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, sin is the rebellion of man\u2019s will against God\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do they mean by that?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you see, they say that God wanted to be loved by His creatures,\nso He made them free; otherwise they could not really love. But if they\nwere free, it means that they could if they liked refuse to love and\nobey God; and that is what is called Sin. You see what nonsense---\u201d\n\nShe jerked her head a little.\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d she said. \u201cBut I really want to get at what they think....\nWell, then, that is all?\u201d\n\nMr. Francis pursed his lips.\n\n\u201cScarcely,\u201d he said; \u201cthat is hardly more than what they call Natural\nReligion. Catholics believe much more than that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear Mrs. Brand, it is impossible to put it in a few words. But, in\nbrief, they believe that God became man--that Jesus was God, and that He\ndid this in order to save them from sin by dying---\u201d\n\n\u201cBy bearing pain, you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; by dying. Well, what they call the Incarnation is really the\npoint. Everything else flows from that. And, once a man believes that, I\nmust confess that all the rest follows--even down to scapulars and holy\nwater.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Francis, I don\u2019t understand a word you\u2019re saying.\u201d\n\nHe smiled indulgently.\n\n\u201cOf course not,\u201d he said; \u201cit is all incredible nonsense. But, you know,\nI did really believe it all once.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s unreasonable,\u201d she said.\n\nHe made a little demurring sound.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said, \u201cin one sense, of course it is--utterly unreasonable.\nBut in another sense---\u201d\n\nShe leaned forward suddenly, and he could catch the glint of her eyes\nbeneath her white veil.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d she said, almost breathlessly. \u201cThat is what I want to hear. Now,\ntell me how they justify it.\u201d\n\nHe paused an instant, considering.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cas far as I remember, they say that there are\nother faculties besides those of reason. They say, for example, that\nthe heart sometimes finds out things that the reason cannot--intuitions,\nyou see. For instance, they say that all things such as self-sacrifice\nand chivalry and even art--all come from the heart, that Reason comes\nwith them--in rules of technique, for instance--but that it cannot prove\nthem; they are quite apart from that.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think I see.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, they say that Religion is like that--in other words, they\npractically confess that it is merely a matter of emotion.\u201d He paused\nagain, trying to be fair. \u201cWell, perhaps they would not say\nthat--although it is true. But briefly---\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, they say there is a thing called Faith--a kind of deep conviction\nunlike anything else--supernatural--which God is supposed to give to\npeople who desire it--to people who pray for it, and lead good lives,\nand so on---\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd this Faith?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, this Faith, acting upon what they call Evidences--this Faith\nmakes them absolutely certain that there is a God, that He was made man\nand so on, with the Church and all the rest of it. They say too that\nthis is further proved by the effect that their religion has had in the\nworld, and by the way it explains man\u2019s nature to himself. You see, it\nis just a case of self-suggestion.\u201d\n\nHe heard her sigh, and stopped.\n\n\u201cIs that any clearer, Mrs. Brand?\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you very much,\u201d she said, \u201cit certainly is clearer. ... And it is\ntrue that Christians have died for this Faith, whatever it is?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes. Thousands and thousands. Just as Mohammedans have for theirs.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Mohammedans believe in God, too, don\u2019t they?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, they did, and I suppose that a few do now. But very few: the rest\nhave become esoteric, as they say.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd--and which would you say were the most highly evolved people--East\nor West?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! West undoubtedly. The East thinks a good deal, but it doesn\u2019t act\nmuch. And that always leads to confusion--even to stagnation of\nthought.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Christianity certainly has been the Religion of the West up to a\nhundred years ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes.\u201d\n\nShe was silent then, and Mr. Francis had time again to reflect how very\nodd all this was. She certainly must be very much attached to this\nChristian friend of hers.\n\nThen she stood up, and he rose with her.\n\n\u201cThank you so much, Mr. Francis.... Then that is the kind of outline?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, yes; so far as one can put it in a few words.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you.... I mustn\u2019t keep you.\u201d\n\nHe went with her towards the door. But within a yard of it she stopped.\n\n\u201cAnd you, Mr. Francis. You were brought up in all this. Does it ever\ncome back to you?\u201d\n\nHe smiled.\n\n\u201cNever,\u201d he said, \u201cexcept as a dream.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you account for that, then? If it is all self-suggestion, you\nhave had thirty years of it.\u201d\n\nShe paused; and for a moment he hesitated what to answer.\n\n\u201cHow would your old fellow-Catholics account for it?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey would say that I had forfeited light--that Faith was withdrawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you?\u201d\n\nAgain he paused.\n\n\u201cI should say that I had made a stronger self-suggestion the other way.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see.... Good-night, Mr. Francis.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nShe would not let him come down the lift with her, so when he had seen\nthe smooth box drop noiselessly below the level, he went back again to\nhis model of the Abbey and the little dummy figures. But, before he\nbegan to move these about again, he sat for a moment or two with pursed\nlips, staring.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nI\n\nA week later Mabel awoke about dawn; and for a moment or two forgot\nwhere she was. She even spoke Oliver\u2019s name aloud, staring round the\nunfamiliar room, wondering what she did here. Then she remembered, and\nwas silent....\n\nIt was the eighth day she had spent in this Home; her probation was\nfinished: to-day she was at liberty to do that for which she had come.\nOn the Saturday of the previous week she had gone through her private\nexamination before the magistrate, stating under the usual conditions of\nsecrecy her name, age and home, as well as her reasons for making the\napplication for Euthanasia; and all had passed off well. She had\nselected Manchester as being sufficiently remote and sufficiently large\nto secure her freedom from Oliver\u2019s molestation; and her secret had been\nadmirably kept. There was not a hint that her husband knew anything of\nher intentions; for, after all, in these cases the police were bound to\nassist the fugitive. Individualism was at least so far recognised as to\nsecure to those weary of life the right of relinquishing it. She\nscarcely knew why she had selected this method, except that any other\nseemed impossible. The knife required skill and resolution; firearms\nwere unthinkable, and poison, under the new stringent regulations, was\nhard to obtain. Besides, she seriously wished to test her own\nintentions, and to be quite sure that there was no other way than\nthis....\n\nWell, she was as certain as ever. The thought had first come to her in\nthe mad misery of the outbreak of violence on the last day of the old\nyear. Then it had gone again, soothed away by the arguments that man was\nstill liable to relapse. Then once more it had recurred, a cold and\nconvincing phantom, in the plain daylight revealed by Felsenburgh\u2019s\nDeclaration. It had taken up its abode with her then, yet she controlled\nit, hoping against hope that the Declaration would not be carried into\naction, occasionally revolting against its horror. Yet it had never been\nfar away; and finally when the policy sprouted into deliberate law, she\nhad yielded herself resolutely to its suggestion. That was eight days\nago; and she had not had one moment of faltering since that.\n\nYet she had ceased to condemn. The logic had silenced her. All that she\nknew was that she could not bear it; that she had misconceived the New\nFaith; that for her, whatever it was for others, there was no hope....\nShe had not even a child of her own.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThose eight days, required by law, had passed very peacefully. She had\ntaken with her enough money to enter one of the private homes furnished\nwith sufficient comfort to save from distractions those who had been\naccustomed to gentle living: the nurses had been pleasant and\nsympathetic; she had nothing to complain of.\n\nShe had suffered, of course, to some degree from reactions. The second\nnight after her arrival had been terrible, when, as she lay in bed in\nthe hot darkness, her whole sentient life had protested and struggled\nagainst the fate her will ordained. It had demanded the familiar\nthings--the promise of food and breath and human intercourse; it had\nwrithed in horror against the blind dark towards which it moved so\ninevitably; and, in the agony had been pacified only by the half-hinted\npromise of some deeper voice suggesting that death was not the end. With\nmorning light sanity had come back; the will had reassumed the mastery,\nand, with it, had withdrawn explicitly the implied hope of continued\nexistence. She had suffered again for an hour or two from a more\nconcrete fear; the memory came back to her of those shocking revelations\nthat ten years ago had convulsed England and brought about the\nestablishment of these Homes under Government supervision--those\nevidences that for years in the great vivisection laboratories human\nsubjects had been practised upon--persons who with the same intentions\nas herself had cut themselves off from the world in private\neuthanasia-houses, to whom had been supplied a gas that suspended\ninstead of destroying animation.... But this, too, had passed with the\nreturn of light. Such things were impossible now under the new\nsystem--at least, in England. She had refrained from making an end upon\nthe Continent for this very reason. There, where sentiment was weaker,\nand logic more imperious, materialism was more consistent. Since men\nwere but animals--the conclusion was inevitable.