{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_40571/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_40571","id":"gutenberg_40571","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40571","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian fiction","England -- Fiction"],"text":"THE ANGEL\n\n                       BY GUY THORNE\n\n    Author of \"When It Was Dark,\" \"Made in His Image,\"\n              \"First It Was Ordained,\" Etc.\n\n\n    G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY\n    PUBLISHERS      NEW YORK\n\n    Copyright, 1908, by\n    G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nI do not think a book of this sort requires a very lengthy foreword, but\none or two things I feel it necessary to say concerning it. In the first\nplace, I have to thank Mr. Hamilton Edwards for many valuable\nsuggestions concerning it, suggestions which, undoubtedly, helped me\nvery much in the writing.\n\nThe story is an attempt to impress upon readers the fact that we are,\nwithout doubt, surrounded on our way through life by unseen presences,\nunseen intelligences, which guard or attack that real portion of us\nwhich is ourselves--the soul.\n\nSuperficially, but only superficially, this is a very material age. We\nare surrounded by so many material wonders that the unthinking person is\ninclined to believe, at any rate to state, that the material is\neverything. Yet there is nothing more unsatisfying than the purely\nmaterial aspect of life, after all.\n\nHow can any one be surprised if the ordinary man is perplexed when he is\ncalled upon to decide questions of economy and morality, when the\nmaterial point of view is all that he can see? For all questions of\nmorality must necessarily depend--as long ago Plato pointed out--upon a\nbelief in something which we cannot touch or see. Otherwise, morality\nhas no significance and no meaning, except that of expediency.\n\nIf, when our body dies, our personality stops, then I can see no\nlogical reason whatever for trying to be good. To get all this life in\nitself has to offer by means of any sort--provided they do not entail\npersonal discomfort--is the logical philosophy of the materialist. Yet\nthe materialist, at the same time, is very frequently an honest and\ngood-living man. This is not _because_ he is a materialist, for there is\nno reason for being honest, unless one is found out in one's dishonesty,\nbut because there is implanted within that soul which he denies a spark\nof the Divine Fire.\n\nOf course, amongst thinking and really educated men and women,\nmaterialism is as out-moded as the bow and arrow in modern warfare, yet\nthe majority of people do not think very much, nor are they well\neducated.\n\nThis story is an endeavour to point out that people who assert nowadays\nthat Matthew Arnold's dogma, \"miracles do not happen,\" are hopelessly\nout of the run of modern thought.\n\nMen like Sir Oliver Lodge are laboriously discovering some of the laws\nof the Universe which give us portents and signs. No one who knows\nto-day dares to sneer at parthenogenesis, or to repeat the slander of\nCelsus about the Mother of God. It is only men who do not know, and men\nwho have grown rusty in reposing on their past reputations, who cannot\nsee that Materialism as a philosophy is dead.\n\nDay by day fresh evidence of the power of the Spirit over Matter bursts\nupon us. A plea for \"philosophic doubt,\" for Professor Huxley's\ninfallibility, is no longer necessary. The very distinction between\nMatter and Spirit grows more and more difficult as Science develops\nanalytical power. The minds of men are being again prepared to receive\nthat supreme revelation which told of the wedding of the earth and\nHeaven, the taking of the Manhood into God.\n\nThe processes by which the hero of this story--Joseph--became what he\nwas have been carefully thought out, in order to provide an opportunity\nfor those who read the story, to get near to the explanation of some of\nthose psychical truths which need not necessarily be supernatural, but\nonly supernormal. It seems to me the wildest of folly to say that\nbecause a thing is not capable of being explained by the laws of Nature\nas we know them, that it is _above_ the laws of Nature. Every week is a\nwitness to the fact that the laws of Nature are only imperfectly known\nby us, and therefore, to say that anything is _outside_ Nature is, to\nput it plainly, simply nonsense.\n\nFor Nature does not exist, nor is there any possibility that it has ever\nexisted, without a Controlling Power which created it.\n\nAt the very end of his famous and wonderful life, Lord Kelvin himself\nstated it as his unalterable opinion, after all the investigations he\nhad made into the primary causes of phenomena as we know them, that the\nonly possible explanation was that a Controlling Intelligence animated\nand produced them all.\n\nI was reading a few days ago one of a series of weekly articles which an\neminent modern scientist, Sir Ray Lankester, is writing in a famous\nnewspaper. He was speaking of Darwin and \"The Origin of Species,\" and\nhe seemed to imagine that the great discovery of Darwin finally disposed\nof the truth of the first chapter of Genesis, as we have it in the pages\nof the Holy Bible. Surely nothing was ever more limited than such a view\nas this! God manifests Himself in His own way, at His own time, and in a\nfashion which is modified and adjusted to the intelligences and\nopportunities of those who live at the time of this or that Revelation\nin the progressive scheme of Revelation itself. To say that because\nmodern science has proved that God did not, as a human potter or\nmodeller of clay would do, make the whole of living things in full\nbeing, and at a definite time, that therefore the Bible is untrue, is\nsimply the blindness of those who do not realize that Truth must often\nwear a robe to hide its glory from the eyes of those who are unable to\nappreciate its full splendour and magnificence.\n\nIf we are descended or evolved from primeval protoplasm, as I for one am\nquite prepared to believe, one simply goes back to the simple\nquestion--\"Who made the protoplasm?\"\n\nIt is no use. We cannot get away, try as we will, from the fact of God,\nand we cannot also get away from the fact of the Incarnation, when God\nrevealed Himself more fully than ever before, and when God Himself\nbecame Man.\n\nMy idea in this story is to show that, by means of processes of which we\nhave at present but little idea, a man may be drained and emptied, under\nspecial circumstances, of himself and the influences of his past life,\nand be made as a vessel for the special in-pouring of the Holy Spirit.\n\nThe death of Lluellyn Lys for Joseph, the mysterious interplay of a soul\ngoing, and meeting on its way, another soul about to go into the\nUnknown, aided by the special dispensation of God, might, I think, well\nproduce some such supernormal being as the Joseph of this tale. Perhaps\nan angel, one of those mysterious beings--whom Christians believe to be\nthe forces and the messengers of God--may have animated Joseph in his\nmission, without entirely destroying or obscuring his personality. Be\nthis as it may, I offer this story as an effort to attract my readers'\nminds towards a consideration of the Unseen which is all around us, and\nwhich--more probably than not--is the real world, after all, and one in\nwhich we, as we are now, walk as phantoms and simulacrums of what we\nshall one day be in the glorious hereafter.\n\n\nGUY THORNE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Angel\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nAND GOD SPAKE----\n\n\nTwo men stood outside a bird-fancier's shop in the East End of London.\nThe shop was not far from the docks, and had a great traffic with\nsailors. Tiny emerald and gamboge love-birds squawked in their cages,\nthere was a glass box of lizards with eyes like live rubies set in the\nshop window, while a hideous little ape--chained to a hook--clattered in\nan impish frenzy.\n\nOutside the shop door hung a cage containing a huge parrot, and it was\nthis at which the two men were looking.\n\nHampson, a little wrinkled man in very shabby clothes, but of a brave\nand confident aspect, pointed to the parrot.\n\n\"I wonder if it talks?\" he said.\n\nImmediately upon his words the grey bird, its watchful eye gleaming with\nmischievous fire, began a stream of disconnected words and sentences,\nvery voluble, very rapid, and very clear.\n\nHampson shuddered.\n\n\"Do you know, Joseph,\" he said, \"I am always afraid when I hear that\nsound--that noise of a bird talking human words. To me, there is no more\ndreadful sound in the world.\"\n\nHampson's companion, a taller and much more considerable man, looked at\nthe little fellow with surprise.\n\n\"Afraid?\" he said. \"Why should you be afraid? The sound is grotesque,\nand nothing more. Has hunger completed her work, and privation conquered\nat last? Are your nerves going?\"\n\n\"Never better, my dear Joseph,\" the little man replied cheerfully. \"It\nwill take a long time to knock me out. It's you I'm afraid about. But to\nreturn to the parrot. Has it ever struck you that in all nature the\nvoice of a bird that has been taught to speak is unique? There is no\nother sound even remotely resembling it. We hear a voice using human\nwords, and, in this instance, and this alone, we hear the spoken words\nof a thing that has no soul!\"\n\nThe other man started.\n\n\"How fantastic you are,\" he said impatiently. \"The thing has a brain,\nhasn't it? You have in a larger and far more developed measure exactly\nwhat that bird has; so have I. But that is all. Soul! There is no such\nthing!\"\n\nThe bird in the cage had caught the word, which excited its mechanical\nand oral memory to the repetition of one of its stock phrases.\n\n\"Soul! Soul! 'Pon my soul, that's too good. Ha, ha, ha!\" said the\nparrot.\n\n\"Polly differs, apparently,\" Hampson said drily, as they moved on down\nthe Commercial Road; \"but what a hopeless materialist you are, Joseph.\nYou go back to the dogmatism of the pre-Socratic philosophers or voice\nthe drab materialism of the modern animal man who thinks with his skin.\nYet you've read your Plato!--you observe that I carefully refrain from\nbringing in Christian philosophy even! You believe in nothing that you\nhave not touched or handled. Because you can't find the soul at a\npost-mortem examination of the body you at once go and say there is no\nsuch thing. Scholars and men of science like you seem astonishingly\nblind to the value of evidence when it comes to religious matters. You,\nmy dear Joseph, have never seen India. Yet you know a place called India\nexists. How do you know it? Simply through the evidence of other people\nwho have been there. You have just as much right to tell the captain of\na P. & O. steamer that what he thought was Calcutta was merely a\ndelusion as to tell me or any other professing Christian that there is\nno such thing as the Kingdom of Heaven! Well, I must be off; I have a\nbit of work to do that may bring in a few shillings. There may be dinner\nto-night, Joseph!\"\n\nWith a quick smile, Hampson turned down a side street and was gone. The\nman called Joseph continued his way, walking slowly and listlessly, his\nhead sunk upon his breast in thought.\n\nThe teeming life of the great artery of East London went on all round\nhim; but he saw nothing of it. A Chinaman, with a yellow, wrinkled face,\njostled up against him, and he did not know it; a bloated girl, in a\nstained plush blouse, wine-coloured like her face, and with an immense\nnecklace of false pearls, coughed out some witticism as he passed; a\nhooligan surveyed him at leisure, decided that there could be nothing\nworth stealing upon him, and strolled away whistling a popular tune--one\nand all were no more to the wanderer than a dream, some dream\ndim-panelled upon the painted scenes of sleep.\n\nShabbily dressed as he was, there was yet something about the man which\nattracted attention. He drew the eye. He was quite unlike any one else.\nOne could not say of him, \"Here is an Englishman,\" or \"There is a\nGerman.\" He would have looked like a foreigner--something alien from the\ncrowd--in any country to which he went.\n\nJoseph's age was probably about thirty-three, but time and sorrow had\netched and graven upon his face a record of harsh experience which made\nhim seem much older.\n\nThe cheeks were gashed and furrowed with thought. Looking carefully at\nhim, one would have discovered that he was a distinctly handsome man.\nThe mouth was strong and manly in its curves, though there was something\ngentle and compassionate in it also. The nose was Greek, straight and\nclearly cut; the hair thick, and of a dark reddish-brown. But the wonder\nof the man's face lay in his eyes. These were large and lustrous; full\nof changing light in their dark and almost Eastern depth. They were\nthose rare eyes which seem to be lit up from within as if illuminated by\nthe lamp of the soul.\n\nSoul! Yes, it was that of which those eyes told in an extraordinary and\nalmost overwhelming measure.\n\nThe soul is not a sort of fixed essence, as people are apt to forget. It\nis a fluid thing, and expands or contracts according to the life of its\nowner. We do not, for example, see any soul in the eyes of a gross,\nover-fed, and sensual man. Yet this very man in the Commercial Road, who\ndenied the very existence of the soul with convinced and impatient\nmockery, was himself, in appearance, at any rate, one of those rare\nbeings of whom we say, \"That man is all soul.\"\n\nThe man's full name was Joseph Bethune. To the tiny circle of his\nfriends and acquaintances he was simply Joseph. If they had ever known\nhis surname, they had forgotten it. He was one of those men who are\nalways called by their Christian names because, whatever their\ncircumstances may be, they are real, accepted, and unquestioned facts in\nthe lives of their friends.\n\nJoseph Bethune's history, to which he never referred, had been, up to\nthe present, drab, monotonous, and dismal. When an event had occurred it\nwas another failure, and he could point to no red-letter days in his\ncareer. Joseph had never known either father or mother. Both had died\nduring his infancy, leaving him in the care of guardians.\n\nHis father had been a pastor of the Methodist sect--a man of singular\nholiness of life and deep spiritual fervour. Possessed of some private\nmeans, he had been able to leave a sufficient sum for his son's\neducation upon a generous and liberal scale.\n\nThe boy's guardians were distant relatives in each case. One was a\nclergyman, the other a prosperous London solicitor. The strange,\nstudious child, quiet, dreamy, and devoted to his books, found himself\nout of touch with both.\n\nThe clergyman was a Low Churchman, but of the worst type. There was\nnothing of the tolerant outlook and strong evangelical piety of a\nRobertson in Mr. St. John. He was as narrow as his creed, condemning all\nthat he had not experienced, or could not understand, hating the devil\nmore than he loved God. If he had been sent to the rack he could not\nhave truthfully confessed to an original thought.\n\nJoseph Bethune was sent to an English public school of good, though not\nof first, rank. Here he was unpopular, and made no friends. His nature\nwas too strong, and, even as a boy, his personality too striking, for\nhim to experience any actual physical discomfort from his unpopularity.\nHe was never bullied, and no one interfered with him; but he remained\nutterly lonely.\n\nIn contradiction of the usual custom in the English public school of his\nday, Hamilton possessed splendid laboratories, and great attention was\npaid to modern science and mathematics.\n\nOf these advantages Joseph Bethune availed himself to the full. His\ntemper of mind was accurate and inquiring, and though his manner was\ndreamy and abstracted, it was the romance of science over which he\npored; the cold, glacial heights of the higher mathematics among which\nhis imagination roamed.\n\nHe gained a scholarship at Cambridge, lived a retired and monotonous\nlife of work, shunning the natural and innocent amusements of youth\nwhile at the university, and was bracketed Third Wrangler as a result of\nhis degree examination.\n\nBy this time his moderate patrimony was nearly exhausted, though, of\ncourse, his success in the schools had placed many lucrative posts\nwithin his reach. He had actually been offered a fellowship and a\ntutorial post at his own college, when he wrecked his university career\nby an extraordinary and quite unexpected proceeding.\n\nAt a great meeting in the Corn Exchange, convened by the Bishop of\nLondon for a discussion of certain vexed questions of the Christian\nfaith, Joseph Bethune rose, and, in a speech of some fifteen minutes'\nduration, delivered an impassioned condemnation of Christianity,\nconcluding with a fierce avowal of his disbelief in God, and in anything\nbut the purely material.\n\nWe are tolerant enough nowadays. The red horror of the Inquisition has\ndeparted, and men are no longer \"clothed in a shirt of living fire\" for\na chance word. A \"Protestant\" ruler no longer hangs the priests of the\nItalian Mission for saying the Mass. Any one is at liberty to believe\nwhat he pleases. But men about to occupy official positions must not\nbawl unadulterated atheism from the housetops.\n\nThe offence was too flagrant, the offer of the fellowship was withdrawn,\nand Joseph, so far as Cambridge was concerned, was ruined.\n\nIt is perfectly true that there were many people who believed exactly as\nhe did. They sympathized with him, but in secret, and no word or hint of\ntheir sympathy ever reached him. He had done the unpardonable thing: he\nhad dared to speak out his thoughts, and men of the world do not care to\nchampion openly one who is publicly disgraced.\n\nThe news got about in many quarters. The man was not an\n\"agnostic\"--polite and windy word! But he was an atheist! Terrible word,\nrecalling shuddering memories of Tom Paine and Bradlaugh even in the\nminds of men and women who themselves believed in nothing at all. Some\nmen would have only been locally harmed by such an episode as this. But\nBethune's case was peculiar, and it ruined him.\n\nHe had nothing to sell in any market but the academic. He was a born\nlecturer; demonstrator of scientific truth. But he had just overstepped\nthe limit allowed in even these liberal times. Moreover, he was too\nyoung. Such a speech as he had made, had it been delivered at sixty,\nwith a long and distinguished record behind the speaker, would have been\nregarded as a valuable and interesting contribution to modern thought.\nIt might even have been taken as a sort of fifth Gospel--the Gospel\naccording to St. Thomas the Doubter!\n\nJoseph, however, was done for.\n\nHe disappeared from the university. His name was no more heard, and\nafter the traditional nine days was utterly forgotten.\n\nIt is true that three or four men who saw further than their fellows\nrealized that a force, a potential but very real force, had departed.\nSome one who, as they believed, was to have done extraordinary things\nwas now crushed and robbed of his power. They perceived that virtue had\ndeparted from the intellectual garment that shelters the men who _can_!\n\nJoseph tried, and tried in vain, to make such a living as his vast\nmental acquirements and achievements entitled him to. Obscure\ntutorships, ill-paid lecturing to coteries of cock-cure Socialists, who\nbelieved in nothing but their chances of getting a slice of the wealth\nof men who had worked, and not merely talked--these were his dismal and\npitiful endeavours.\n\nHe came at last to the very lowest pitch of all. He, the high wrangler,\nthe eminent young mathematician, earned a squalid and horribly\nprecarious living by teaching elementary science to the sons of\nstruggling East End shopkeepers who were ambitious of County Council\nscholarships for their progeny.\n\nHis health was impaired, but his spirit was as a reed bruised and shaken\nby the winds of adversity, yet not broken. He had known sorrow, was\nacquainted with grief.\n\nHe had plumbed the depths of poverty, and his body was a wreck. Want of\nfood--the mean and squalid resting-places he had perforce to seek--the\ndegradation and vileness of his surroundings, had sapped the life blood.\nHe did not know the defiant trumpet words of a poet of our time, but had\nhe done so, they would have well expressed his attitude--\n\n    Out of the night that covers me,\n      Black as the pit from pole to pole,\n    I thank whatever gods may be\n      For my unconquerable soul.\n    In the fell clutch of circumstance\n      I have not winced nor cried aloud;\n    Under the bludgeonings of chance\n      My head is bloody but unbowed.\n\nHe turned off into a by-street, and walked on till he came to the docks.\nHis progress was quite aimless. Once he stopped and wearily asked\nhimself whither he was going; but the next moment he was lost in\nthought, and moved on again.\n\nOnce he stumbled over a steel hawser. He nearly lost his balance, and\nhad his arm not shot out with an involuntary movement to clutch the\nbollard on his left, he would have fallen over the granite-bound edge of\nthe wharf into the foul, black, slimy depths below.\n\nHardly giving a thought to the danger he had just escaped, he moved on\nand on.\n\nThrough open sheds--where freight was heaped up waiting the onslaught of\nstevedores and labourers--across jutting portions of cobbled space and\nshunting grounds, he came to a remote corner, far removed from the\nrattle of cranes and the shouts of the workmen.\n\nSomething drew him out of himself, and fixed his attention. It was a\nshadow. It caught his gaze, and his eyes became fixed on it. He knew\nthat a shadow was only the phenomenon produced when streams of radiant\nenergy are intercepted by an object which is unable to transmit them.\nHis scientific training had taught him that even _sound_ shadows may be\nproduced, though to recognize the existence of them the ear must pass\nfrom the unshadowed to the shadowed part. Perhaps it was a symbol! He\nhimself was in darkness and shadow. Would his ear ever catch those\nmysterious harmonies that come to those who suffer?--Hampson heard\nthem....\n\nA woman crept stealthily behind the wall, and the shadow disappeared.\n\nThe woman bore a burden; what it was he could not see. But she held it\nclose to her breast with the tense clasp of some fierce emotion.\n\nShe had not noticed the dreamer. She stopped by some steps leading down\nto the waters of a small section of the dock.\n\nJoseph sat down on a capstan and looked steadily at her.\n\nThe woman unclasped the burden she bore, drew aside a part of the\ncovering, and kissed--a baby face. He knew at once what she was doing.\nShe was bidding it good-bye. She was going to drown it.\n\n\"And they say that there is a God,\" Joseph thought. \"A conscious\nIntelligence that directs human affairs. Even Lord Kelvin himself\nthought so! Yet God does nothing to save this woman from her sin--or\nrather crime!\"\n\nHe gazed fiercely. Those eyes, through which his rebellious\nunconquerable soul shone out, caught the startled stare of the woman as\nshe saw the strange man who watched her.\n\nThe man said nothing. The woman thought: \"If he prevents me now, I\nshall--I must do it later. He can't change me. If he gives me in charge\nhe can't prove it. I've done nothing yet.\"\n\nYet she looked again, and this time did not turn away.\n\nA strange magnetism which seemed to run through her, projected from\nthose eyes, was making even her finger-tips tingle as with a new\nsensation, and one she had never known before. Her purpose melted and\ndissolved in that flow of more than electric influence; it changed as\nfire changes a material thing. It melted like snow before the radiant\nenergy of the sun.\n\nSlowly she unwrapped the bundle. The paper, the cloth wrappings she\nthrew into the black and oily water, but the child she clasped to her\nbreast.\n\n\"My baby,\" she murmured, very quietly, but in tones that pierced the\ntense atmosphere and reached Joseph's ear. \"I bore you in shame, and was\nabout to kill you to save you from shame like mine; but I will bear my\ncross and love you for the sake of Jesus. Amen.\"\n\nShe stole away, trembling. There was a great fear and wonder at her\nheart, and the watcher saw no more.\n\nJoseph smiled bitterly. His brain seemed some detached thing, a theatre\nupon the stage of which wild thoughts were the conflicting actors and\nhis sub-conscious intelligence the spectator.\n\nThe simile of the shadow returned to him, and was it not all a\nshadow--this dark, unhappy life of his? The words \"radiant energy,\" the\nwords \"God\" \"conscious force\" danced before him. The whole sentient\nworld was reeling--the blood that fed the grey matter of his brain was\npoor and thin--this was the reason.\n\nYet, was it the reason, after all? What had happened to him in the last\nfew minutes? He felt as he had never in his whole life felt before.\nThere was a sense of extraordinary impotence. Something had come into\nhim; something had gone out of him.\n\nNo!--something had gone _through_ him--that was the way to describe it\nto himself....\n\nOh for food, rich nourishing food, quiet and fresh air--then all this\nsickness would go....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJoseph left the docks, and was soon back in the teeming Commercial Road.\nHe walked, lost in thought, unconscious of all his surroundings.\n\n\"Nah, then, Monkey Brand, 'oo y'r shovin'? I can see y'r gettin' a thick\near, young feller-my-lad. Owns the bloomin' pyvement--\"\n\nA string of obscene oaths and the above words brought Joseph the dreamer\ndown to earth again--the world of the Commercial Road.\n\nHe had stumbled against a typical bullet-headed, wicked-eyed East End\nrough.\n\nThe man stepped close up to Joseph, lifting an impudent and dirty face,\nholding the right arm ready to strike the short, jabbing blow so dear to\nthe hooligan.\n\nThen a strange thing happened.\n\nJoseph, roused so suddenly and rudely from his bitter reverie, became\naware of what was toward. He was about to apologize to the man when his\nwords were checked in his mouth by the fellow's filthy profanity. Joseph\nsuddenly, instead of speaking, turned his full face to him. The great,\nblazing eyes, their brilliancy accentuated a hundred times by hunger and\nscorn, seemed to cleave their way through the thick skull of the\naggressor, to pierce the muddy and besotted brain within, to strike fear\ninto the small leathern heart.\n\nThe man lifted his arm and covered his face, just like a street child\nwho expects a blow; and then with a curious sound, half whimper, half\nsnarl, turned and made off in a moment.\n\nIt was an extraordinary instance of magnetic power inherent in this\nstarving scholar who roamed the streets in a sad dream.\n\nOn his own part, Joseph's action had been quite unconscious. He had no\nthought of the force stored up in him as in an electric accumulator.\nSome experiments in animal magnetism he had certainly made, when he had\ntaken a passing interest in the subject at Cambridge. He had cured his\n\"gyp\" of a bad attack of neuralgia once, or at least the man said he\nhad, but that was as far as it had gone.\n\nHe turned his steps towards the stifling attic he called \"home.\" After\nall, he was better there than in the streets. Besides, he was using up\nwhat little strength remained to him in this aimless wandering.\n\nHe had eaten nothing that day, but at nine in the evening he had a\nlesson to give. This would mean a shilling, and there were two more\nowing from his pupil, so that even if Hampson, who lived in the next\ngarret, failed to get any money, both might eat ere they slept.