\n\nThere had been but one physical drawback, the intolerable heat of the\ndays and nights. It seemed, scientists said, that an entirely unexpected\nheat-wave had been generated; there were a dozen theories, most of which\nwere mutually exclusive one of another. It was humiliating, she thought,\nthat men who professed to have taken the earth under their charge should\nbe so completely baffled. The conditions of the weather had of course\nbeen accompanied by disasters; there had been earthquakes of astonishing\nviolence, a ripple had wrecked not less than twenty-five towns in\nAmerica; an island or two had disappeared, and that bewildering Vesuvius\nseemed to be working up for a denouement. But no one knew really the\nexplanation. One man had been wild enough to say that some cataclysm had\ntaken place in the centre of the earth.... So she had heard from her\nnurse; but she was not greatly interested. It was only tiresome that she\ncould not walk much in the garden, and had to be content with sitting in\nher own cool shaded room on the second floor.\n\nThere was only one other matter of which she had asked, namely, the\neffect of the new decree; but the nurse did not seem to know much about\nthat. It appeared that there had been an outrage or two, but the law had\nnot yet been enforced to any great extent; a week, after all, was a\nshort time, even though the decree had taken effect at once, and\nmagistrates were beginning the prescribed census.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt seemed to her as she lay awake this morning, staring at the tinted\nceiling, and out now and again at the quiet little room, that the heat\nwas worse than ever. For a minute she thought she must have overslept;\nbut, as she touched her repeater, it told her that it was scarcely after\nfour o\u2019clock. Well, well; she would not have to bear it much longer; she\nthought that about eight it would be time to make an end. There was her\nletter to Oliver yet to be written; and one or two final arrangements to\nbe made.\n\nAs regarded the morality of what she was doing-the relation, that is to\nsay, which her act bore to the common life of man--she had no shadow of\ndoubt. It was her belief, as of the whole Humanitarian world, that just\nas bodily pain occasionally justified this termination of life, so also\ndid mental pain. There was a certain pitch of distress at which the\nindividual was no longer necessary to himself or the world; it was the\nmost charitable act that could be performed. But she had never thought\nin old days that that state could ever be hers; Life had been much too\ninteresting. But it had come to this: there was no question of it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPerhaps a dozen times in that week she had thought over her conversation\nwith Mr. Francis. Her going to him had been little more than\ninstinctive; she did just wish to hear what the other side was--whether\nChristianity was as ludicrous as she had always thought. It seemed that\nit was not ludicrous; it was only terribly pathetic. It was just a\nlovely dream--an exquisite piece of poetry. It would be heavenly to\nbelieve it, but she did not. No--a transcendent God was unthinkable,\nalthough not quite so unthinkable as a merely immeasurable Man. And as\nfor the Incarnation--well, well!\n\nThere seemed no way out of it. The Humanity-Religion was the only one.\nMan was God, or at least His highest manifestation; and He was a God\nwith which she did not wish to have anything more to do. These faint new\ninstincts after something other than intellect and emotion were, she\nknew perfectly well, nothing but refined emotion itself.\n\nShe had thought a great deal of Felsenburgh, however, and was astonished\nat her own feelings. He was certainly the most impressive man she had\never seen; it did seem very probable indeed that He was what He claimed\nto be--the Incarnation of the ideal Man the first perfect product of\nhumanity. But the logic of his position was too much for her. She saw\nnow that He was perfectly logical--that He had not been inconsistent in\ndenouncing the destruction of Rome and a week later making His\ndeclaration. It was the passion of one man against another that He\ndenounced--of kingdom against kingdom, and sect against sect--for this\nwas suicidal for the race. He denounced passion, too, not judicial\naction. Therefore, this new decree was as logical as Himself--it was a\njudicial act on the part of an united world against a tiny majority that\nthreatened the principle of life and faith: and it was to be carried out\nwith supreme mercy; there was no revenge or passion or partisan spirit\nin it from beginning to end; no more than a man is revengeful or\npassionate when he amputates a diseased limb--Oliver had convinced her\nof that.\n\nYes, it was logical and sound. And it was because it was so that she\ncould not bear it.... But ah! what a sublime man Felsenburgh was; it was\na joy to her even to recall his speeches and his personality. She would\nhave liked to see him again. But it was no good. She had better be done\nwith it as tranquilly as possible. And the world must go forward without\nher. She was just tired out with Facts.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nShe dozed off again presently, and it seemed scarcely five minutes\nbefore she looked up to see a gentle smiling face of a white-capped\nnurse bending over her.\n\n\u201cIt is nearly six o\u2019clock, my dear--the time you told me. I came to see\nabout breakfast.\u201d\n\nMabel drew a long breath. Then she sat up suddenly, throwing back the\nsheet.\n\n\nII\n\nIt struck a quarter-past six from the little clock on the mantel-shelf\nas she laid down her pen. Then she took up the closely written sheets,\nleaned back in her deep chair, and began to read.\n\n\u201cHOME OF REST,\n\n\u201cNO 3A MANCHESTER WEST.\n\n\u201cMY DEAR: I am very sorry, but it has come back to me. I really cannot\ngo on any longer, so I am going to escape in the only way left, as I\nonce told you. I have had a very quiet and happy time here; they have\nbeen most kind and considerate. You see, of course, from the heading on\nthis paper, what I mean....\n\n\u201cWell, you have always been very dear to me; you are still, even at this\nmoment. So you have a right to know my reasons so far as I know them\nmyself. It is very difficult to understand myself; but it seems to me\nthat I am not strong enough to live. So long as I was pleased and\nexcited it was all very well--especially when He came. But I think I had\nexpected it to be different; I did not understand as I do now how it\nmust come to this--how it is all quite logical and right. I could bear\nit, when I thought that they had acted through passion, but this is\ndeliberate. I did not realise that Peace must have its laws, and must\nprotect itself. And, somehow, that Peace is not what I want. It is being\nalive at all that is wrong.\n\n\u201cThen there is this difficulty. I know how absolutely in agreement you\nare with this new state of affairs; of course you are, because you are\nso much stronger and more logical than I am. But if you have a wife she\nmust be of one mind with you. And I am not, any more, at least not with\nmy heart, though I see you are right.... Do you understand, my dear?\n\n\u201cIf we had had a child, it might have been different. I might have liked\nto go on living for his sake. But Humanity, somehow--Oh! Oliver! I\ncan\u2019t--I can\u2019t.\n\n\u201cI know I am wrong, and that you are right--but there it is; I cannot\nchange myself. So I am quite sure that I must go.\n\n\u201cThen I want to tell you this--that I am not at all frightened. I never\ncan understand why people are--unless, of course, they are Christians. I\nshould be horribly frightened if I was one of them. But, you see, we\nboth know that there is nothing beyond. It is life that I am frightened\nof--not death. Of course, I should be frightened if there was any pain;\nbut the doctors tell me there is absolutely none. It is simply going to\nsleep. The nerves are dead before the brain. I am going to do it myself.\nI don\u2019t want any one else in the room. In a few minutes the nurse\nhere--Sister Anne, with whom I have made great friends--will bring in\nthe thing, and then she will leave me.\n\n\u201cAs regards what happens afterwards, I do not mind at all. Please do\nexactly what you wish. The cremation will take place to-morrow morning\nat noon, so that you can be here if you like. Or you can send\ndirections, and they will send on the urn to you. I know you liked to\nhave your mother\u2019s urn in the garden; so perhaps you will like mine.\nPlease do exactly what you like. And with all my things too. Of course I\nleave them to you.\n\n\u201cNow, my dear, I want to say this--that I am very sorry indeed now that\nI was so tiresome and stupid. I think I did really believe your\narguments all along. But I did not want to believe them. Do you see now\nwhy I was so tiresome?\n\n\u201cOliver, my darling, you have been extraordinarily good to me.... Yes, I\nknow I am crying, but I am really very happy. This is such a lovely\nending. I wish I hadn\u2019t been obliged to make you so anxious during this\nlast week: but I had to--I knew you would persuade me against it, if you\nfound me, and that would have been worse than ever. I am sorry I told\nyou that lie, too. Indeed, it is the first I ever did tell you.\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t think there is much more to say. Oliver, my dear,\ngood-bye. I send you my love with all my heart.\n\n\u201cMABEL.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nShe sat still when she had read it through, and her eyes were still wet\nwith tears. Yet it was all perfectly true. She was far happier than she\ncould be if she had still the prospect of going back. Life seemed\nentirely blank: death was so obvious an escape; her soul ached for it,\nas a body for sleep.\n\nShe directed the envelope, still with a perfectly steady hand, laid it\non the table, and leaned back once more, glancing again at her untasted\nbreakfast.\n\nThen she suddenly began to think of her conversation with Mr. Francis;\nand, by a strange association of ideas, remembered the fall of the volor\nin Brighton, the busy-ness of the priest, and the Euthanasia boxes....\n\nWhen Sister Anne came in a few minutes later, she was astonished at what\nshe saw. The girl crouched at the window, her hands on the sill, staring\nout at the sky in an attitude of unmistakable horror.\n\nSister Anne came across the room quickly, setting down something on the\ntable as she passed. She touched the girl on the shoulder.\n\n\u201cMy dear, what is it?\u201d\n\nThere was a long sobbing breath, and Mabel turned, rising as she turned,\nand clutched the nurse with one shaking hand, pointing out with the\nother.\n\n\u201cThere!\u201d she said. \u201cThere--look!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my dear, what is it? I see nothing. It is a little dark!\u201d\n\n\u201cDark!\u201d said the other. \u201cYou call that dark! Why, why, it is\nblack--black!