\n\nAs he turned into the court and began to mount the stairs, Joseph\nthought with an involuntary sigh of \"hall\" at Cambridge, the groaning\ntables, the generous fare, the comely and gracious life of it all.\n\nAnd he had thrown it all away--for what? Just for the privilege of\nspeaking out his thoughts, thoughts which nobody particularly wanted to\nhear.\n\nWith a sigh of exhaustion he sat down on the miserable little bed under\nthe rafters, and stared out of the dirty window over the roofs of\nWhitechapel.\n\nHad he been right, after all? Was it worth while to do as he had done,\nto give up all for the truth that was in him. The old spirit of revolt\nawoke. Yes, he had been right a thousand times! No man must act or live\na lie.\n\nBut supposing it _was_ all true? Supposing there was a God after all.\nSupposing that the Christ upon whom that woman had called so glibly\nreally was the Saviour of mankind? Then--The thought fell upon his\nconsciousness like a blow from a whip.\n\nHe leapt to his feet in something like fear.\n\n\"It's this physical exhaustion,\" he said to himself aloud, trying to\nfind an anodyne to thought in the sound of his own voice. \"My brain is\nstarved for want of blood. No one can live as I have been living and\nretain a sane judgment. It was because the hermits of old starved\nthemselves in the desert that they saw visions. Yet it is odd that I, of\nall men, should weaken thus. I must go out into the streets again, come\nwhat may. The mind feeds upon itself and conjures up wild and foolish\nthoughts in a horrible little box like this.\"\n\nWith a heavy sigh he went slowly out of the room and down the steep\nstairs. Never in all his life had he felt so lost and hopeless; so alone\nand deserted.\n\nAnother man in his position would have called out upon God, either with\nmad and puny revilings in that He had forsaken him, or with a last\npiteous cry for help.\n\nJoseph did not believe in God.\n\nAll his life he had lived without God. He had ignored the love of the\nFather and the necessity of faith in His Son Jesus Christ. The temple of\nhis body was all empty of the Paraclete. Now he felt sure that there was\nno God; never had been any God; never would be any God.\n\nHe was at the darkest hour of all, and yet, with a strange nervous\nforce, he clenched one lean hand until the shrunken muscle sprang up in\ncoils upon the back of it, resolving that come what might he would not\ngive in. There was no God, only a blind giant, Circumstance--well, he\nwould fight that!\n\nHis mental attitude was a curious one, curiously illogical. Keen and\nwell-balanced as the scientific side of him was, the man--like all those\nwho openly profess disbelief--was unable to see what might almost be\ncalled the grim humor of his attitude.\n\n\"I do not believe in God!\" the atheist cries, and then immediately\nafterwards shakes his fist at the Almighty and bids Him to do His worst!\n\nMan challenging God! There is no more grotesque and terrible thing in\nhuman life than this.\n\nBut, as the world knows now, God had a special purpose in his dealings\nwith this man.\n\nAll unconscious of what was to befall him, of his high destiny to come,\nJoseph walked aimlessly in Whitechapel, cursing in his heart the God in\nwhom he did not believe, and yet who had already chosen him to be the\ncentre and head of mighty issues.... A channel as we may think now....\n\nWe may well believe that each single step that Joseph took was known and\nregulated by unseen hands, voices which were unheard by ear or brain,\nbut which the unconscious and sleeping soul nevertheless obeyed.\n\nAt last the Almighty spoke, and the first link in the chain of His\nmysterious operations was forged.\n\nJoseph was walking slowly past a great building which was in course of\nerection or alteration. A network of scaffolding rose up into the smoky,\ndun-colored sky.\n\nThe clipping of steel chisels upon stone, the echoing noise of falling\nplanks, the hoarse voices of the workmen as they called to each other\nhigh up on their insecure perches, all rose above the deep diapason note\nof the traffic in a welter of sharply-defined sound.\n\nJoseph stepped upon the pavement beneath the busy works. He was, he\nnoticed, just opposite the office of the small East End newspaper for\nwhich Hampson, the poor, half-starved, but cheery little journalist did\noccasional jobs.\n\nHampson--good, kind, little Hampson! It was pleasant to think of him,\nand as he did so Joseph's thoughts lost their bitterness for a moment.\nOnly the utterly vile can contemplate real unassuming goodness and\nunselfishness without a certain warming of the heart.\n\nHampson was only half educated--he had the very greatest difficulty in\nmaking a living, yet he was always bright and happy, ever illuminated by\nsome inward joy.\n\nEven as he thought of Hampson--almost his only friend--Joseph saw the\nman himself coming out of the narrow doorway. Hampson saw the scholar at\nonce in his quick, bird-like way, and waved his hand with a significant\nand triumphant gesture.\n\nThere was to be dinner, then!\n\nIt was not so. The two poor friends were not to share a humble meal\ntogether on that night, at any rate.\n\nHigh above Joseph's head, two planks were being slowly hauled upwards to\nthe topmost part of the scaffolding. They were secured by the usual\nhalter knot round the centre. The noose, however, had slipped, as the\nrope was a new one, and the two heavy pieces of timber hung downwards\nwith the securing tie perilously near the upper end.\n\nThere was a sudden shout of alarm which sent a hundred startled faces\npeering upwards and then the planks fell right upon the man who stood\nbeneath, crushing him to the ground, face downwards, like a broken blade\nof grass.\n\nWith the magic celerity which is part of the psychology of crowds, a\nring of excited people sprang round the crushed, motionless figure, as\nif at the bidding of a magician's wand.\n\nWilling hands began to lift the great beams from it. Hampson had been\none of the first to see and realize the accident.\n\nHe was by the side of his friend in three or four seconds after the\nplanks had struck him down. And he saw something that, even in his\nhorror and excitement, sent a strange inexplicable throb through his\nblood and made all his pulses drum with a sense of quickening, of\nnearness to the Unseen, such as he had never experienced in all his life\nbefore.\n\nIt is given to those who are very near to God to see visions, sometimes\nto draw very close to the Great Veil.\n\nThe two planks of timber had fallen over Joseph's back in the exact form\nof the Cross. To the little journalist, if to no one else in the\nrapidly-gathering crowd, the wood and the bowed figure below it brought\nback the memory of a great picture he had seen, a picture of the Via\nDolorosa, when Jesus fainted and fell under the weight He bore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\"SOMETHING MARVELLOUS IS GOING TO HAPPEN\"\n\n\nIn the drawing-room of a house in Berkeley Square, Lady Kirwan--the wife\nof Sir Augustus Kirwan, the great banker--was arguing with her niece,\nMary Lys.\n\nThe elder lady was tall and stately, and although not aggressive in any\nway, her manner was distinctly that of one accustomed to rule. Her\nsteady grey eyes and curved, rather beak-like nose gave her an aspect of\nsternness which was genially relieved by a large, good-humored mouth. At\nfifty, Lady Kirwan's hair was still dark and glossy, and time had dealt\nvery gently with her.\n\nOf the old Welsh family of Lys, now bereft of all its great heritage of\nthe past, but with a serene and lofty pride in its great name still, she\nhad married Sir Augustus, then Mr. Kirwan, in early girlhood. As the\nyears went on, and her husband's vast wealth grew vaster still, and he\nrose to be one of the financial princes of the world, Lady Kirwan became\na very prominent figure in society, and at fifty she had made herself\none of the hundred people who really rule it.\n\nOne daughter, Marjorie, was born to Sir Augustus and his wife, a beauty,\nand one of the most popular girls in society.\n\n\"You may say what you like, but I have no patience at all with either\nyou or your crack-brained brother, Mary!\" Lady Kirwan exclaimed, with an\nirritable rapping of her fingers upon a little lapis lazuli table at her\nside.\n\nMary Lys was a tall girl, dressed in the blue uniform of a hospital\nnurse. The cloak was thrown back over her shoulders, and its scarlet\nlining threw up the perfect oval contour of her face and the glorious\nmasses of black hair that crowned it. If Marjorie Kirwan was generally\nsaid to be one of the prettiest girls in London--and the couple of\nmillions she would inherit by no means detracted from her good\nlooks--certainly Mary Lys might have been called one of the most\nbeautiful.\n\nThe perfect lips, graver than the lips of most girls, almost maternal in\ntheir gentleness, formed, as it were, the just complement to the great\ngrey eyes, with their long dark lashes and delicately-curved black\nbrows. The chin was broad and firm, but very womanly, and over all that\nlovely face brooded a holy peace, a high serenity, and a watchful\ntenderness that one sees in the pictures of the old masters when they\ndrew the pious maids and matrons who followed the footsteps of Our Lord\non earth.\n\nHer beauty was not the sort of beauty which would attract every one. It\nwas, indeed, physical beauty in perfection, but irradiated also by\nloveliness of soul. The common-minded man who prefers the conscious and\nvulgar prettiness of some theatre girl, posed for the lens of the camera\nor the admiring glances of the crowd, would have said:--\n\n\"Oh, yes, she's beautiful, of course! One can't help admitting that. But\nshe's not my style a bit. Give me something with a little more life in\nit.\"\n\nBut there were not wanting many men and women who said that they had\nthought that the mother of the Saviour must have looked like Mary Lys.\n\n\"No! I've really no patience with either of you!\" Lady Kirwan repeated.\n\n\"But, Aunt Ethel, surely we ought to live our own lives. I am quite\nhappy with my nursing in the East End. One can't do more good than by\ntrying to nurse and cure the sick, can one? And Lluellyn is happy also\nin his Welsh mountains. He lives a very saintly life, auntie--a life of\nprayer and preaching and good works, even if it is unconventional and\nseems strange to you. I would not have it otherwise. Lluellyn is not\nsuited for the modern world.\"\n\n\"Fiddlesticks, Mary!\" Lady Kirwan answered. \"'Modern world,' indeed! You\nspeak as if you said 'Modern pestilence'! Who made the world, I should\nlike to know? And what right have you and your brother to despise it?\nI'm sick of all this nonsense. How a girl with your looks and of your\nblood, for there is hardly a peer in England with such a pedigree as\nthat of our family, can go on grubbing away nursing horrible people with\nhorrible diseases in that dreadful East End I can't possibly imagine.\nYou've no money, of course, for your two hundred a year is a mere\nnothing. But what does that matter? Haven't your uncle and I more than\nwe know what to do with? Marjorie has already an enormous fortune\nsettled upon her. She is almost certain to marry the Duke of Dover next\nseason. Well, what do we offer you--you and Lluellyn? You are to be as\nour second daughter. We will give you everything that a girl can have in\nthis world. You shall share in our wealth as if you were my own\ndaughter. With your looks and the money which is available for you, you\nmay marry any one. We stand well at Court. His Majesty is pleased when\none of the great old families of the realm restores its fallen fortunes.\nEvery chance and opportunity is yours. As for your brother, as I have so\noften written and told him, he will be a son to us. We have not been\ngiven a son; he shall become one. There is enough and to spare for all.\nGive up this nonsense of yours. Make Lluellyn come to his senses and\nleave his absurd hermit life, and this mad preaching about in the\nmountain villages. Come to us at once, both of you. What more could any\none offer you, child? Am I not pleading with you out of my love for you\nand my nephew, out of a sincere desire to see you both take your proper\nplace in the world?\"\n\nLady Kirwan stopped, a little out of breath after her long speech, every\nword of which had been uttered with the sincerest conviction and\nprompted by real affection.\n\nThere was probably no more worldly woman in London than the kindly wife\nof the great financier. The world was all in all to her, and she was as\ndestitute of religion or any knowledge of spiritual things as the parish\npump. She would not have divided her last shilling with any one, but\nshe was generous with her superfluity.\n\nAnd certainly one of the great wishes of her life was to see the ancient\nfamily from which she had sprung once more take a great place in life.\nShe felt within her veins the blood of those old wild princes of the\n\"stormy hills of Wales\"--those Arthurs and Uthers, Caradocs and\nLluellyns innumerable, who had kept their warlike courts in the dear\nmountains of her home.\n\nIt was monstrous, it was incredible to Lady Kirwan that the last two\nsurvivors of the Lys family in the direct line should live obscure,\nstrange lives away from the world. Mary Lys a hospital nurse in the East\nEnd! Lluellyn Lys a sort of anchorite and itinerant preacher! It was\ninconceivable; it must be stopped.\n\n\"I will write to Lluellyn again, auntie,\" Mary said, rising from her\nchair. \"But, honestly, I fear it will be of little use. And as for\nmyself--\"\n\nAs she spoke the door opened, and a footman entered the room.\n\n\"Miss Marjorie has returned, my lady,\" he said. \"She is waiting below in\nthe motor-brougham. I was to say that if Miss Lys was ready Miss\nMarjorie has a free hour, and will drive Miss Lys back to the hospital.\"\n\n\"There, there!