\u201d\n\nThe nurse drew her softly backwards to the chair, turning her from the\nwindow. She recognised nervous fear; but no more than that. But Mabel\ntore herself free, and wheeled again.\n\n\u201cYou call that a little dark,\u201d she said. \u201cWhy, look, sister, look!\u201d\n\nYet there was nothing remarkable to be seen. In front rose up the\nfeathery hand of an elm, then the shuttered windows across the court,\nthe roof, and above that the morning sky, a little heavy and dusky as\nbefore a storm; but no more than that.\n\n\u201cWell, what is it, my dear? What do you see?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, why ... look! look!--There, listen to that.\u201d\n\nA faint far-away rumble sounded as the rolling of a waggon--so faint\nthat it might almost be an aural delusion. But the girl\u2019s hands were at\nher ears, and her face was one white wide-eyed mask of terror. The nurse\nthrew her arms round her.\n\n\u201cMy dear,\u201d she said, \u201cyou are not yourself. That is nothing but a little\nheat-thunder. Sit down quietly.\u201d\n\nShe could feel the girl\u2019s body shaking beneath her hands, but there was\nno resistance as she drew her to the chair.\n\n\u201cThe lights! the lights!\u201d sobbed Mabel.\n\n\u201cWill you promise me to sit quietly, then?\u201d\n\nShe nodded; and the nurse went across to the door, smiling tenderly; she\nhad seen such things before. A moment later the room was full of\nexquisite sunlight, as she switched the handle. As she turned, she saw\nthat Mabel had wheeled herself round in the chair, and with clasped\nhands was still staring out at the sky above the roofs; but she was\nplainly quieter again now. The nurse came back, and put her hand on her\nshoulder.\n\n\u201cYou are overwrought, my dear.... Now you must believe me. There is\nnothing to be frightened of. It is just nervous excitement.... Shall I\npull down the blind?\u201d\n\nMabel turned her face.... Yes, certainly the light had reassured her.\nHer face was still white and bewildered, but the steady look was coming\nback to her eyes, though, even as she spoke, they wandered back more\nthan once to the window.\n\n\u201cNurse,\u201d she said more quietly, \u201cplease look again and tell me if you\nsee nothing. If you say there is nothing I will believe that I am going\nmad. No; you must not touch the blind.\u201d\n\nNo; there was nothing. The sky was a little dark, as if a blight were\ncoming on; but there was hardly more than a veil of cloud, and the light\nwas scarcely more than tinged with gloom. It was just such a sky as\nprecedes a spring thunderstorm. She said so, clearly and firmly.\n\nMabel\u2019s face steadied still more.\n\n\u201cVery well, nurse.... Then---\u201d\n\nShe turned to the little table by the side on which Sister Anne had set\ndown what she had brought into the room.\n\n\u201cShow me, please.\u201d\n\nThe nurse still hesitated.\n\n\u201cAre you sure you are not too frightened, my dear? Shall I get you\nanything?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no more to say,\u201d said Mabel firmly. \u201cShow me, please.\u201d\n\nSister Anne turned resolutely to the table.\n\nThere rested upon it a white-enamelled box, delicately painted with\nflowers. From this box emerged a white flexible tube with a broad\nmouthpiece, fitted with two leather-covered steel clasps. From the side\nof the box nearest the chair protruded a little china handle.\n\n\u201cNow, my dear,\u201d began the nurse quietly, watching the other\u2019s eyes turn\nonce again to the window, and then back--\u201cnow, my dear, you sit there,\nas you are now. Your head right back, please. When you are ready, you\nput this over your mouth, and clasp the springs behind your head....\nSo.... it works quite easily. Then you turn this handle, round that way,\nas far as it will go. And that is all.\u201d\n\nMabel nodded. She had regained her self-command, and understood plainly\nenough, though even as she spoke once again her eyes strayed away to the\nwindow.\n\n\u201cThat is all,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd what then?\u201d\n\nThe nurse eyed her doubtfully for a moment.\n\n\u201cI understand perfectly,\u201d said Mabel. \u201cAnd what then?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is nothing more. Breathe naturally. You will feel sleepy almost\ndirectly. Then you close your eyes, and that is all.\u201d\n\nMabel laid the tube on the table and stood up. She was completely\nherself now.\n\n\u201cGive me a kiss, sister,\u201d she said.\n\nThe nurse nodded and smiled to her once more at the door. But Mabel\nhardly noticed it; again she was looking towards the window.\n\n\u201cI shall come back in half-an-hour,\u201d said Sister Anne.\n\nThen her eyes caught a square of white upon the centre table. \u201cAh! that\nletter!\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the girl absently. \u201cPlease take it.\u201d\n\nThe nurse took it up, glanced at the address, and again at Mabel. Still\nshe hesitated.\n\n\u201cIn half-an-hour,\u201d she repeated. \u201cThere is no hurry at all. It doesn\u2019t\ntake five minutes.... Good-bye, my dear.\u201d\n\nBut Mabel was still looking out of the window, and made no answer.\n\n\nIII\n\nMabel stood perfectly still until she heard the locking of the door and\nthe withdrawal of the key. Then once more she went to the window and\nclasped the sill.\n\nFrom where she stood there was visible to her first the courtyard\nbeneath, with its lawn in the centre, and a couple of trees growing\nthere--all plain in the brilliant light that now streamed from her\nwindow, and secondly, above the roofs, a tremendous pall of ruddy black.\nIt was the more terrible from the contrast. Earth, it seemed, was\ncapable of light; heaven had failed.\n\nIt appeared, too, that there was a curious stillness. The house was,\nusually, quiet enough at this hour: the inhabitants of that place were\nin no mood for bustle: but now it was more than quiet; it was deathly\nstill: it was such a hush as precedes the sudden crash of the sky\u2019s\nartillery. But the moments went by, and there was no such crash: only\nonce again there sounded a solemn rolling, as of some great wain far\naway; stupendously impressive, for with it to the girl\u2019s ears there\nseemed mingled a murmur of innumerable voices, ghostly crying and\napplause. Then again the hush settled down like wool.\n\nShe had begun to understand now. The darkness and the sounds were not\nfor all eyes and ears. The nurse had seen and heard nothing\nextraordinary, and the rest of the world of men saw and heard nothing.\nTo them it was no more than the hint of a coming storm.\n\nMabel did not attempt to distinguish between the subjective and the\nobjective. It was nothing to her as to whether the sights and sounds\nwere generated by her own brain or perceived by some faculty hitherto\nunknown. She seemed to herself to be standing already apart from the\nworld which she had known; it was receding from her, or, rather, while\nstanding where it had always done, it was melting, transforming itself,\npassing to some other mode of existence. The strangeness seemed no more\nstrange than anything else than that ... that little painted box upon\nthe table.\n\nThen, hardly knowing what she said, looking steadily upon that appalling\nsky, she began to speak....\n\n\u201cO God!\u201d she said. \u201cIf You are really there really there---\u201d\n\nHer voice faltered, and she gripped the sill to steady herself. She\nwondered vaguely why she spoke so; it was neither intellect nor emotion\nthat inspired her. Yet she continued....\n\n\u201cO God, I know You are not there--of course You are not. But if You were\nthere, I know what I would say to You. I would tell You how puzzled and\ntired I am. No--No--I need not tell You: You would know it. But I would\nsay that I was very sorry for all this. Oh! You would know that too. I\nneed not say anything at all. O God! I don\u2019t know what I want to say. I\nwould like You to look after Oliver, of course, and all Your poor\nChristians. Oh! they will have such a hard time.... God. God--You would\nunderstand, wouldn\u2019t You?\u201d ...\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAgain came the heavy rumble and the solemn bass of a myriad voices; it\nseemed a shade nearer, she thought.... She never liked thunderstorms or\nshouting crowds. They always gave her a headache ...\n\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d she said. \u201cGood-bye, everything---\u201d\n\nThen she was in the chair. The mouthpiece--yes; that was it....\n\nShe was furious at the trembling of her hands; twice the spring slipped\nfrom her polished coils of hair.... Then it was fixed ... and as if a\nbreeze fanned her, her sense came back....\n\nShe found she could breathe quite easily; there was no resistance--that\nwas a comfort; there would be no suffocation about it.... She put out\nher left hand and touched the handle, conscious less of its sudden\ncoolness than of the unbearable heat in which the room seemed almost\nsuddenly plunged. She could hear the drumming pulses in her temples and\nthe roaring of the voices.... She dropped the handle once more, and with\nboth hands tore at the loose white wrapper that she had put on this\nmorning....\n\nYes, that was a little easier; she could breathe better so. Again her\nfingers felt for and found the handle, but the sweat streamed from her\nfingers, and for an instant she could not turn the knob. Then it yielded\nsuddenly....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor one instant the sweet languid smell struck her consciousness like a\nblow, for she knew it as the scent of death. Then the steady will that\nhad borne her so far asserted itself, and she laid her hands softly in\nher lap, breathing deeply and easily.\n\nShe had closed her eyes at the turning of the handle, but now opened\nthem again, curious to watch the aspect of the fading world. She had\ndetermined to do this a week ago: she would at least miss nothing of\nthis unique last experience.\n\nIt seemed at first that there was no change. There was the feathery head\nof the elm, the lead roof opposite, and the terrible sky above. She\nnoticed a pigeon, white against the blackness, soar and swoop again out\nof sight in an instant....\n\n... Then the following things happened....\n\nThere was a sudden sensation of ecstatic lightness in all her limbs; she\nattempted to lift a hand, and was aware that it was impossible; it was\nno longer hers. She attempted to lower her eyes from that broad strip of\nviolet sky, and perceived that that too was impossible. Then she\nunderstood that the will had already lost touch with the body, that the\ncrumbling world had receded to an infinite distance--that was as she had\nexpected, but what continued to puzzle her was that her mind was still\nactive. It was true that the world she had known had withdrawn itself\nfrom the dominion of consciousness, as her body had done, except, that\nwas, in the sense of hearing, which was still strangely alert; yet there\nwas still enough memory to be aware that there was such a world--that\nthere were other persons in existence; that men went about their\nbusiness, knowing nothing of what had happened; but faces, names,\nplaces had all alike gone. In fact, she was conscious of herself in such\na manner as she had never been before; it seemed as if she had\npenetrated at last into some recess of her being into which hitherto she\nhad only looked as through clouded glass. This was very strange, and yet\nit was familiar, too; she had arrived, it seemed, at a centre, round the\ncircumference of which she had been circling all her life; and it was\nmore than a mere point: it was a distinct space, walled and enclosed....