\" Lady Kirwan said to her niece, \"Marjorie will take you\nback to that place. It will be more comfortable than a horrid, stuffy\nomnibus. Now don't give me any answer at present, but just think over\nwhat I have said very seriously. Come again in a week, and we will have\nanother talk. Don't be in a hurry to decide. And remember, dear, that\nwith all your exaggerated ideas of duty, you may owe a duty to your\nrelations and to society quite as much as to indigent aliens in\nWhitechapel. Run along, and be a dear good girl, and be sure you don't\ncatch some dreadful infectious disease.\"\n\nA couple of footmen in knee-breeches, silk stockings, and powdered hair\nstood on each side of the door. A ponderous butler opened it, another\nfootman in motor livery jumped down from his seat beside the driver and\nheld open the door of the brougham.\n\n\"All this pomp and circumstance,\" Mary thought sadly, \"to get a poor\nhospital nurse out of a house and into a carriage. Four great men are\nemployed to do so simple a thing as that, and whole families of my dear\npeople are starving while the breadwinner lies sick in the hospital!\"\n\nShe sighed heavily, and her face was sad as she kissed the brilliant,\nvivacious cousin who was waiting in the brougham.\n\n\"Well, you poor dear,\" Marjorie Kirwan said. \"And how are you? I suppose\nthe usual thing has happened? Mother has been imploring you to take a\nproper place in the world--you and my delightfully mysterious cousin\nLluellyn, who is quite like an old Hebrew prophet--and you have said\nthat you prefer your grubby scarlet-fever friends in Whitechapel!\"\n\nMary nodded.\n\n\"Dear auntie,\" she said. \"She is wonderfully kind and good, but she\ndoesn't quite understand. But don't let us talk about it.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, we won't,\" Marjorie answered affectionately. \"Every\none must gang their own gait! You don't like what I like; I don't like\nwhat you like. The great thing is to be happy, and we're both that. Tell\nme something of your work. It always interests me. Have you had any new\nadventures in Whitechapel?\"\n\n\"Everything has been much the same,\" she said, \"except that a very\nwonderful personality has come into the hospital.\"\n\n\"Oh, how delightful! A man, of course! Do tell me all about him!\"\n\n\"His name is Joseph. It sounds odd, but he doesn't seem to use his\nsurname at all. I did hear it, but I have forgotten. He is simply\nJoseph. He was hurt, though not nearly as badly as he might have been,\nby some falling planks from a house they were building. But he was in a\ndreadfully exhausted and rundown condition--nearly starved indeed. He is\na great scholar and scientist, but he was ruined some years ago because\nhe made a speech against God and religion at Cambridge, before all the\ndignitaries.\"\n\n\"And are you converting him?\"\n\n\"No. That is no woman's work, with this man. He is in a strange state.\nWe have nursed him back to something like health, but his mind seems\nquite empty. At first, when we had some talks together, he railed\nagainst God--always with the proviso that there wasn't any God! Now he\nis changed, with returning health. He is like an empty vessel, waiting\nfor something to be poured into it. He neither disbelieves nor believes.\nSomething has washed his mind clear.\"\n\n\"How extraordinary!\"\n\n\"Extraordinary you say; but listen! Three days ago--it was in the early\nevening--he called me to his bedside. He drew his hand from the\nbedclothes and laid it on my arm. How I thrilled at the touch, I cannot\nexplain....\"\n\n\"But, my dear, think of Tom--This is extraordinary!\"\n\n\"I've thought of Thomas; but, Marjorie, you cannot know--it was not that\nkind of love. It was nothing like love. Perhaps I put it badly, but you\njumped to quite a wrong conclusion. It was something quite different.\nHis eyes seemed to transfix me. The touch--the eyes--the thrill they\nsent through me will remain as long as I live! But listen. He spoke to\nme as he hadn't spoken before. 'Mary,' he said--\"\n\n\"Did he call you _Mary_?\"\n\n\"He had never done so before--he did then. Before I had always been\n'Nurse' to him.\"\n\n\"Well, go on, dear--I am quite interested.\"\n\n\"He said, 'Mary, you are going off duty in a few minutes. Go to the\nupper chamber of 24, Grey Street, Hoxton, and walk straight in. There is\none that has need of you.' I was about to expostulate, but he fell back\nin exhaustion, and I called the house surgeon.\"\n\n\"You surely didn't go?\"\n\n\"Yes, I went,\" Mary went on rapidly. \"Something made me go. The low door\nof Number 24 was open. I climbed till I got to the top. There was no\nlight anywhere. It was a miserable foggy evening. I felt for a door and\nfound one at last. It yielded to my hand and I entered an attic which\nwas immediately under the roof.\n\n\"Nothing could be seen. I had come unprepared for such darkness. But\ntaking courage I asked aloud if there was any one there.\n\n\"There was no answer. Yet I felt--I had a curious certainty--that I was\nnot alone. I waited--and waited. Then I moved slowly about the room. I\nwas afraid to move with any freedom for fear of stumbling\nover--something or other.\n\n\"Suddenly a costermonger's barrow came into the court below. The naphtha\nlamps lit up the whole place and the room was suddenly illuminated with\na flickering red light. I could see quite well now.\n\n\"I am accustomed to rather dreadful things, as you know, Marjorie--or at\nleast things which you would think rather dreadful. But I will confess I\nwas frightened out of my life now. I gave a shriek of terror, and then\nstood trembling, utterly unable to move!\"\n\n\"What was it?\"\n\n\"I saw a man hanging by a rope to the rafters. His jaw had fallen down,\nand his tongue was protruding. I shall never forget how the red light\nfrom the court below glistened on his tongue--His eyes were starting out\nof his head.... It was horrible.\"\n\n\"Oh, how frightful! I should have been frightened to death,\" said\nMarjorie, and a cold shiver ran through her whole body, which Mary could\nfeel as her cousin nestled closer to her in the brougham.\n\n\"Yes, it was awful! I had never seen anything so awful before--except\nonce, perhaps, at an operation for cancer. But do you know, Marjorie, I\nwas quite unlike my usual self. I was acting under some strange\ninfluence. The eyes of that poor man, Joseph, seemed to be following me.\nI acted as I never should have been able to act unless something very\ncurious and inexplicable was urging me. I knew exactly what I had to do.\n\n\"I am experienced in these things, as you know, and I saw at once that\nthe man who was hanging from the roof was not dead. He was only just\nbeginning the last agony. There was a big box by the window, and upon a\nlittle table I saw an ordinary table-knife. I dragged the box to the\nman's feet, put them upon it, caught hold of the knife, and cut him\ndown.\n\n\"He was a small man, and fell limply back into my arms, nearly knocking\nme over the box, but I managed to support him, and staggered down on to\nthe floor.\n\n\"Then I got the rope from round his neck, and tried to restore breathing\nby Hall's method--you know, one can use this method by oneself. It is\nreally the basis of all methods, and is used very successfully in cases\nof drowning.\"\n\n\"What did you do then?\" Marjorie asked.\n\n\"As soon as he began to breathe again I rushed downstairs. In a room at\nthe bottom of the stairs, which was lit by a little cheap paraffin lamp\nthere was a horrid old woman, an evil-looking young man, and several\nchildren. The old woman was frying some dreadful sort of fish for\nsupper, and I was nearly stifled.\n\n\"To cut a long story short, I sent the children out for a cab, made the\nyoung fellow come upstairs, and together we brought down the man, who\nwas in a semi-conscious state. No questions were asked because, as you\nknow, or at least, as is a fact, a nurse's uniform commands respect\neverywhere. I took the man straight to the hospital and managed to hush\nthe matter up, and to arrange with the house surgeon. Of course I could\nnot tell the doctors everything, but they trusted me and nothing was\nsaid at all. The man was discharged as cured a few days ago. The poor\nfellow had attempted his life in a fit of temporary madness. He was very\nnearly starving. There is no doubt at all about it. He proved it to the\nsatisfaction of the hospital authorities.\"\n\n\"And have you found out who he is?\"\n\n\"He is a friend of Joseph's--a comrade in his poverty, a journalist\ncalled Hampson, and the garret was where Joseph and he had lived\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Extraordinary is not the word for all this,\" Marjorie interrupted. \"It\nalmost frightens me to hear about it.\"\n\n\"But even that is not all. When I got back to the hospital after seeing\nthe would-be suicide in safe keeping, I went straight to my own ward.\n\n\"Joseph was awake. He turned to me as I entered, smiled, and said in a\nsort of whisper, 'Inasmuch.' I could hear no more.\n\n\"From that time his mind seemed to lapse into the same state--a state of\ncomplete blank. He is waiting.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"Ah, here comes the most strange part of it all. I have received an\nextraordinary letter from Lluellyn. My brother has strange psychic\npowers, Marjorie--powers that have often been manifested in a way which\nthe world knows nothing of, in a way which you would find it impossible\nto believe. In some way my brother has known of this man's presence in\nthe hospital. Our minds have acted one upon the other over all the vast\nmaterial distance which separates us. He wrote to me: 'As soon as the\nman Joseph is recovered, send him to me. He will question, but he will\ncome. The Lord has need of him, for he shall be as a great sword in the\nhand of the Most High.'\"\n\nMarjorie Kirwan shivered.\n\n\"You speak of mystical things,\" she said. \"They are too deep for me.\nThey frighten me. Mary, you speak as if something was going to happen!\nWhat do you mean?\"\n\n\"I speak as I feel, dear,\" Mary answered, with a deep-ringing certainty\nin her voice. \"How or why, I do not know, but a marvellous thing is\ngoing to happen! I feel the sense of it. It quickens all my life. I\nwait for that which is to come. A new force is to be born into the\nworld, a new light is to be kindled in the present darkness. The lonely\nmystic of the mountain and the strange-eyed man who has come into my\nlife are, even now, in mysterious spiritual communion. This very\nafternoon Joseph goes to Lluellyn. I said good-bye to him before I left\nthe East End. What will be the issue my poor vision cannot tell me yet.\"\n\nThrough the hum the maiden of the world heard Mary's deep, steadfast\nvoice.\n\n\"Something great is going to happen. Now is the acceptable hour!\"\n\nIt was utterly outside her experience. It was a voice which chilled and\nfrightened her. She didn't want to hear voices like this.\n\nEven as Mary spoke, Marjorie Kirwan heard a change in her voice. The\nbrougham was quite still, and the long string of vehicles which were\npassing in the other direction were motionless also.\n\nMary was staring out of the window at a hansom cab that was its\nimmediate _vis-\u00e0-vis_.\n\nTwo men were in the cab.\n\nOne of them, a small, eager-faced man flushed with excitement, was\nbowing to Mary.\n\nThe other, taller, and very pale of face, was looking at the hospital\nnurse with the wildest and most burning gaze the society girl had ever\nseen.\n\n\"Who are they?\" Marjorie whispered, though even as she asked she knew.\n\n\"The man I saved from death,\" Mary answered, in a low, quivering voice,\n\"and the man Joseph--Joseph!\"\n\nShe sank back against the cushions of the carriage in a dead faint.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nNEARER\n\n\nJoseph turned to his companion.\n\nHis face was white and worn by his long illness, but now it was suddenly\noverspread with a ghastly and livid greyness.\n\nHe murmured something far down in his throat, and at the inarticulate\nsound, Hampson, who had been bowing with a flush of gratitude to Mary,\nturned in alarm.\n\nHe saw a strange sight, and though he--in common with many others--was\nto become accustomed to it in the future, he never forgot his first\nimpression.\n\nJoseph's head had sunk back against the cushions of the cab. His mouth\nwas open, the jaw having fallen a little, as though he had no control of\nit.\n\nIn a flash the terrible thought came to the journalist that his friend\nwas in the actual throes of death.\n\nThen, in another second or two, just as the block in the traffic ceased,\nand the cab moved on again, he knew that Joseph lived. The eyes which at\nfirst were dark and lustreless--had seemed to be turned inward, as it\nwere--suddenly blazed out into life. Their expression was extraordinary.\nIt appeared to Hampson as if Joseph saw far away into an illimitable\ndistance. So some breathless watcher upon a mountain-top, who searched a\nfar horizon for the coming of a great army might have looked. A huge\neagle circling round the lonely summit of an Alp might have such a\nstrange light in its far-seeing eyes.\n\nAt what was the man looking? Surely it was no narrow vision bounded by\nthe bricks and mortar, the busy vista of the London Strand!\n\nThen, in a flash, the journalist knew.\n\nThose eyes saw no mortal vision, were not bounded by the material\ncircumstance of place and time. They looked into the future.\n\nIt was thus that Jeremiah, the son of Hilkiah looked when the word of\nthe Lord came to him.\n\nUnconsciously Hampson spoke a verse from Holy Writ:--\n\n\"Then the Lord put forth His hand and touched my mouth. And the Lord\nsaid unto me, Behold, I have put My words in thy mouth.\"\n\nThen Joseph began to speak, and never had his friend heard a man speak\nin this fashion.\n\nThe lips moved very little. The fixed far-off light remained in the\neyes, the face did not change with the word's as the face of an ordinary\nman does.\n\n\"I hear a voice; and the voice says to me, 'Thou therefore gird up thy\nloins and arise, and speak unto them all that I command thee: be not\ndismayed at their faces, lest I confound thee before them.' The words,\nwhich seemed to come from a vast distance, though they were very keen,\nvibrant and clear, dropped in tone, and ceased for a moment. Then once\nmore they began--\n\n\"And I see the woman Mary and the one that was with her. They are with\nme upon an hill-top. And they are as maids that have forgotten their\nornaments, and as brides that have not remembered their attire. And\nbelow us I see great cities and busy markets, the movements of\nmultitudes, and the coming and going of ships. And I see that the maid\nand I and those others who are with us upon the mountain pray to God.\nAnd God touches my mouth, and I go down from the hill and those that are\nwith me, to root out, to pull down and destroy, and to throw down, to\nbuild and to plant.\"\n\nTrembling with eagerness and excitement, Hampson listened to these\nextraordinary words.\n\nEver since the black hour when he had been rescued from the consequences\nof his sudden madness, the journalist had known that there was something\nvery wonderful about his friend. Hampson could not in justice to himself\nblame himself for his attempt at suicide. He knew that he had not been\nresponsible for what he did. The long privations of his life, the sudden\naccident to Joseph in the Whitechapel Road, had been too much for a\nsensitive and highly-strung nature. Gradually but surely reason had been\ntemporarily undermined, and Hampson had only a very slight remembrance\nof the events in the fortnight which had preceded his attempt. It was in\nthe hospital, after the careful nursing and the generous food, that his\nbrain was restored to its balance. And it was in the hospital also that\nMary Lys had told him of the strange and supernatural occurrence that\nhad saved his life.\n\n\"Nurse,\" he had said to her, \"I know nothing of what you tell me. I was\nmad--quite unconscious of what I did. But I have always known that there\nwas something about my dear friend that tells me that he is not as other\nmen are. He is a man set apart, though for what end I do not know, and\ncannot foresee. But one thing I plainly know and recognize--the Almighty\nFather chose Joseph to be the medium by which I was saved. God moves in\na mysterious way, but he has destined my friend for wonderful things.\"\n\nMary Lys had agreed with her patient.\n\n\"I also have a prescience,\" she had said, \"that Joseph has a work to do\nfor God. He does not know it. He cannot realize it. He has made no\nsubmission to the Divine Will, but nevertheless he will be an instrument\nof It. I know with a strange certainty that this is his high destiny.\"\n\nThe rapid and vivid remembrance of all this went through Hampson's brain\nas a bullet goes through a board, when he heard Joseph's last words.\n\nHe caught him by the hand, holding the long, wasted fingers in his own,\nchafing them to bring back some living warmth into their icy coldness.\n\nThe strange voice ceased finally, and Joseph closed his eyes. The rigid\ntension of his face relaxed and a little color came back into it.\n\nThen he gave a long sigh, shuddered and once more opened his eyes.\n\n\"I feel unwell,\" he said, in faint and hesitating tones. \"I saw our\ndear, kind nurse in a carriage with another lady. We were all stopped by\na block in the traffic, weren't we? I saw Nurse Mary, and then I can\nremember nothing more. I have been in a faint. I did not know I was\nstill so weak.\"\n\n\"Don't you remember anything then, Joseph?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all. But I feel exactly as I felt when I was lying in\nhospital, and suddenly fainted there. It was the time when I said those\nextraordinary words to nurse and she went and found you, poor old chap,\njust in the nick of time.\"\n\nHampson quivered with excitement.\n\n\"Then you felt just the same sensation a few minutes ago as you did when\nyou were inspired to save my life by some mysterious influence?\"\n\n\"Exactly the same. It is a weird feeling. It is as though suddenly my\nwhole mind and body are filled with a great wind. I seem to lose my\npersonality entirely, and to be under the dominion of an enormous\noverwhelming power and force. Then everything goes away like a stone\nfalling through water, and I remember nothing until I regain\nconsciousness.\"\n\nHampson took his friend's hand.\n\n\"Joseph,\" he said in tones that were strangely moved and stirred, \"have\nyou yourself no explanation? How do you account for the fact that you\ntold Nurse Mary to go and save my life?\"\n\n\"I suppose it was owing to some sort of telepathy. The mind, so I\nbelieve, gives off waves of electricity exactly like the instrument\nwhich sends the wireless telegraphy messages. You know that if a\nreceiver in Marconi's system is tuned exactly to the pitch of a\ntransmitter it picks up the messages automatically, even if they are\nnot intended for it in the first instance. Some thought wave from your\nsub-conscious brain must have reached mine when you were preparing to\nhang yourself. That is the only explanation possible.\"\n\n\"No, Joseph,\" Hampson answered. \"It is not the only explanation. There\nis another, and if you could know the words that you spoke in your\ntrance but a few moments ago, you would think as I do.\"\n\n\"Did I speak? What did I say?\"\n\n\"I think I will not tell you yet. Some day I will tell you. But I am\ncertain that every act of yours, every word you say, and every step you\ntake, are under special and marvellous guidance. The Holy Spirit is\nguiding and leading you.\"\n\nJoseph made a slight movement with his hand. There was something almost\npetulant in the gesture.\n\n\"Let us not talk of that,\" he said. \"I think we are agreed not to speak\nof it. Certainly I will own that some curious things have happened. That\nthere is a destiny that shapes our ends may possibly be true. But that\nany man does know anything of the nature and qualities of that destiny I\nam unable to believe. You and that dear, sweet Nurse Mary have put your\nown interpretation on the strange events of the last few weeks.\nCertainly I seem to be the sport of some dominating influence. I admit\nit, my friend. But it is coincidence, and nothing more. In my weaker\nmoments I have something of this sense; in my stronger ones I know that\nit cannot be so.\"\n\n\"Well, Joseph, we shall see what the future has in store. For my part I\nam certain it is big with events for you.\"\n\n\"I shall owe everything to Nurse Mary,\" Joseph answered, changing the\nconversation. \"It was extraordinarily kind of her to write to her\nbrother, and ask him to have me as his guest until I recover! Such\ncharity is rare in life. I have not often met with it, at any rate, on\nmy way through the world.\"\n\n\"She is a saint,\" Hampson answered, with deep reverence in his voice.\n\n\"She is something very like it,\" Joseph answered. \"Some day I hope to\nrepay her. This long stay in the beautiful Welsh hills will give me the\nnecessary strength and quietness of nerve to get to work again. The\nbrother, I understand, is a sort of mystic. He lives a hermit's life,\nand is a sort of mountain prophet. It is a strange thing, Hampson, that\nI should be going as a pauper to stay with the brother of a dear girl\nwho took pity on my misfortunes! They have given me the money for my\njourney. When I am well again I shall be given the money to return to\nLondon, I, who am a graduate of Cambridge, and I may say it without\nostentation, a mathematician of repute, depend for my present sustenance\nupon the charity of strangers. Yet I don't feel in the least\nembarrassed. That is more curious than anything else. I have a sense\nthat my troubles are over now, that I shall come into my own again. We\nare nearly at the station, are we not?\"\n\nHampson made some ordinary remark of assent. He knew the history of the\nalmost incredible circumstances which had led to this journey of Joseph\nto Wales. He had seen the letter from Lluellyn Lys which bade Mary to\nsend the man Joseph to him.\n\nBut Joseph did not know.\n\nThe patient had been told nothing of the mysterious circumstances that\nhad brought about this plan of his journey. Joseph simply thought that\nhe was invited to stay with Mary's brother, so that he might get well\nand strong and recover power to enter the battle of life once more. But\nHampson was quite certain that before many days had passed his friend\nwould realize not only the truth about his mysterious summons, but also\nthe eternal truths of the Divine forces which were animating his\nunconscious will and bringing him nearer and nearer to the consummation\nof a Will which was not of this world, and of which he was the\ninstrument.\n\nThe cab was rolling through the wide squares and streets of Bloomsbury.\nIn three or four minutes it would arrive at Euston.\n\n\"You will soon be in splendid health, old fellow,\" Hampson said, anxious\nto turn the conversation into an ordinary and conventional channel.\n\"Meanwhile, I'll have a cigarette. You mustn't smoke, of course, but you\nwon't grudge me the single comfort that my poor health allows me?\"\n\nHe felt in his pocket for the packet of cigarettes that he had bought\nthat morning. Then, quite suddenly, he paused.\n\nA sense of the tremendous incongruity of the present situation came to\nhim.\n\nHe was riding in a London cab to a London station. He was going to see a\nsick friend start in a modern train for healing airs and a quiet sojourn\namong the hills.\n\nAnd yet--and yet he firmly believed--almost knew, indeed--that this\nfriend, this man who was called Joseph, was, so to speak, under the\nespecial convoy of the Holy Ghost!\n\nIt was incredible! Were there indeed miracles going on each day in the\nheart of modern London? Was the world the same, even now, as it was in\nthe old, dim days when Jesus the Lord walked among the valleys and the\nhills of Palestine?\n\nEuston and cabs, and yet the modern world was full of mystery, of\nwonder. Yes, indeed, God ruled now as He had always ruled.\n\nJoseph was going towards some divinely-appointed goal! He had been told\nnothing of the vision which had made Lluellyn Lys, the recluse of Wales,\nwrite to Mary, commanding her to send him to his mountains. He was\nmoving blindly to meet his destiny.\n\nYet soon Joseph also would know what his friends knew. And with that\nknowledge--\n\nHampson's thoughts had passed through his brain in a single instant,\nwhile he was feeling for the cigarettes. He withdrew his hand\nmechanically from his pocket and found that it grasped a letter--a\nletter which had not been opened.\n\n\"Hullo,\" he said, \"I have quite forgotten about my letter! It came by\nthe afternoon post just as I was leaving my room to go to the hospital\nand meet you. I put it in my pocket and then thought no more about it.\"\n\nHe began to open the type-written envelope.\n\nJoseph said nothing, but gazed out upon the panorama of the London\nstreets with dreamy eyes. He was thinking deeply.\n\nSuddenly he was startled by an exclamation from Hampson.\n\nTurning, he saw that the little man's face was alive with excitement and\nflushed with pleasure.\n\n\"What is it, my dear fellow?\" he asked.\n\n\"The most wonderful thing, Joseph! Fortune and prosperity at last! The\nbig newspaper firm of Rees--Sir David Rees is the head of it--have\noffered me the editorship of their religious weekly, _The Sunday\nFriend_. I have written a dozen articles or so for them from time to\ntime, and I suppose this is the result! I am to go and see Mr. Marston,\nthe managing editor, to-morrow.\"\n\nThe words tumbled breathlessly from his lips--he could hardly articulate\nthem in his enthusiasm and excitement. Joseph pressed his friend's hand.\nHe knew well what this opportunity meant to the conscientious and\nhard-working little journalist, who had never had a chance before.\n\nIt meant freedom from the terrible and nerve-destroying hunt for\nfood--the horrible living from meal to meal--the life of an animal in\nthis regard, at least, but without the animal's faculties for satisfying\nits hunger. It meant that Hampson's real talent would now be expressed\nin its fullest power.\n\n\"I cannot congratulate you enough, dear friend,\" he said in a voice\nwhich trembled with emotion. \"Of all men, you deserve it. I cannot say\nhow happy this makes me, my friend, my brother--for it is as brothers\nthat you and I have lived this long while. I always knew your chance\nwould come. In the long run it always comes to those who are worthy of\nit. To some it comes early, to others late, but it always comes.\"\n\n\"It means everything to me, Joseph,\" Hampson answered. \"And think what\nit will mean to you also! When you return cured and robust from Wales I\nshall be able to give you regular employment. You will be able to write\nany amount of articles for me. It means safety and a new start for us\nboth.\"\n\nFor some curious reason Joseph did not immediately reply.\n\nThen he spoke slowly, just as the cab rolled under the massive archway\nwhich guards the station courtyard.\n\n\"Thank you, indeed!\" he answered. \"But when you spoke, I had a sort of\npresentiment that I should never need your aid. I can't account for it,\nbut it was strong and sudden.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't say that, old fellow! You must not be morbid, you know. You\nwill outlive most of us, without a doubt.\"\n\n\"I did not mean that I felt that I should die, Hampson. Rather a\nsensation came to me that I was about to enter some new and strange life\nwhich--\"\n\nThe cab stopped.\n\n\"You and the porter must help me down,\" Joseph said, with a faint,\nmusing smile of singular sweetness and--so Hampson thought--of inward\nanticipation and hope.\n\nThere was yet half an hour before the train was to start. It had been\nthought better that Joseph should make a night journey to Wales. The\nweather was very hot, and he would have more chance of rest.