\nAt the same instant she knew that hearing, too, was gone....\n\nThen an amazing thing happened--yet it appeared to her that she had\nalways known it would happen, although her mind had never articulated\nit. This is what happened.\n\nThe enclosure melted, with a sound of breaking, and a limitless space\nwas about her--limitless, different to everything else, and alive, and\nastir. It was alive, as a breathing, panting body is alive--self-evident\nand overpowering--it was one, yet it was many; it was immaterial, yet\nabsolutely real--real in a sense in which she never dreamed of\nreality....\n\nYet even this was familiar, as a place often visited in dreams is\nfamiliar; and then, without warning, something resembling sound or\nlight, something which she knew in an instant to be unique, tore across\nit....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThen she saw, and understood....\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nI\n\nOliver had passed the days since Mabel\u2019s disappearance in an\nindescribable horror. He had done all that was possible: he had traced\nher to the station and to Victoria, where he lost her clue; he had\ncommunicated with the police, and the official answer, telling him\nnothing, had arrived to the effect that there was no news: and it was\nnot until the Tuesday following her disappearance that Mr. Francis,\nhearing by chance of his trouble, informed him by telephone that he had\nspoken with her on the Friday night. But there was no satisfaction to be\ngot from him--indeed, the news was bad rather than good, for Oliver\ncould not but be dismayed at the report of the conversation, in spite of\nMr. Francis\u2019s assurances that Mrs. Brand had shown no kind of\ninclination to defend the Christian cause.\n\nTwo theories gradually emerged, in his mind; either she was gone to the\nprotection of some unknown Catholic, or--and he grew sick at the\nthought--she had applied somewhere for Euthanasia as she had once\nthreatened, and was now under the care of the Law; such an event was\nsufficiently common since the passing of the Release Act in 1998. And it\nwas frightful that he could not condemn it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the Tuesday evening, as he sat heavily in his room, for the hundredth\ntime attempting to trace out some coherent line through the maze of\nintercourse he had had with his wife during these past months, his bell\nsuddenly rang. It was the red label of Whitehall that had made its\nappearance; and for an instant his heart leaped with hope that it was\nnews of her. But at the first words it sank again.\n\n\u201cBrand,\u201d came the sharp fairy voice, \u201cis that you?... Yes, I am\nSnowford. You are wanted at once--at once, you understand. There is an\nextraordinary meeting of the Council at twenty o\u2019clock. The President\nwill be there. You understand the urgency. No time for more. Come\ninstantly to my room.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEven this message scarcely distracted him. He, with the rest of the\nworld, was no longer surprised at the sudden descents of the President.\nHe came and vanished again without warning, travelling and working with\nincredible energy, yet always, as it seemed, retaining his personal\ncalm.\n\nIt was already after nineteen; Oliver supped immediately, and a\nquarter-of-an-hour before the hour presented himself in Snowford\u2019s room,\nwhere half a dozen of his colleagues were assembled.\n\nThat minister came forward to meet him, with a strange excitement in his\nface. He drew him aside by a button.\n\n\u201cSee here, Brand, you are wanted to speak first--immediately after the\nPresident\u2019s Secretary who will open; they are coming from Paris. It is\nabout a new matter altogether. He has had information of the whereabouts\nof the Pope.... It seems that there is one.... Oh, you will understand\npresently. Oh, and by the way,\u201d he went on, looking curiously at the\nstrained face, \u201cI am sorry to hear of your anxiety. Pemberton told me\njust now.\u201d\n\nOliver lifted a hand abruptly.\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat am I wanted to say?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, the President will have a proposal, we imagine. You know our\nminds well enough. Just explain our attitude towards the Catholics.\u201d\n\nOliver\u2019s eyes shrank suddenly to two bright lines beneath the lids. He\nnodded.\n\nCartwright came up presently, an immense, bent old man with a face of\nparchment, as befitted the Lord Chief Justice.\n\n\u201cBy the way, Brand, what do you know of a man called Phillips? He seems\nto have mentioned your name.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was my secretary,\u201d said Oliver slowly. \u201cWhat about him?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think he must be mad. He has given himself up to a magistrate,\nentreating to be examined at once. The magistrate has applied for\ninstructions. You see, the Act has scarcely begun to move yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what has he done?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the difficulty. He says he cannot deny God, neither can he\naffirm Him.--He was your secretary, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly. I knew he was inclined to Christianity. I had to get rid of\nhim for that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, he is to be remanded for a week. Perhaps he will be able to make\nup his mind.\u201d\n\nThen the talk shifted off again. Two or three more came up, and all eyed\nOliver with a certain curiosity; the story was gone about that his wife\nhad left him. They wished to see how he took it.\n\nAt five minutes before the hour a bell rang, and the door into the\ncorridor was thrown open.\n\n\u201cCome, gentlemen,\u201d said the Prime Minister.\n\nThe Council Chamber was a long high room on the first floor; its walls\nfrom floor to ceiling were lined with books. A noiseless rubber carpet\nwas underfoot. There were no windows; the room was lighted artificially.\nA long table, set round with armed chairs, ran the length of the floor,\neight on either side; and the Presidential chair, raised on a dais,\nstood at the head.\n\nEach man went straight to his chair in silence, and remained there,\nwaiting.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe room was beautifully cool, in spite of the absence of windows, and\nwas a pleasant contrast to the hot evening outside through which most of\nthese men had come. They, too, had wondered at the surprising weather,\nand had smiled at the conflict of the infallible. But they were not\nthinking about that now: the coming of the President was a matter which\nalways silenced the most loquacious. Besides, this time, they understood\nthat the affair was more serious than usual.\n\nAt one minute before the hour, again a bell sounded, four times, and\nceased; and at the signal each man turned instinctively to the high\nsliding door behind the Presidential chair. There was dead silence\nwithin and without: the huge Government offices were luxuriously\nprovided with sound-deadening apparatus, and not even the rolling of the\nvast motors within a hundred yards was able to send a vibration through\nthe layers of rubber on which the walls rested. There was only one noise\nthat could penetrate, and that the sound of thunder. The experts were at\npresent unable to exclude this.\n\nAgain the silence seemed to fall in one yet deeper veil. Then the door\nopened, and a figure came swiftly through, followed by Another in black\nand scarlet.\n\n\nII\n\nHe passed straight up to the chair, followed by two secretaries, bowed\nslightly to this side and that, sat down and made a little gesture. Then\nthey, too, were in their chairs, upright and intent. For perhaps the\nhundredth time, Oliver, staring upon the President, marvelled at the\nquietness and the astounding personality of Him. He was in the English\njudicial dress that had passed down through centuries--black and scarlet\nwith sleeves of white fur and a crimson sash--and that had lately been\nadopted as the English presidential costume of him who stood at the head\nof the legislature. But it was in His personality, in the atmosphere\nthat flowed from Him, that the marvel lay. It was as the scent of the\nsea to the physical nature--it exhilarated, cleansed, kindled,\nintoxicated. It was as inexplicably attractive as a cherry orchard in\nspring, as affecting as the cry of stringed instruments, as compelling\nas a storm. So writers had said. They compared it to a stream of clear\nwater, to the flash of a gem, to the love of woman. They lost all\ndecency sometimes; they said it fitted all moods, as the voice of many\nwaters; they called it again and again, as explicitly as possible, the\nDivine Nature perfectly Incarnate at last....\n\nThen Oliver\u2019s reflections dropped from him like a mantle, for the\nPresident, with downcast eyes and head thrown back, made a little\ngesture to the ruddy-faced secretary on His right; and this man, without\na movement, began to speak like an impersonal actor repeating his part.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d he said, in an even, resonant voice, \u201cthe President is come\ndirect from Paris. This afternoon His Honour was in Berlin; this\nmorning, early, in Moscow. Yesterday in New York. To-night His Honour\nmust be in Turin; and to-morrow will begin to return through Spain,\nNorth Africa, Greece and the southeastern states.\u201d\n\nThis was the usual formula for such speeches. The President spoke but\nlittle himself now; but was careful for the information of his subjects\non occasions like this. His secretaries were perfectly trained, and this\nspeaker was no exception. After a slight pause, he continued:\n\n\u201cThis is the business, gentlemen.\n\n\u201cLast Thursday, as you are aware, the Plenipotentaries signed the Test\nAct in this room, and it was immediately communicated all over the\nworld. At sixteen o\u2019clock His Honour received a message from a man named\nDolgorovski--who is, it is understood, one of the Cardinals of the\nCatholic Church. This he claimed; and on inquiry it was found to be a\nfact. His information confirmed what was already suspected--namely, that\nthere was a man claiming to be Pope, who had created (so the phrase is)\nother cardinals, shortly after the destruction of Rome, subsequent to\nwhich his own election took place in Jerusalem. It appears that this\nPope, with a good deal of statesmanship, has chosen to keep his own name\nand place of residence a secret from even his own followers, with the\nexception of the twelve cardinals; that he has done a great deal,\nthrough the instrumentality of one of his cardinals in particular, and\nthrough his new Order in general, towards the reorganisation of the\nCatholic Church; and that at this moment he is living, apart from the\nworld, in complete security.