\n\n\"I'll take you to the waiting-room,\" Hampson said, \"and then I will go\nand get your ticket and some papers. I have told the porter who has your\nbag what train you are going by. And the guard will come and see if you\nwant anything.\"\n\nJoseph waited in the dingy, empty room while Hampson went away.\n\nIt was the ordinary bare, uncomfortable place with the hard leather\nseats, the colored advertisements of seaside resorts, and the long,\nheavy table shining with hideous yellow varnish.\n\nHampson seemed a long time, Joseph thought, though when he looked up at\nthe clock over the mantel-shelf he saw that the journalist had only been\ngone about four minutes.\n\nThe waiting-room was absolutely silent save for the droning of a huge\nblue fly that was circling round and round in the long beam of dusty\nsunlight which poured in from one window.\n\nThe noise of the station outside seemed far away--a drowsy diapason.\n\nJoseph, soothed by the distant murmur, leaned back in his chair and\nemptied his mind of thought.\n\nThen his eye fell idly and carelessly upon an open book that lay upon\nthe table.\n\nThe book was a copy of the Holy Bible, one of those large print books\nwhich a pious society presents to places of temporary sojourn, if\nperchance some passing may fall upon the Word of God and find comfort\ntherein.\n\nFrom where he sat, however, Joseph could not see what the book was.\n\nNevertheless, for some strange reason or other, it began to fascinate\nhim. He stared at it fixedly, as a patient stares at a disc of metal\ngiven him by the trained hypnotist of a French hospital when a trance is\nto be induced.\n\nSomething within began to urge him to rise from his seat, cross the\nroom, and see exactly what it was that lay there. The prompting grew\nstronger and stronger, until it filled his brain with an intensity of\ncompulsion such as he had never known before.\n\nHe resented the extraordinary influence bitterly. A mad, unreasoning\nanger welled up within him.\n\n\"I will not go!\" he said aloud. \"Nothing in the world shall make me go!\"\n\nAll that an ordinary spectator--had there been one in the\nwaiting-room--would have seen was a pale-faced man staring at the table.\n\nYet, nevertheless, a wild battle was going on, almost frightful in its\nstrength and power, though the end of it came simply enough.\n\nThe man could bear the fierce striving against this unknown and\nmysterious compulsion no longer. His will suddenly dissolved, melted\naway, fell to pieces like a child's house of cards, and with a deep sigh\nthat was almost a groan he rose and moved unsteadily towards the table.\n\nHe looked down at the book.\n\nAt first there was a mist before his eyes; then it rolled up like a\ncurtain and these words sprang out clear and vividly distinct from the\nprinted page: \"But the Lord was with Joseph, and showed him mercy.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nON THE MOUNTAIN\n\n\nThe long journey was over. A company of grave-faced men had met Joseph\nat a little wayside station. On one side stretched the sea, on the other\ngreat mountains towered up into the still, morning air.\n\nIt was early dawn. The sun in its first glory sent floods of joyous\nlight over the placid waters. How splendid the air was--this ozone-laden\nbreeze of the ocean--how cool, invigorating, and sweet!\n\nJoseph turned to a tall, white-haired old man who seemed to be the\nleader of the band of people who stood upon the platform.\n\n\"I have come to a new world,\" he said simply.\n\n\"Blessed be the name of the Lord who has sent you to Wales,\" came the\nanswer in deep and fervent tones.\n\nJoseph looked at the man and his companions with astonishment. Why had\nLluellyn Lys, the mysterious recluse and hermit of the mountains, sent\nthese people to meet him? Why was there such a look of respect, almost\nof awe, upon the face of each man there, such eagerness and\nanticipation? It was all incomprehensible, utterly strange. He felt at a\nloss what to do or say.\n\nHe bowed, and then, as if in a dream, mingled with the group and passed\nout of the station. A carriage with two horses was waiting. By the side\nof it stood the station-master; the man's peaked cap was in his hand,\nand his face was lit up with welcome.\n\n\"The Teacher is waiting for you, sir,\" he said.\n\nIn a state of mind which was almost hypnotic Joseph was helped into the\ncarriage. Three of the people who had come to meet him entered also, and\nthey started up along the white mountain-road. Joseph felt that this\nprogress was all too slow. He was going to a definite goal; he had come\nthis vast distance to meet some one, and he was impatient of delay.\n\nHe looked up. High above his head the great slate mountain towered into\nthe sky, a white cap of cloud hid the summit.\n\nThe prospect was august, and it thrilled him strangely. In that great\ncloud--like the cloud upon Sinai--what might lie hid? He was conscious\nof strange unseen forces, whose depths, measures, or intensity he could\nnot understand, round him and controlling him. His life was utterly\nchanged. The hard wall of materialism against which he had leant his\nsick life for support was melting and dissolving.\n\nHe gazed upwards once more at the great mountain.\n\nLluellyn Lys, the mysterious Teacher, was there! Who and what was this\nman of the mountains, this teacher who was so revered? Mary's brother,\nthe brother of the beautiful girl who had saved him and sent him to\nthese wild solitudes of Wales.\n\nMary's brother, yes; but what besides? And what was Lluellyn Lys to be\nto him?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThey came to a point at which the road ended and died away into a mere\ngrass track.\n\nThe old man who sat by Joseph's side rose from his seat and left the\ncarriage.\n\n\"Master,\" he said, and, as he said it, Joseph bowed his head and could\nnot look at him. \"Master, here the road ends, and we must take you up\nthe mountain-side to the Teacher by a steep path.\"\n\nAnother deep Celtic voice broke in upon the old man's speech.\n\n\"Ay, it is a steep path to the Teacher, Lluellyn is ever near to\nHeaven!\"\n\nJoseph had never heard Welsh before. He did not know a single word of\nthat old tongue which all our ancestors of Britain used before ever St.\nAugustine came to England's shores with the news and message of Christ's\ndeath and passion.\n\nYet, at that moment Joseph _understood exactly what the man said_. The\nextraordinary fact did not strike him at the time, it was long\nafterwards that he remembered it as one of the least of the wondrous\nthings that had befallen him.\n\nHe answered at once without a moment's pause.\n\n\"Lead on,\" he said; \"I am with you. Take me to Lluellyn, the Teacher!\"\n\nJoseph turned. He saw that by the wayside there was a rough arm-chair\nhung between two long poles. Still moving as a man in a dream, he sat\ndown on it. In a moment he was lifted up on the shoulders of four men,\nand began to ascend a narrow, winding path among the heather.\n\nOn and up! On and up!\n\nNow they have passed out of ordinary ways, and are high upon the\ntrackless hills. A dead silence surrounds them; the air is keen and\nlife-giving; the workaday world seems very far away.\n\nOn and up! Joseph is carried to his fate. Suddenly the old man who\nwalked in front stopped.\n\n\"Blessed be him who cometh in the name of the Lord!\" he cried, in a\ndeep, musical voice that woke thunderous echoes in the lonely way.\n\nFor near upon an hour the strange procession continued among the heather\nand bracken, through wild defiles and passes. At last, with singular and\nstartling suddenness, the party entered the huge mass of fleecy cloud\nthat veiled the mountain-top. All around was thick, impenetrable mist.\nEverything was blotted out by the thick curtain, the footsteps of the\nchair-bearers sounded like footsteps upon wool.\n\nThen, without any other intimation than a few low words from the leader\nof the party, the journey came to an end, the chair was carefully\nlowered to the ground, and Joseph alighted.\n\nA huge granite boulder stood close by. He sat down upon it, wondering\nwith eager curiosity what was to happen next, looking round him with\nkeen, searching eyes in a vain endeavor to pierce the ghostly, swaying\nwalls of mist which hemmed him in on every side.\n\nThe old man stepped up to him.\n\n\"Master,\" he said again, \"our business is at an end. We have brought you\nto the place where we have been told to bring you, and must say\nfarewell until we meet again.\"\n\nJoseph started.\n\n\"I do not understand,\" he said, in a voice into which something almost\nlike fear had come....\n\n\"I do not understand. Do you mean to leave me here alone? I am a sick\nman. I know nothing of where I am. Where is Lluellyn Lys?\"\n\nHis voice sounded strained and almost shrill in its discomfort and\nsurprise.\n\nIf the old man appreciated the intonation in the voice of his questioner\nhe did not show it.\n\n\"Have no fear, master,\" he said. \"What I do, I do by command of the\nTeacher. No harm will come to you.\"\n\nJoseph suddenly seemed to wake from his dream. A great sense of\nirritation, almost of anger, began to animate him. He was once more the\nold Joseph--the man who had walked with Hampson in the Commercial Road\nbefore the accident had struck him down.\n\n\"That's all very well,\" he said sharply. \"Perhaps no harm will happen to\nme, but will Mr. Lluellyn Lys come to me? That is the question in which\nI am particularly interested at this moment. I don't know in the least\nwhere I am! I am too feeble to walk more than a few yards. I can't stay\nhere alone until--\"\n\nHe found that he was speaking to the air, the white and lonely mist.\nSuddenly, without a word of answer, his strange conductors had melted\naway--withdrawn and vanished.\n\nHe was alone on a mountain-top in Wales, surrounded by an impenetrable\ncurtain of mist, unable to move in any direction. What was all this?\n\nWas he the victim of some colossal trick, some cruel hoax, some immense\nand indefensible practical joke?\n\nIt was difficult to believe it, and yet he cursed his folly in accepting\nthis strange invitation to Wales. What a foolish and unconsidered\nbusiness it all seemed--now that he sat alone in the white stillness,\nthe terrible solitude.\n\nStill, mad as the action seemed to him now, he remembered that it was\nthe result of a long chain of coincidences. Certainly--yes, of that\nthere could be no doubt--he seemed to have been led to this place.\nSomething stronger than himself had influenced him. No, he was not here\nby chance--\n\nHad he fallen asleep?\n\nStill he sat upon the lichen-covered boulder, still the grey curtain of\nthe mist hid all the mountain world.\n\nYet what was that sound--that deep, ringing voice which sounded in his\nears, falling from some distant height, falling through the air like an\narrow?\n\nA voice! A voice! And these were the words it chanted--\n\n\"Rise up, Joseph, and come to me! Fear not, for God is with you! Come to\nme, that the things that are appointed may be done!\"\n\nThe great voice rolled through the mist like a cathedral bell.\n\nCold and trembling, Joseph rose to his feet. One hand rested against\nthe granite rock to support him as he answered, in a loud cry of\nterror--\n\n\"Who are you? What is this? Are you the man Lluellyn? I cannot come. I\nknow not where to come. I am too weak to move. I am frightened.\"\n\nAgain the organ voice came pealing through the gloom.\n\n\"Joseph, Joseph, rise up and come! Come and fear not, for the power of\nthe Holy Ghost broods upon the mountains.\"\n\nJoseph stood for a moment trembling, and swaying from side to side. Then\nhe was conscious of the most extraordinary sensation of his life.\n\nThrough the mist, invisible, impalpable, a great current of FORCE seemed\nflowing to him and around him.\n\nIt poured into every fibre of his being, body, mind, and soul alike. It\nwas not a delusion. It was wonderfully, marvellously real. Each second\nhe grew stronger, power returned to his tired limbs, the weariness left\nhis brain. He called out aloud--\n\n\"Teacher, I am coming to you!\" And, with the swinging, easy step of a\nman in perfect health, together with the ease and certainty of a\npractised mountaineer, he began to climb upward through the mist.\n\nIt was as though he was floating on air, buoyant as a bird is. On and on\nhe went, and all the while the invisible electric force poured into him\nand gave him strength and power.\n\nSuddenly thin yellow beams of sunshine began to penetrate and irradiate\nthe thick white blanket of mist. Stronger and stronger they grew,\nthrowing a thousand prismatic colors on the thinning vapor, until at\nlast Joseph emerged into full and glorious day.\n\nThis is what he saw.\n\nThe actual top of the mountain was only two or three yards above him,\nand formed a little rock-strewn plateau some twenty or thirty yards\nsquare--now bathed in vivid sunshine.\n\nAgainst a cairn of boulders in the exact centre of the space a tall man\nwas standing.\n\nBoth his arms were stretched out rigidly towards Joseph, the _fingers of\neach hand outspread and pointing to him_, as he emerged from the\nfog-belt with the sunshine. The man, who wore a long black cloak, was\nwell over six feet high, and very thin. His face was pale, but the\nstrong, rugged features gave it an impression of immense vitality and\nforce.\n\nJoseph stopped in sudden amazement at the sight of this strange figure\nup in the clouds. He suddenly remembered a picture he had seen showing\nDante standing upon a great crag, and looking down into the abyss of the\nInferno.\n\nLluellyn Lys looks like that--exactly like that, Joseph thought.\n\nHe went straight up to the Teacher. As he did so, Lluellyn's arms\nsuddenly collapsed and fell loosely to his sides. His eyes, which had\nbeen fixed steadily upon Joseph, closed with a simultaneous movement,\nand he leant back against the cairn as if utterly exhausted.