\n\n\u201cHis Honour blames Himself that He did not do more than suspect\nsomething of the kind--misled, He thinks, by a belief that if there had\nbeen a Pope, news would have been heard of it from other quarters, for,\nas is well known, the entire structure of the Christian Church rests\nupon him as upon a rock. Further, His Honour thinks inquiries should\nhave been made in the very place where now it is understood that this\nPope is living.\n\n\u201cThe man\u2019s name, gentlemen, is Franklin---\u201d\n\nOliver started uncontrollably, but relapsed again to bright-eyed\nintelligence as for an instant the President glanced up from his\nmotionlessness.\n\n\u201cFranklin,\u201d repeated the secretary, \u201cand he is living in Nazareth,\nwhere, it is said, the Founder of Christianity passed His youth.\n\n\u201cNow this, gentlemen, His Honour heard on Thursday in last week. He\ncaused inquiries to be made, and on Friday morning received further\nintelligence from Dolgorovski that this Pope had summoned to Nazareth a\nmeeting of his cardinals, and certain other officials, from all over the\nworld, to consider what steps should be taken in view of the new Test\nAct. This His Honour takes to show an extreme want of statesmanship\nwhich seems hard to reconcile with his former action. These persons are\nsummoned by special messengers to meet on Saturday next, and will begin\ntheir deliberations after some Christian ceremonies on the following\nmorning.\n\n\u201cYou wish, gentlemen, no doubt, to know Dolgorovski\u2019s motives in making\nall this known. His Honour is satisfied that they are genuine. The man\nhas been losing belief in his religion; in fact, he has come to see that\nthis religion is the supreme obstacle to the consolidation of the race.\nHe has esteemed it his duty, therefore, to lay this information before\nHis Honour. It is interesting as an historical parallel to reflect that\nthe same kind of incident marked the rise of Christianity as will mark,\nit is thought, its final extinction--namely, the informing on the part\nof one of the leaders of the place and method by which the principal\npersonage may be best approached. It is also, surely, very significant\nthat the scene of the extinction of Christianity is identical with that\nof its inauguration....\n\n\u201cWell, gentlemen, His Honour\u2019s proposal is as follows, carrying out the\nDeclaration to which you all acceded. It is that a force should proceed\nduring the night of Saturday next to Palestine, and on the Sunday\nmorning, when these men will be all gathered together, that this force\nshould finish as swiftly and mercifully as possible the work to which\nthe Powers have set their hands. So far, the comment of the Governments\nwhich have been consulted has been unanimous, and there is little doubt\nthat the rest will be equally so. His Honour felt that He could not act\nin so grave a matter on His own responsibility; it is not merely local;\nit is a catholic administration of justice, and will have results wider\nthan it is safe minutely to prophesy.\n\n\u201cIt is not necessary to enter into His Honour\u2019s reasons. They are\nalready well known to you; but before asking for your opinion, He\ndesires me to indicate what He thinks, in the event of your approval,\nshould be the method of action.\n\n\u201cEach Government, it is proposed, should take part in the final scene,\nfor it is something of a symbolic action; and for this purpose it is\nthought well that each of the three Departments of the World should\ndepute volors, to the number of the constituting States, one hundred and\ntwenty-two all told, to set about the business. These volors should have\nno common meeting-ground, otherwise the news will surely penetrate to\nNazareth, for it is understood that, this new Order of Christ Crucified\nhas a highly organised system of espionage. The rendezvous, then, should\nbe no other than Nazareth itself; and the time of meeting should be, it\nis thought, not later than nine o\u2019clock according to Palestine\nreckoning. These details, however, can be decided and communicated as\nsoon as a determination has been formed as regards the entire scheme.\n\n\u201cWith respect to the exact method of carrying out the conclusion, His\nHonour is inclined to think it will be more merciful to enter into no\nnegotiations with the persons concerned. An opportunity should be given\nto the inhabitants of the village to make their escape if they so desire\nit, and then, with the explosives that the force should carry, the end\ncan be practically instantaneous.\n\n\u201cFor Himself, His Honour proposes to be there in person, and further\nthat the actual discharge should take place from His own car. It seems\nbut suitable that the world which has done His Honour the goodness to\nelect Him to its Presidentship should act through His hands; and this\nwould be at least some slight token of respect to a superstition which,\nhowever infamous, is yet the one and only force capable of withstanding\nthe true progress of man.\n\n\u201cHis Honour promises you, gentlemen, that in the event of this plan\nbeing carried out, we shall be no more troubled with Christianity.\nAlready the moral effect of the Test Act has been prodigious. It is\nunderstood that, by tens of thousands, Catholics, numbering among them\neven members of this new fanatical Religious Order, have been renouncing\ntheir follies even in these few days; and a final blow struck now at the\nvery heart and head of the Catholic Church, eliminating, as it would do,\nthe actual body on which the entire organisation subsists, would render\nits resurrection impossible. It is a well-known fact that, granted the\nextinction of the line of Popes, together with those necessary for its\ncontinuance, there could be no longer any question amongst even the most\nignorant that the claim of Jesus had ceased to be either reasonable or\npossible. Even the Order that has provided the sinews for this new\nmovement must cease to exist.\n\n\u201cDolgorovski, of course, is the difficulty, for it is not certainly\nknown whether one Cardinal would be considered sufficient for the\npropagation of the line; and, although reluctantly, His Honour feels\nbound to suggest that at the conclusion of the affair, Dolgorovski,\nalso, who will not, of course, be with his fellows at Nazareth, should\nbe mercifully removed from even the danger of a relapse....\n\n\u201cHis Honour, then, asks you, gentlemen, as briefly as possible, to state\nyour views on the points of which I have had the privilege of speaking.\u201d\n\nThe quiet business-like voice ceased.\n\nHe had spoken throughout in the manner with which he had begun; his eyes\nhad been downcast throughout; his voice had been tranquil and\nrestrained. His deportment had been admirable.\n\nThere was an instant\u2019s silence, and all eyes settled steadily again upon\nthe motionless figure in black and scarlet and the ivory face.\n\nThen Oliver stood up. His face was as white as paper; his eyes bright\nand dilated.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d he said, \u201cI have no doubt that we are all of one mind. I need say\nno more than that, so far as I am a representative of my colleagues, we\nassent to the proposal, and leave all details in your Honour\u2019s hands.\u201d\n\nThe President lifted his eyes, and ran them swiftly along the rigid\nfaces turned to him.\n\nThen, in the breathless hush, he spoke for the first time in his strange\nvoice, now as passionless as a frozen river.\n\n\u201cIs there any other proposal?\u201d\n\nThere was a murmur of assent as the men rose to their feet.\n\n\u201cThank you, gentlemen,\u201d said the secretary.\n\n\nIII\n\nIt was a little before seven o\u2019clock on the morning of Saturday that\nOliver stepped out of the motor that had carried him to Wimbledon\nCommon, and began to go up the steps of the old volor-stage, abandoned\nfive years ago. It had been thought better, in view of the extreme\nsecrecy that was to be kept, that England\u2019s representative in the\nexpedition should start from a comparatively unknown point, and this old\nstage, in disuse now, except for occasional trials of new Government\nmachines, had been selected. Even the lift had been removed, and it was\nnecessary to climb the hundred and fifty steps on foot.\n\nIt was with a certain unwillingness that he had accepted this post among\nthe four delegates, for nothing had been heard of his wife, and it was\nterrible to him to leave London while her fate was as yet doubtful. On\nthe whole, he was less inclined than ever now to accept the Euthanasia\ntheory; he had spoken to one or two of her friends, all of whom declared\nthat she had never even hinted at such an end. And, again, although he\nwas well aware of the eight-day law in the matter, even if she had\ndetermined on such a step there was nothing to show that she was yet in\nEngland, and, in fact, it was more than likely that if she were bent on\nsuch an act she would go abroad for it, where laxer conditions\nprevailed. In short, it seemed that he could do no good by remaining in\nEngland, and the temptation to be present at the final act of justice in\nthe East by which land, and, in fact, it was more than likely that if\nshe were to be wiped out, and Franklin, too, among them--Franklin, that\nparody of the Lord of the World--this, added to the opinion of his\ncolleagues in the Government, and the curious sense, never absent from\nhim now, that Felsenburgh\u2019s approval was a thing to die for if\nnecessary--these things had finally prevailed. He left behind him at\nhome his secretary, with instructions that no expense was to be spared\nin communicating with him should any news of his wife arrive during his\nabsence.\n\nIt was terribly hot this morning, and, by the time that he reached the\ntop he noticed that the monster in the net was already fitted into its\nwhite aluminium casing, and that the fans within the corridor and saloon\nwere already active. He stepped inside to secure a seat in the saloon,\nset his bag down, and after a word or two with the guard, who, of\ncourse, had not yet been informed of their destination, learning that\nthe others were not yet come, he went out again on to the platform for\ncoolness\u2019 sake, and to brood in peace.\n\nLondon looked strange this morning, he thought. Here beneath him was the\ncommon, parched somewhat with the intense heat of the previous week,\nstretching for perhaps half-a-mile--tumbled ground, smooth stretches of\nturf, and the heads of heavy trees up to the first house-roofs, set,\ntoo, it seemed, in bowers of foliage. Then beyond that began the serried\narray, line beyond line, broken in one spot by the gleam of a\nriver-reach, and then on again fading beyond eyesight. But what\nsurprised him was the density of the air; it was now, as old books\nrelated it had been in the days of smoke. There was no freshness, no\ntranslucence of morning atmosphere; it was impossible to point in any\none direction to the source of this veiling gloom, for on all sides it\nwas the same. Even the sky overhead lacked its blue; it appeared painted\nwith a muddy brush, and the sun shewed the same faint tinge of red. Yes,\nit was like that, he said wearily to himself--like a second-rate sketch;\nthere was no sense of mystery as of a veiled city, but rather unreality.\nThe shadows seemed lacking in definiteness, the outlines and grouping in\ncoherence. A storm was wanted, he reflected; or even, it might be, one\nmore earthquake on the other side of the world would, in wonderful\nillustration of the globe\u2019s unity, relieve the pressure on this side.\nWell, well; the journey would be worth taking even for the interest of\nobserving climatic changes; but it would be terribly hot, he mused, by\nthe time the south of France was reached.\n\nThen his thoughts leaped back to their own gnawing misery.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was another ten minutes before he saw the scarlet Government motor,\nwith awnings out, slide up the road from the direction of Fulham; and\nyet five minutes more before the three men appeared with their servants\nbehind them--Maxwell, Snowford and Cartwright, all alike, as was Oliver,\nin white duck from head to foot.\n\nThey did not speak one word of their business, for the officials were\ngoing to and fro, and it was advisable to guard against even the\nsmallest possibility of betrayal. The guard had been told that the volor\nwas required for a three days\u2019 journey, that provisions were to be taken\nin for that period, and that the first point towards which the course\nwas to lie was the centre of the South Downs. There would be no stopping\nfor at least a day and a night.\n\nFurther instructions had reached them from the President on the previous\nmorning, by which time He had completed His visitation, and received the\nassent of the Emergency Councils of the world. This Snowford commented\nupon in an undertone, and added a word or two as to details, as the four\nstood together looking out over the city.\n\nBriefly, the plan was as follows, at least so far as it concerned\nEngland. The volor was to approach Palestine from the direction of the\nMediterranean, observing to get into touch with France on her left and\nSpain on her right within ten miles of the eastern end of Crete. The\napproximate hour was fixed at twenty-three (eastern time). At this point\nshe was to show her night signal, a scarlet line on a white field; and\nin the event of her failing to observe her neighbours was to circle at\nthat point, at a height of eight hundred feet, until either the two were\nsighted or further instructions were received. For the purpose of\ndealing with emergencies, the President\u2019s car, which would finally make\nits entrance from the south, was to be accompanied by an _aide-de-camp_\ncapable of moving at a very high speed, whose signals were to be taken\nas Felsenburgh\u2019s own.\n\nSo soon as the circle was completed, having Esdraelon as its centre with\na radius of five hundred and forty miles, the volors were to advance,\ndropping gradually to within five hundred feet of sea-level, and\ndiminishing their distance one from another from the twenty-five miles\nor so at which they would first find themselves, until they were as near\nas safety allowed. In this manner the advance at a pace of fifty miles\nan hour from the moment that the circle was arranged would bring them\nwithin sight of Nazareth at about nine o\u2019clock on the Sunday morning.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe guard came up to the four as they stood there silent.\n\n\u201cWe are ready, gentlemen,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cWhat do you think of the weather?\u201d asked Snowford abruptly.\n\nThe guard pursed his lips.\n\n\u201cA little thunder, I expect, sir,\u201d he said.\n\nOliver looked at him curiously.\n\n\u201cNo more than that?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cI should say a storm, sir,\u201d observed the guard shortly.\n\nSnowford turned towards the gangway.\n\n\u201cWell, we had best be off: we can lose time further on, if we wish.\u201d\n\nIt was about five minutes more before all was ready. From the stern of\nthe boat came a faint smell of cooking, for breakfast would be served\nimmediately, and a white-capped cook protruded his head for an instant,\nto question the guard. The four sat down in the gorgeous saloon in the\nbows; Oliver silent by himself, the other three talking in low voices\ntogether. Once more the guard passed through to his compartment at the\nprow, glancing as he went to see that all were seated; and an instant\nlater came the clang of the signal. Then through all the length of the\nboat--for she was the fastest ship that England possessed--passed the\nthrill of the propeller beginning to work up speed; and simultaneously\nOliver, staring sideways through the plate-glass window, saw the rail\ndrop away, and the long line of London, pale beneath the tinged sky,\nsurge up suddenly. He caught a glimpse of a little group of persons\nstaring up from below, and they, too, dropped in a great swirl, and\nvanished. Then, with a flash of dusty green, the Common had vanished,\nand a pavement of house-roofs began to stream beneath, the long lines of\nstreets on this side and that turning like spokes of a gigantic wheel;\nonce more this pavement thinned, showing green again as between\ninfrequently laid cobble-stones; then they, too, were gone, and the\ncountry was open beneath.\n\nSnowford rose, staggering a little.\n\n\u201cI may as well tell the guard now,\u201d he said. \u201cThen we need not be\ninterrupted again.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nI\n\nThe Syrian awoke from a dream that a myriad faces were looking into his\nown, eager, attentive and horrible, in his corner of the roof-top, and\nsat up sweating and gasping aloud for breath. For an instant he thought\nthat he was really dying, and that the spiritual world was about him.\nThen, as he struggled, sense came back, and he stood up, drawing long\nbreaths of the stifling night air.\n\nAbove him the sky was as the pit, black and empty; there was not a\nglimmer of light, though the moon was surely up. He had seen her four\nhours before, a red sickle, swing slowly out from Thabor. Across the\nplain, as he looked from the parapet, there was nothing. For a few yards\nthere lay across the broken ground a single crooked lance of light from\na half-closed shutter; and beneath that, nothing. To the north again,\nnothing; to the west a glimmer, pale as a moth\u2019s wing, from the\nhouse-roofs of Nazareth; to the east, nothing. He might be on a\ntower-top in space, except for that line of light and that grey glimmer\nthat evaded the eye.\n\nOn the roof, however, it was possible to make out at least outlines, for\nthe dormer trap had been left open at the head of the stairs, and from\nsomewhere within the depths of the house there stole up a faint\nrefracted light.\n\nThere was a white bundle in that corner; that would be the pillow of the\nBenedictine abbot. He had seen him lay himself down there some time--was\nit four hours or four centuries ago? There was a grey shape stretched\nalong that pale wall--the Friar, he thought; there were other irregular\noutlines breaking the face of the parapet, here and there along the\nsides.\n\nVery softly, for he knew the caprices of sleep, he stepped across the\npaved roof to the opposite parapet and looked over, for there yet hung\nabout him a desire for reassurance that he was still in company with\nflesh and blood. Yes, indeed he was still on earth; for there was a real\nand distinct light burning among the tumbled rocks, and beside it,\ndelicate as a miniature, the head and shoulders of a man, writing. And\nin the circle of light were other figures, pale, broken patches on which\nmen lay; a pole or two, erected with the thought of a tent to follow; a\nlittle pile of luggage with a rug across it; and beyond the circle other\noutlines and shapes faded away into the stupendous blackness.\n\nThen the writing man moved his head, and a monstrous shadow fled across\nthe ground; a yelp as of a strangling dog broke out suddenly close\nbehind him, and, as he turned, a moaning figure sat up on the roof,\nsobbing itself awake. Another moved at the sound, and then as, sighing,\nthe former relapsed heavily against the wall, once more the priest went\nback to his place, still doubtful as to the reality of all that he saw,\nand the breathless silence came down again as a pall.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe woke again from dreamless sleep, and there was a change. From his\ncorner, as he raised his heavy eyes, there met them what seemed an\nunbearable brightness; then, as he looked, it resolved itself into a\ncandle-flame, and beyond it a white sleeve, and higher yet a white face\nand throat. He understood, and rose reeling; it was the messenger come\nto fetch him as had been arranged.\n\nAs he passed across the space, once he looked round him, and it seemed\nthat the dawn must have come, for that appalling sky overhead was\nvisible at last. An enormous vault, smoke-coloured and opaque, seemed to\ncurve away to the ghostly horizons on either side where the far-away\nhills raised sharp shapes as if cut in paper. Carmel was before him; at\nleast he thought it was that--a bull head and shoulders thrusting itself\nforward and ending in an abrupt descent, and beyond that again the\nglimmering sky. There were no clouds, no outlines to break the huge,\nsmooth, dusky dome beneath the centre of which this house-roof seemed\npoised. Across the parapet, as he glanced to the right before descending\nthe steps, stretched Esdraelon, sad-coloured and sombre, into the\nmetallic distance. It was all as unreal as some fantastic picture by one\nwho had never looked upon clear sunlight. The silence was complete and\nprofound.\n\nStraight down through the wheeling shadows he went, following the\nwhite-hooded head and figure down the stairs, along the tiny passage,\nstumbling once against the feet of one who slept with limbs tossed loose\nlike a tired dog; the feet drew back mechanically, and a little moan\nbroke from the shadows. Then he went on, passing the servant who stood\naside, and entered.\n\nThere were half-a-dozen men gathered here, silent, white figures\nstanding apart one from the other, who genuflected as the Pope came in\nsimultaneously through the opposite door, and again stood white-faced\nand attentive. He ran his eyes over them as he stopped, waiting behind\nhis master\u2019s chair--there were two he knew, remembering them from last\nnight--dark-faced Cardinal Ruspoli, and the lean Australian Archbishop,\nbesides Cardinal Corkran, who stood by his chair at the Pope\u2019s own\ntable, with papers laid ready.\n\nSilvester sat down, and with a little gesture caused the others to sit\ntoo. Then He began at once in that quiet tired voice that his servant\nknew so well.\n\n\u201cEminences-we are all here, I think. We need lose no more time, then....