\n\nBut this was only for a moment. As Joseph came up to him he roused\nhimself, and his face lit up with welcome. The Teacher's smile was\nsingularly winning and sweet--it was just like Mary's smile, Joseph\nthought--but it was also a very sad smile.\n\n\"Brother,\" Lluellyn said, \"the peace of God be with you. May you be full\nof the Holy Ghost, that you may better accomplish those high things for\nwhich the Father has destined you, and for which He has brought you\nhere.\"\n\nJoseph took Lluellyn's hand, and was about to answer him when the former\nsank back once more against the boulders. His face grew white as linen,\nand he seemed about to swoon.\n\n\"You are ill!\" Joseph cried in alarm. \"What can I do to help you?\"\n\n\"It is nothing,\" Lluellyn answered in a moment or two. \"I have been\ngiving you of my strength, Joseph, that you might mount the last stage\nof your journey. The voice of the Lord came to me as I communed here\nwith Him, and the Holy Spirit sent the power to you through this\nunworthy body of mine.\"\n\nJoseph bowed.\n\n\"I am moving in deep waters,\" he said. \"Many strange and wonderful\nthings have happened to me of late. My mind is shaken, and my old life\nwith its old point of view already seems very far away. But let me say,\nfirst, how much I appreciate your extreme kindness in asking me here,\nthrough Miss Lys. As Miss Mary will have told you, I am a poor, battered\nscholar with few friends, and often hard put to live at all. Your\nkindness will enable me to recover after my accident.\"\n\nLluellyn took Joseph by the arm.\n\nHe led him to the edge of the plateau.\n\n\"Look!\" he said.\n\nThe mist had gone. From that great height they looked down the steep,\npine-clothed sides of the mountain to the little white village, far, far\nbelow. Beyond was the shining, illimitable ocean.\n\n\"The world is very fair,\" Joseph said.\n\n\"The world is very fair because God is immanent in all things. God is in\nthe sea, and on the sides of the hills. The Holy Ghost broods over those\ndistant waters, and is with us here in this high place. Joseph, from the\nmoment when the cross-wise timbers struck you down in Whitechapel, until\nthis very moment now, you have been led here under the direct guidance\nof the Holy Ghost. There is a certain work for you to do.\"\n\nJoseph looked at the tall man with the grave, sweet smile in startled\nastonishment.\n\n\"What do I bring?\" he said. \"I, the poor, battered wreck, the unknown,\nthe downtrodden? What do I bring _you_?\"\n\nLluellyn looked Joseph in the face, and placed one long, lean hand upon\nhis shoulder.\n\n\"Ask rather what you bring God,\" he said. \"It were a more profitable\nquestion. For me, in the power and guidance of the Lord, it is ordained\nthat you bring one thing only.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\n\"Death!\" said Lluellyn Lys.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE POURING\n\n\nLluellyn Lys lived in a cottage on the side of the mountain where Joseph\nhad first been taken to meet him. His small income was enough for his\nalmost incredibly simple wants, and an ancient widow woman who loved and\nreverenced him more than anything else in the world kept the cottage for\nhim, milked the cow, and did such frugal cooking as was necessary.\n\nLluellyn was known far and wide in that part of Wales. The miners, the\nsmall crofting farmers, and the scattered shepherds revered and honored\nthe mysterious \"Teacher\" as men of God, were revered in the old times.\n\nHis influence was very great in the surrounding mining villages; he had\nbeen able to do what sometimes even the parish priests had tried in\nvain. The drunkard, the man of a foul and blasphemous tongue,\nloose-livers and gamblers, had become sober and God-fearing folk, with\ntheir hearts set upon the Eternal Light.\n\nNo one knew when the tall ascetic figure would appear among them with a\nstrange appropriateness. It was said that he possessed the gift of\nsecond sight, and many extraordinary stories were told of him.\n\nHis sermons were wonderful in their directness and force, their strange\nmagnetic power. He had a mysterious knowledge of men's hearts, and would\noften make a personal appeal to some sinner who had stayed to hear\nhim--an appeal full of such accurate and intimate knowledge of his\nlistener's inner life and secret actions that it appeared miraculous.\n\nAnd in addition to this power of divination, it was whispered that the\nTeacher possessed the power of healing, that his touch had raised the\nsick from couches of pain. It was certain that several people who had\nbeen regarded as at death's door had recovered with singular rapidity\nafter Lluellyn had paid them one or two visits. But in every case the\nfolk who had got well refused to speak of their experiences, though it\nwas remarked that their devotion to the recluse became almost\npassionate.\n\nA continual mystery enveloped him. Sometimes no one saw him for weeks.\nHe would spend day after day locked up in the room he used in the\ncottage, and people who had climbed the mountain to seek him, were told\nby the housekeeper that it was impossible, and that she herself had not\nlooked upon his face for many days.\n\nOccasionally some late returning shepherd or miner would see the tall,\ndark figure kneeling, lost in prayer, on the summit of some cloudy peak,\nor the edge of some terrible abyss--stark and sharply outlined in the\nmoonlight.\n\nAnd then again would come those sudden periods of mighty activity, of\ngreat gatherings on the hillside, fiery words of warning and\nexhortation in the villages.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJoseph had been with Lluellyn Lys for ten days. After the first strange\nmeeting on the mountain, when the Teacher had uttered the enigmatic word\n\"Death!\" he had refused to give his newly arrived guest any explanation\nof his saying.\n\n\"Brother,\" he said, \"ask me not anything of the meaning of these things.\nThe time when they shall be revealed is not yet come, neither do I\nmyself see clearly in what manner they shall be accomplished.\"\n\nLluellyn had prayed.\n\n\"You are faint with the long journey, Joseph,\" he said, \"but my house is\nnot far away, where you will find food and rest. But first let us pray\nfor a blessing upon your arrival, and that all things may befall as Our\nLord would have them.\"\n\nAnd there, in the glorious noontide sunshine, on the highest point of\nthat great mountain from which they could survey the distant, shining\nsea, and range beyond range of mighty hills, the two men knelt down and\nprayed.\n\nJoseph knelt with folded hands by the side of the Teacher.\n\nIt did not seem strange to him that he should do this. He no longer knew\nthe fierce revolt of the intellect against the promptings of the\nconscience and the soul.\n\nRebellion had ceased. He bowed his head in prayer.\n\n\"Oh, Holy Ghost, descend upon us now, upon two sinful men, and fill us\nwith Thyself. Fill and permeate us with Thy divine power. Send down Thy\nblessing upon us, and especially guard and influence Joseph that those\nthings which Thou hast designed for him be not too heavy for him.\n\n\"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Three in One,\nand One in Three--Amen.\"\n\nThen had come a ten minutes' descent, by an easier path on the other\nside of the principal cone, till the house of the Teacher was reached.\n\nJoseph, after a simple meal, had fallen asleep. He was wearied to death,\nand when the housekeeper told him that he had slept for a whole\nrevolution of the clock hands his surprise was great.\n\nFor the first two or three days of his stay Joseph saw but little of his\nhost. They met at the frugal midday and evening repasts, but that was\nall. Even then Lluellyn talked but little, though his manner was always\nkind and almost deferential.\n\nThe Teacher, so his guest could not avoid thinking, regarded him from\nsome standpoint which he could not enter into. Lluellyn spoke to, and\nregarded Joseph as if he were a man set apart, for some reason or other.\n\nIt was very mysterious and piqued the convalescent's curiosity,\nsometimes to an almost unbearable degree. There were constant veiled\nreferences to the future, hints of a time to come--of some imminent\nhappening of tremendous importance.\n\nWhat was to happen? How was he concerned in these matters? This was the\nquestion that Joseph constantly asked himself with growing impatience\nand nervous anticipation.\n\nAfter the first three days Joseph saw more of his host. They went for\nwalks together over the hills, and once or twice the guest was present\nat a great gathering on the mountain-side, when Lluellyn preached to the\npeople, and swayed them as the wind sways a field of corn.\n\nMore and more Joseph began to realize the holiness of this man with whom\nhe lived. His love for God and for men glowed within him like a white\nflame. Joseph no longer said or believed that there was no God. His\nexperiences had been too wonderful for that. It was impossible for any\nsane mind to be with Lluellyn Lys daily and not to recognize that some\ninfluence which was supernormal both in essence and fact made him what\nhe was.\n\nBut Christ? Ah, that was a different matter! As yet the Man of Sorrows\nhad touched no responsive chord in Joseph's heart.\n\nIt was, then, under these conditions, and while his mental development\nwas just at this point, that the finger of God moved at last, and the\nstupendous drama of Joseph's life began.\n\nHe had been alone all day, and as evening fell went out to see if he\ncould find Lluellyn. There was a sense of loneliness upon him. For some\nreason or other he felt forsaken and forlorn. After all, life was\nempty, and held very little for him.\n\nSuch were his thoughts as he walked along a familiar path towards an\nancient Druid circle, some half a mile from the cottage, where he\nthought he might find his host.\n\nA faint watery moonlight illuminated the path among the heather, a wan\nand spectral radiance, which gave the mountain-pass a strange, unearthly\naspect.\n\nAnd as Joseph walked there, with a heavy heart, he became aware that\nsome one was coming towards him. It was not Lluellyn Lys. Of that he was\ncertain, an instinct told him so.\n\nThe figure came rapidly and noiselessly over the heath, and as it came\nJoseph began to tremble. His knees knocked together, his tongue clave to\nthe roof of his mouth, the palms of his hands were wet.\n\nYet, as far as we may judge, it was not unmixed fear that Joseph felt.\nNever, at any time, did he describe his sensations at that supreme\nmoment.\n\nWhen questioned afterwards he was always silent.\n\nBut it was not all fear.\n\nThe figure drew nearer until at last it stood in the centre of the path,\nclosing the way to the wanderer.\n\nThe dark moors, the faint and spectral sky, the whole visible world\nflashed away. There was a noise in Joseph's ears as of many waters, and\nthrough the great rush that was overwhelming him, body, mind, and soul,\nhe seemed to hear a voice speaking--\n\nThen a thick darkness blotted out all sensation, and he knew no more.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJoseph tried to lift his arm. He was conscious of the desire to do so,\nbut for some reason or other he was unable to move it for a moment.\n\nThe arm felt like lead.\n\nSlowly--and this also was with an effort--he opened his eyes.\n\nHe was in bed, lying in the familiar room at Lluellyn's cottage, though\nhow he had come there he had no idea whatever.\n\nHis eyes wandered vaguely round the place, and as they grew accustomed\nto conscious use he saw that some changes had been made in the aspect of\nthe room. A table had been removed, and a larger one substituted for it.\nThe new table was covered with bottles--square bottles with white labels\npasted on them. And there was a faint medicinal smell in the air also.\nThen, a sofa-couch had made its appearance which had not been there\nbefore. What did it all mean?\n\nSuddenly the memory of the figure that had walked towards him upon the\nmoor when all was late and dark came back to him in a rush of sensation.\nWhy had everything flashed away as that silent figure approached? Who or\nwhat was it that had come noiselessly upon him through the gloom? Why\nhad he been struck down?\n\nStruck down? Yes; that was what had happened. He began to think a little\nmore clearly. He had been struck down, and now, of course, he was ill.\nThey had found him on the moor probably, and brought him back to the\ncottage.\n\nHe began to realize more and more that he was ill--very ill. He tried to\nturn in bed, and could hardly do so. Once more he endeavored to lift the\narm that felt like a limb of lead, and, partially succeeding, he saw\nthat it was thin and wasted.\n\nThere was a chair standing not far away from the bed, and on it a copy\nof a religious journal. He started. His eye had fallen upon the date of\nthe paper.\n\nSlowly and painfully he recalled the date of his first arrival in\nWales--the expiration of time since his sojourn with the Teacher began\nuntil the date indicated upon the front page of the journal.\n\nThere could be no doubt about it, he had been lying unconscious of the\noutside world, and heedless of the passage of time, for at least eight\ndays--possibly even more.\n\nHe gave a little gasp of astonishment--a gasp which was almost a\nmoan--and as he did so the door of the bedroom opened, and Mrs. Price,\nthe old housekeeper, entered.\n\nShe came straight up to the bedside and looked down upon Joseph. There\nwas something very strange in the expression of the old, wrinkled face.\nIt was changed from its usual expression of resigned and quiet joy.\nThere were red circles round the eyes, as if she had been weeping; the\nkind old mouth was drawn with pain.\n\n\"Ah, my dear,\" she said to Joseph, \"you've come to yourself at last! It\nwas what the doctor said--that it would be about this time that you\nwould come to. The Lord be praised!