\nCardinal Corkran has something to communicate---\u201d He turned a little.\n\u201cFather, sit down, if you please. This will occupy a little while.\u201d\n\nThe priest went across to the stone window-seat, whence he could watch\nthe Pope\u2019s face in the light of the two candles that now stood on the\ntable between him and the Cardinal-Secretary. Then the Cardinal began,\nglancing up from his papers.\n\n\u201cHoliness. I had better begin a little way back. Their Eminences have\nnot heard the details properly....\n\n\u201cI received at Damascus, on last Friday week, inquiries from various\nprelates in different parts of the world, as to the actual measure\nconcerning the new policy of persecution. At first I could tell them\nnothing positively, for it was not until after twenty o\u2019clock that\nCardinal Ruspoli, in Turin, informed me of the facts. Cardinal Malpas\nconfirmed them a few minutes later, and the Cardinal Archbishop of Pekin\nat twenty-three. Before mid-day on Saturday I received final\nconfirmation from my messengers in London.\n\n\u201cI was at first surprised that Cardinal Dolgorovski did not communicate\nit; for almost simultaneously with the Turin message I received one from\na priest of the Order of Christ Crucified in Moscow, to which, of\ncourse, I paid no attention. (It is our rule, Eminences, to treat\nunauthorised communications in that way.) His Holiness, however, bade me\nmake inquiries, and I learned from Father Petrovoski and others that the\nGovernment placards published the news at twenty o\u2019clock--by our time.\nIt was curious, therefore, that the Cardinal had not seen it; if he had\nseen it, it was, of course, his duty to acquaint me immediately.\n\n\u201cSince that time, however, the following facts have come out. It is\nestablished beyond a doubt that Cardinal Dolgorovski received a visitor\nin the course of the evening. His own chaplain, who, your Eminences are\nperhaps aware, has been very active in Russia on behalf of the Church,\ninforms me of this privately. Yet the Cardinal asserts, in explanation\nof his silence, that he was alone during those hours, and had given\norders that no one was to be admitted to his presence without urgent\ncause. This, of course, confirmed His Holiness\u2019s opinion, but I received\norders from Him to act as if nothing had happened, and to command the\nCardinal\u2019s presence here with the rest of the Sacred College. To this I\nreceived an intimation that he would be present. Yesterday, however, a\nlittle before mid-day, I received a further message that his Eminency\nhad met with a slight accident, but that he yet hoped to present himself\nin time for the deliberations. Since then no further news has arrived.\u201d\n\nThere was a dead silence.\n\nThen the Pope turned to the Syrian priest.\n\n\u201cFather,\u201d he said, \u201cit was you who received his Eminency\u2019s messages.\nHave you anything to add to this?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Holiness.\u201d\n\nHe turned again.\n\n\u201cMy son,\u201d he said, \u201creport to Us publicly what you have already\nreported to Us in private.\u201d\n\nA small, bright-eyed man moved out of the shadows.\n\n\u201cHoliness, it was I who conveyed the message to Cardinal Dolgorovski. He\nrefused at first to receive me. When I reached his presence and\ncommunicated the command he was silent; then he smiled; then he told me\nto carry back the message that he would obey.\u201d\n\nAgain the Pope was silent.\n\nThen suddenly the tall Australian stood up.\n\n\u201cHoliness,\u201d he said, \u201cI was once intimate with that man. It was partly\nthrough my means that he sought reception into the Catholic Church. This\nwas not less than fourteen years ago, when the fortunes of the Church\nseemed about to prosper.... Our friendly relations ceased two years ago,\nand I may say that, from what I know of him, I find no difficulty in\nbelieving---\u201d\n\nAs his voice shook with passion and he faltered, Silvester raised his\nhand.\n\n\u201cWe desire no recriminations. Even the evidence is now useless, for what\nwas to be done has been done. For ourselves, we have no doubt as to its\nnature.... It was to this man that Christ gave the morsel through our\nhands, saying _Quod faces, fac cities. Cum ergo accepisset Me buccellam,\nexivit continuo. Erat autem nox._\u201d\n\nAgain fell the silence, and in the pause sounded a long half-vocal sigh\nfrom without the door. It came and went as a sleeper turned, for the\npassage was crowded with exhausted men--as a soul might sigh that passed\nfrom light to darkness.\n\nThen Silvester spoke again. And as He spoke He began, as if\nmechanically, to tear up a long paper, written with lists of names, that\nlay before Him.\n\n\u201cEminences, it is three hours after dawn. In two hours more We shall say\nmass in your presence, and give Holy Communion. During those two hours\nWe commission you to communicate this news to all who are assembled\nhere; and further, We bestow on each and all of you jurisdiction apart\nfrom all previous rules of time and place; we give a Plenary Indulgence\nto all who confess and communicate this day. Father--\u201d he turned to the\nSyrian--\u201cFather, you will now expose the Blessed Sacrament in the\nchapel, after which you will proceed to the village and inform the\ninhabitants that if they wish to save their lives they had best be gone\nimmediately--immediately, you understand.\u201d\n\nThe Syrian started from his daze.\n\n\u201cHoliness,\u201d he stammered, stretching out a hand, \u201cthe lists, the lists!\u201d\n\n(He had seen what these were.)\n\nBut Silvester only smiled as He tossed the fragments on to the table.\nThen He stood up.\n\n\u201cYou need not trouble, my son.... We shall not need these any more....\n\n\u201cOne last word, Eminences.... If there is one heart here that doubts or\nis afraid, I have a word to say.\u201d\n\nHe paused, with an extraordinarily simple deliberateness, ran the eyes\nround the tense faces turned to Him.\n\n\u201cI have had a Vision of God,\u201d He said softly. \u201cI walk no more by faith,\nbut by sight.\u201d\n\n\nII\n\nAn hour later the priest toiled back in the hot twilight up the path\nfrom the village, followed by half-a-dozen silent men, twenty yards\nbehind, whose curiosity exceeded their credulousness. He had left a few\nmore standing bewildered at the doors of the little mud-houses; and had\nseen perhaps a hundred families, weighted with domestic articles, pour\nlike a stream down the rocky path that led to Khaifa. He had been cursed\nby some, even threatened; stared upon by others; mocked by a few. The\nfanatical said that the Christians had brought God\u2019s wrath upon the\nplace, and the darkness upon the sky: the sun was dying, for these\nhounds were too evil for him to look upon and live. Others again seemed\nto see nothing remarkable in the state of the weather....\n\nThere was no change in that sky from its state an hour before, except\nthat perhaps it had lightened a little as the sun climbed higher behind\nthat impenetrable dusky shroud. Hills, grass, men\u2019s faces--all bore to\nthe priest\u2019s eyes the look of unreality; they were as things seen in a\ndream by eyes that roll with sleep through lids weighted with lead. Even\nto other physical senses that unreality was present; and once more he\nremembered his dream, thankful that that horror at least was absent. But\nsilence seemed other than a negation of sound, it was a thing in itself,\nan affirmation, unruffled by the sound of footsteps, the thin barking of\ndogs, the murmur of voices. It appeared as if the stillness of eternity\nhad descended and embraced the world\u2019s activities, and as if that world,\nin a desperate attempt to assert its own reality, was braced in a set,\nmotionless, noiseless, breathless effort to hold itself in being. What\nSilvester had said just now was beginning to be true of this man also.\nThe touch of the powdery soil and the warm pebbles beneath the priest\u2019s\nbare feet seemed something apart from the consciousness that usually\nregards the things of sense as more real and more intimate than the\nthings of spirit. Matter still had a reality, still occupied space, but\nit was of a subjective nature, the result of internal rather than\nexternal powers. He appeared to himself already to be scarcely more than\na soul, intent and steady, united by a thread only to the body and the\nworld with which he was yet in relations. He knew that the appalling\nheat was there; once even, before his eyes a patch of beaten ground\ncracked and lisped as water that touches hot iron, as he trod upon it.\nHe could feel the heat upon his forehead and hands, his whole body was\nswathed and soaked in it; yet he regarded it as from an outside\nstandpoint, as a man with neuritis perceives that the pain is no longer\nin his hand but in the pillow which supports it. So, too, with what his\neyes looked upon and his ears heard; so, too, with that faint bitter\ntaste that lay upon his lips and nostrils. There was no longer in him\nfear or even hope--he regarded himself, the world, and even the\nenshrouding and awful Presence of spirit as facts with which he had but\nlittle to do. He was scarcely even interested; still less was he\ndistressed. There was Thabor before him--at least what once had been\nThabor, now it was no more than a huge and dusky dome-shape which\nimpressed itself upon his retina and informed his passive brain of its\nexistence and outline, though that existence seemed no better than that\nof a dissolving phantom.\n\nIt seemed then almost natural--or at least as natural as all else--as he\ncame in through the passage and opened the chapel-door, to see that the\nfloor was crowded with prostrate motionless figures. There they lay, all\nalike in the white burnous which he had given out last night; and, with\nforehead on arms, as during the singing of the Litany of the Saints at\nan ordination, lay the figure he knew best and loved more than all the\nworld, the shoulders and white hair at a slight elevation upon the\nsingle altar step. Above the plain altar itself burned the six tall\ncandles; and in the midst, on the mean little throne, stood the\nwhite-metal monstrance, with its White Centre....\n\nThen he, too, dropped, and lay as he was....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe did not know how long it was before the circling observant\nconsciousness, the flow of slow images, the vibration of particular\nthoughts, ceased and stilled as a pool rocks quietly to peace after the\ndropped stone has long lain still. But it came at last--that superb\ntranquillity, possible only when the senses are physically awake, with\nwhich God, perhaps once in a lifetime, rewards the aspiring trustful\nsoul--that point of complete rest in the heart of the Fount of all\nexistence with which one day He will reward eternally the spirits of His\nchildren. There was no thought in him of articulating this experience,\nof analysing its elements, or fingering this or that strain of ecstatic\njoy. The time for self-regarding was passed. It was enough that the\nexperience was there, although he was not even self-reflective enough to\ntell himself so. He had passed from that circle whence the soul looks\nwithin, from that circle, too, whence it looks upon objective glory, to\nthat very centre where it reposes--and the first sign to him that time\nhad passed was the murmur of words, heard distinctly and understood,\nalthough with that apartness with which a drowsy man perceives a message\nfrom without--heard as through a veil through which nothing but thinnest\nessence could transpire.\n\n_Spiritus Domini replevit orbem terrarum.... The Spirit of the Lord hath\nfulfilled all things, alleluia: and that which contains all things hath\nknowledge of the voice, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia._\n\n_Exsurgat Deus_ (and the voice rose ever so slightly). \u201c_Let God arise\nand let His enemies be scattered; and let them who hate Him flee before\nHis face._\u201d\n\n_Gloria Patri...._\n\nThen he raised his heavy head; and a phantom figure stood there in red\nvestments, seeming to float rather than to stand, with thin hands\noutstretched, and white cap on white hair seen in the gleam of the\nsteady candle-flames; another, also in white, kneeled on the step....\n\n_Kyrie eleison ... Gloria in excelsis Deo ..._ those things passed like\na shadow-show, with movements and rustlings, but he perceived rather the\nlight which cast them. He heard _Deus qui in hodierna die ..._ but his\npassive mind gave no pulse of reflex action, no stir of understanding\nuntil these words. _Cum complerentur dies Pentecostes...._\n\n\u201c_When the day of Pentecost was fully come, all the disciples were with\none accord in the same place; and there came from heaven suddenly a\nsound, as of a mighty wind approaching, and it filled the house where\nthey were sitting...._\u201d\n\nThen he remembered and understood.... It was Pentecost then! And with\nmemory a shred of reflection came back. Where then was the wind, and the\nflame, and the earthquake, and the secret voice? Yet the world was\nsilent, rigid in its last effort at self-assertion: there was no tremor\nto show that God remembered; no actual point of light, yet, breaking the\nappalling vault of gloom that lay over sea and land to reveal that He\nburned there in eternity, transcendent and dominant; not even a voice;\nand at that he understood yet more. He perceived that that world, whose\nmonstrous parody his sleep had presented to him in the night, was other\nthan that he had feared it to be; it was sweet, not terrible; friendly,\nnot hostile; clear, not stifling; and home, not exile. There were\npresences here, but not those gluttonous, lustful things that had looked\non him last night.... He dropped his head again upon his hands, at once\nashamed and content; and again he sank down to depths of glimmering\ninner peace....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNot again, for a while, did he perceive what he did or thought, or what\npassed there, five yards away on the low step. Once only a ripple passed\nacross that sea of glass, a ripple of fire and sound like a rising star\nthat flicks a line of light across a sleeping lake, like a thin thread\nof vibration streaming from a quivering string across the stillness of a\ndeep night--and be perceived for an instant as in a formless mirror that\na lower nature was struck into existence and into union with the Divine\nnature at the same moment.... And then no more again but the great\nencompassing hush, the sense of the innermost heart of reality, till he\nfound himself kneeling at the rail, and knew that That which alone truly\nexisted on earth approached him with the swiftness of thought and the\nardour of Divine Love....\n\nThen, as the mass ended, and he raised his passive happy soul to receive\nthe last gift of God, there was a cry, a sudden clamour in the passage,\nand a man stood in the doorway, gabbling Arabic.\n\n\nIII\n\nYet even at that sound and sight his soul scarcely tightened the languid\nthreads that united it through every fibre of his body with the world of\nsense. He saw and heard the tumult in the passage, frantic eyes and\nmouths crying aloud, and, in strange contrast, the pale ecstatic faces\nof those princes who turned and looked; even within the tranquil\npresence-chamber of the spirit where two beings, Incarnate God and all\nbut Discarnate Man, were locked in embrace, a certain mental process\nwent on. Yet all was still as apart from him as a lighted stage and its\ndrama from a self-contained spectator. In the material world, now as\nattenuated as a mirage, events were at hand; but to his soul, balanced\nnow on reality and awake to facts, these things were but a spectacle....\n\nHe turned to the altar again, and there, as he had known it would be, in\nthe midst of clear light, all was at peace: the celebrant, seen as\nthrough molten glass, adored as He murmured the mystery of the\nWord-made-Flesh, and once more passing to the centre, sank upon His\nknees.\n\nAgain the priest understood; for thought was no longer the process of a\nmind, rather it was the glance of a spirit. He knew all now; and, by an\ninevitable impulse, his throat began to sing aloud words that, as he\nsang, opened for the first time as flowers telling their secret to the\nsun.\n\n_O Salutaris Hostia\nQui coeli pandis ostium. . . ._\n\nThey were all singing now; even the Mohammedan catechumen who had burst\nin a moment ago sang with the rest, his lean head thrust out and his\narms tight across his breast; the tiny chapel rang with the forty\nvoices, and the vast world thrilled to hear it....\n\nStill singing, the priest saw the veil laid as by a phantom upon the\nPontiff\u2019s shoulders; there was a movement, a surge of figures--shadows\nonly in the midst of substance,\n\n_... Uni Trinoque Domino ...._\n\n--and the Pope stood erect, Himself a pallor in the heart of light, with\nspectral folds of silk dripping from His shoulders, His hands swathed in\nthem, and His down-bent head hidden by the silver-rayed monstrance and\nThat which it bore....\n\n_... Qui vitam sine termino\nNobis donet in patria ...._\n\n... They were moving now, and the world of life swung with them; of so\nmuch was he aware. He was out in the passage, among the white, frenzied\nfaces that with bared teeth stared up at that sight, silenced at last by\nthe thunder of _Pange Lingua_, and the radiance of those who passed out\nto eternal life.... At the corner he turned for an instant to see the\nsix pale flames move along a dozen yards behind, as spear-heads about a\nKing, and in the midst the silver rays and the White Heart of God....\nThen he was out, and the battle lay in array....\n\nThat sky on which he had looked an hour ago had passed from darkness\ncharged with light to light overlaid with darkness--from glimmering\nnight to Wrathful Day--and that light was red....\n\nFrom behind Thabor on the left to Carmel on the far right, above the\nhills twenty miles away rested an enormous vault of colour; here were no\ngradations from zenith to horizon; all was the one deep smoulder of\ncrimson as of the glow of iron. It was such a colour as men have seen at\nsunsets after rain, while the clouds, more translucent each instant,\ntransmit the glory they cannot contain. Here, too, was the sun, pale as\nthe Host, set like a fragile wafer above the Mount of Transfiguration,\nand there, far down in the west where men had once cried upon Baal in\nvain, hung the sickle of the white moon. Yet all was no more than\nstained light that lies broken across carven work of stone....\n\n_... In suprema nocte coena,_\n\nsang the myriad voices,\n\n_Recumbens cum fratribus\nObservata lege plena\nCibis in legalibus\nCibum turbae duodenae\nSe dat suis manibus ...._\n\nHe saw, too, poised as motes in light, that ring of strange\nfish-creatures, white as milk, except where the angry glory turned their\nbacks to flame, white-winged like floating moths, from the tiny shape\nfar to the south to the monster at hand scarcely five hundred yards\naway; and even as he looked, singing as he looked, he understood that\nthe circle was nearer, and perceived that these as yet knew nothing....\n\n_Verbum caro, panem verum\nVerbo carnem efficit ....\n\nThey were nearer still, until now even at his feet there slid along the\nground the shadow of a monstrous bird, pale and undefined, as between\nthe wan sun and himself moved out the vast shape that a moment ago hung\nabove the Hill.... Then again it backed across and waited ...\n\n_Et si census deficit\nAd formandum cor sincerum\nSola fides sufficit ...._\n\nHe had halted and turned, going in the midst of his fellows, hearing,\nhe thought, the thrill of harping and the throb of heavenly drums; and,\nacross the space, moved now the six flames, steady as if cut of steel in\nthat stupendous poise of heaven and earth; and in their centre the\nsilver-rayed glory and the Whiteness of God made Man....\n\n... Then, with a roar, came the thunder again, pealing in circle beyond\ncircle of those tremendous Presences--Thrones and Powers--who,\nthemselves to the world as substance to shadow, are but shadows again\nbeneath the apex and within the ring of Absolute Deity.... The thunder\nbroke loose, shaking the earth that now cringed on the quivering edge of\ndissolution....\n\nTANTUM ERGO SACRAMENTUM\nVENEREMUR CERNUI\nET ANTIQUUM DOCUMENTUM\nNOVO CEDAT RITUI.\n\nAh! yes; it was He for whom God waited now--He who far up beneath that\ntrembling shadow of a dome, itself but the piteous core of unimagined\nsplendour, came in His swift chariot, blind to all save that on which He\nhad fixed His eyes so long, unaware that His world corrupted about Him,\nHis shadow moving like a pale cloud across the ghostly plain where\nIsrael had fought and Sennacherib boasted--that plain lighted now with a\nyet deeper glow, as heaven, kindling to glory beyond glory of yet\nfiercer spiritual flame, still restrained the power knit at last to the\nrelief of final revelation, and for the last time the voices sang....\n\nPRAESTET FIDES SUPPLEMENTUM\nSENSUUM DEFECTUI ....\n\n... He was coming now, swifter than ever, the heir of temporal ages and\nthe Exile of eternity, the final piteous Prince of rebels, the creature\nagainst God, blinder than the sun which paled and the earth that shook;\nand, as He came, passing even then through the last material stage to\nthe thinness of a spirit-fabric, the floating circle swirled behind Him,\ntossing like phantom birds in the wake of a phantom ship.... He was\ncoming, and the earth, rent once again in its allegiance, shrank and\nreeled in the agony of divided homage....\n\n... He was coming--and already the shadow swept off the plain and\nvanished, and the pale netted wings were rising to the cheek; and the\ngreat bell clanged, and the long sweet chord rang out--not more than\nwhispers heard across the pealing storm of everlasting praise....\n\n.... GENITORI GENITOQUE\nLAUS ET JUBILATIO\nSALUS HONOR VIRTUS QUOQUE\nSIT ET BENEDICTIO\nPROCEDENTI AB UTROQUE\nCOMPAR SIT LAUDATIO.\n\nand once more\n\nPROCEDENTI AB UTROQUE\nCOMPAR SIT LAUDATIO ....\n\nThen this world passed, and the glory of it.\n\nTHE END","title":"Lord of the World","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":99972}