\"\n\nJoseph tried to answer her. The words came slowly from his lips. He\narticulated with difficulty, and his voice was strange to his own ears.\n\n\"Have I been ill long?\"\n\n\"For near ten days, sir, you have lain at death's door. The doctor from\nPenmaenbach said that you would surely die. But the Teacher knew that\nyou would not. And oh, and oh, woe's the day when you came here!\"\n\nWith a sudden convulsive movement, the old lady threw her hands up into\nthe air, and then burst into a passion of weeping.\n\nJoseph had heard her with a languid interest. His question was answered;\nhe knew now exactly what had happened, but he was still too weak and\nweary for anything to have much effect upon him. Yet the sudden tears\nand the curious words of the kindly old dame troubled him.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" he said faintly. \"I know that I must have been a great\ntrouble to you. But I had no idea I should fall ill again.\"\n\nFor answer she stooped over and kissed him upon the forehead.\n\n\"Trouble!\" she cried, through her tears. \"That's no word to say to me. I\nspoke hastily, and what I said I said wrongly. It was the Teacher that\nwas in my mind. But it is all the will of the Lord to Whom all must\nbow--you'll take your medicine now, if you please.\"\n\nSo she ended, with a sudden descent from high matters to the practical\noccupations of the ministering angel.\n\nJoseph drank the potion which the old lady held to his lips. Her arm was\nround his head as she raised it, her brown, tear-stained face was close\nto his.\n\nHe felt a sudden rush of affection for her. In the past he had ever been\na little cold in his relations with all men and women. Save, perhaps,\nfor Hampson, the journalist, he had not experienced anything like love\nfor his kind. Yet now he felt his heart going out to this dear old\nnurse, and, more than that even, something cold and hard within him\nseemed to have melted. He realized in his mind, as a man may realize a\nwhole vast landscape in a sudden flash of lightning, how much love there\nwas in the world after all.\n\nEven as his whole weak frame was animated by this new and gracious\ndiscovery, the door of the bedroom opened once more and Lluellyn Lys\ncame in.\n\nMrs. Price turned from the bed upon which Joseph was lying, and went up\nto the Teacher.\n\nShe caught him by the arm--Joseph was witness of it all--and bowed her\nhead upon it. Then once more she began to sob.\n\n\"Oh, man, man,\" she said, \"I've loved ye and tended ye for many years\nnow. And my father, and my mother, and my people for a hundred years\nbefore, have served the house of Lys. But you have led me from the\nbondage of darkness and sin into peace and light. Ye brought me to the\nLord Jesus, Lluellyn Lys. Aye and the Holy Ghost came down upon me when\nI gave my heart to the Lord! And now, 'tis near over, 'tis all near\ndone, and my heart is bitter heavy, Lys. Master, my heart is bowed down\nwith woe and grief!\"\n\nLluellyn gently took the poor old thing by the arm. He led her to the\nbedside where Joseph lay.\n\n\"Old friend,\" he said--\"dear old faithful friend and servant, it is not\nme whom you must call Master any more. My work is nearly done, the time\nof my departure draws near. Here is your Master.\"\n\nThe old dame, clinging to Lluellyn's arm, looked down at Joseph. Then\nshe started violently, and began to tremble like an autumn leaf in the\nwind.\n\nThe old face, browned by a thousand days of mountain sun and storm, grew\npale under its tan. She looked up into Lluellyn's eyes with an\ninterrogation that was almost fierce in its intensity.\n\n\"I see something, Lys!\" she said. \"I see something! What does it\nmean--what is it, Master? I never saw it before!\"\n\nLluellyn answered her gravely and slowly.\n\n\"I know not,\" he said, \"save only that it is God's will. All has not yet\nbeen revealed to me. But I shall know soon, very soon, Anna, old friend.\nAnd, as you are a godly woman of the Lord, I charge you that you go with\nthis man when he departs from this place. Leave us now, Anna. I have\nsomewhat to do with Joseph.\"\n\nAs his voice fell and ceased, the old lady went weeping from the room.\n\nFor some little time there was a dead silence in the place.\n\nJoseph's brain was in a whirl, but his eyes were fixed upon the tall\nfigure of the Teacher.\n\nLluellyn Lys was strangely altered. His thin form was thinner still.\nAlways fragile in appearance, he now seemed as if a breath would blow\nhim away. His face and hands were deathly white, and his whole\nappearance suggested a man almost bloodless, from whom all vitality had\nbeen literally drained away.\n\n\"You are ill, Lluellyn,\" Joseph said at length.\n\nThe Teacher shook his head.\n\n\"No, dear friend,\" he answered. \"I do what I have to do, that is all.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he drew a chair up to the bedside, and, stretching out his\nlong, thin hands, placed the finger-tips of one upon Joseph's forehead,\nand those of the other upon his pulse.\n\nA dim memory, faint and misty, came to Joseph of his recent illness.\nLluellyn had sat in this position before, the touch of his fingers was\nfamiliar somehow or other, the stooping form awoke a chord of memory.\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"since I have been ill you have been doing this many\ntimes. It is all coming back to me. What are you doing?\"\n\nLluellyn smiled faintly.\n\n\"I am giving you strength for the work God intends you to do,\" he said.\n\"Do not talk, Joseph. Lie very still, and fix your thoughts on God.\"\n\nAlready the Teacher's voice seemed thin and far away to Joseph. It was\nas though he was moving rapidly away from Lluellyn, carried by a strange\nforce, a vital fluid which was pouring into his veins.\n\nHe experienced exactly the same sensation as when he had first climbed\nthe mountain-top to meet Lluellyn--that of receiving power, of being a\nvessel into which life itself was flowing.\n\nAt some time or another most people have been under the influence of an\nan\u00e6sthetic, if only for the extraction of a tooth. Joseph now began to\nlose consciousness in exactly the same way, rapidly, with a sense of\nfalling and a roaring noise in the ears.\n\nThe falling motion seemed to stop, the noise ceased, everything was\ndark.\n\nThen the black swayed like a curtain. Light came swiftly and silently,\nand in one single moment Joseph saw stretched before him and below him a\nvast panorama.\n\nIt was London that he saw, but in a way that no human eye has ever\nbeheld the modern Babylon. Nor does the word \"saw\" accurately express\nthe nature of the vision.\n\nHe apprehended rather than saw. The inner spiritual eye conveyed its\nmessage to the brain far more clearly and swiftly than even the delicate\nlenses and tissues of the flesh can ever do. Color, form, movement, all\nthese were not seen physically, but felt in the soul.\n\nHe had passed out of the dimensions of mortal things into another state.\n\nLondon lay below him, and in the spirit he heard the noise of its\nabominations, and saw the reek of its sin hanging over it like a vast,\nlurid cloud.\n\nThey say, and the fact is well authenticated, that a drowning man sees\nthe whole of his past life, clear, distinct, minutely detailed, in a\nsecond of time.\n\nIt was with some such flash as this that Joseph saw London. He did not\nsee a picture or a landscape of it. He did not receive an impression of\nit. He saw it _whole_. He seemed to know the thoughts of every human\nheart, nothing was secret from him.\n\nHis heart was filled with a terrible anguish, a sorrow so profound and\ndeep, so piercing and poignant, that it was even as death--as bitter as\ndeath. He cried out aloud, \"Lord Jesus, purge this city, and save the\npeople. Forgive them, O Lord, out of Thy bountiful goodness and mercy! I\nthat am as dust and ashes have taken it upon me to speak to the Lord. O\nLord, purge this city of its abominations, and save this Thy servant.\nTeach me to love Thee and to labor for Thee!\"\n\nThe vision changed. Into Joseph's heart there came an ineffable glow of\nreverence and love. In its mighty power it was supersensual, an ecstasy\nfor which there are no words, a love in which self passed trembling away\nlike a chord of music, a supreme awe and adoration.\n\nFor he thought that a face was looking upon him, a face full of the\nDivine love, the face of Our Lord.\n\nA voice spoke in his heart--or was it an actual physical voice?--\n\n\"Lo, this has touched thy lips, and thine iniquity is taken away, and\nthy sin purged. Also I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I\nsend, and who will go for us?' Then said I, 'Here am I; send me.'\"\n\nA silence, a darkness of soul and mind, the rushing of many waters,\nfalling, falling, falling....\n\nJoseph awoke, the voice rang in his ears still.\n\nHe saw the walls of the cottage room; he had come back to the world and\nto life, a terrible, overmastering fear and awe shook him like a reed.\n\nHe cried out with a loud voice, calling for his friend, calling for the\nTeacher.\n\n\"Lluellyn! Lluellyn Lys, come to me!\"\n\nHe was lying upon his back still, in exactly the same position as that\nin which he had lost consciousness while Lluellyn's hands were upon him\ngiving him life and strength.\n\nNow he sat up suddenly, without an effort, as a strong and healthy man\nmoves.\n\n\"Lluellyn! Lluellyn!\"\n\nHis loud call for help was suddenly strangled into silence. Lying upon\nthe floor, close to the bedside, was the body of Lluellyn Lys, a long\nwhite shell, from which the holy soul had fled to meet its Lord.\n\nThe Teacher had given his life for his friend. In obedience to some\nmysterious revelation he had received of the Divine Will, Lluellyn Lys\nhad poured his life into the body of another.\n\nJoseph stared for a moment at the corpse, and then glanced wildly round\nthe room. He could call no more, speech had left him, his lips were\nshrivelled, his tongue paralysed.\n\nAs he did so, his whole body suddenly stiffened and remained motionless.\n\nExactly opposite to him, looking at him, he saw once more the face of\nhis vision, the countenance of the Man of Sorrows.\n\nIn mute appeal, powerless to speak, he stretched out his arms in\nsupplication.\n\nBut what was this?\n\nEven as he moved, the figure moved also. Hands were stretched out\ntowards him, even as his were extended.\n\nHe leapt from the bed, passed by the still, white body upon the\nfloor--and learned the truth.\n\nA large mirror hung upon the opposite wall.\n\nWhat he had thought to be the face of Christ--the veritable face of his\nvision--was his own face!\n\nHis own face, bearded, changed, and moulded by his illness, altered\nentirely.\n\nHis own face had become as an image and simulacrum of the traditional\npictures and representations of Our Lord's.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE CROSS AT ST. PAUL'S\n\n\nHampson had been in the editorial chair of the religious weekly for\nnearly a month, and the change in the little journalist's circumstances\nwas enormous; from the most grinding poverty, the most precarious\nexistence, he had arrived at what to him was wealth.\n\nHe felt himself a rich man, and, indeed, the big firm of newspaper\nproprietors which had singled him out to occupy his present position was\nnot niggardly in the matter of salary. With careful discrimination they\nsought out the best man for this or that post, and when they found him\npaid him sufficiently well to secure his continued adherence to their\ninterests.\n\nHampson generally arrived at his office about eleven, and opened his\nletters. On the day of which this chapter treats he came earlier as he\nhad to \"pass the paper for press.\"\n\nA large amount of correspondence awaited him, and he waded steadily\nthrough it for about an hour, giving directions to his secretary as each\nletter was opened. When the man had gone to his own room Hampson leant\nback in his comfortable chair with a sigh. His usually cheerful face\nwore an expression of perplexity and annoyance.\n\nMore than a fortnight had elapsed since he had received any\ncommunication from his friend Joseph.\n\nWhen Joseph had first left London he had written every two or three days\nto Hampson--brilliant, if slightly caustic letters, describing his new\nenvironment and the life he was leading on the mountain with Lluellyn\nLys. These letters had concealed nothing, and had told the journalist\nexactly what had occurred. Yet every time that the writer recorded some\nstrange happening, or wrote of some unusual experience and sensation, he\nhad given a _material_ explanation of it at considerable length.\n\nThe astonishing climb up the final peak of the mountain, for example,\nwas recorded with great accuracy. The voice of the Teacher as it pealed\ndown through the mist, the sudden access of strength that made it\npossible for Joseph to join his host--all this, and much more, was set\ndown with orderly and scientific precision. But the explanation had been\nthat the tonic power of the mountain air had provided the muscular\nimpetus necessary for the climb, and that its heady influence upon a\nmind unaccustomed to so much oxygen had engendered the delusion of a\nsupernatural force.\n\nHampson had his own opinion about these strange things. He saw further\ninto them than Joseph appeared to be able to see. Yet his friend's\nletters were a constant source of pleasure and inspiration to him--even\nwhile he deplored Joseph's evident resolve to admit nothing into his\nlife that did not allow of a purely material explanation.\n\nAnd now the letters had stopped.\n\nHe had heard no single word for days and days. His own communications\nhad remained unanswered, nor had he received any reply to an anxious\ninquiry after Joseph's health, addressed to Lluellyn Lys himself.\n\nThis morning, again, there was nothing at all, and the faithful little\nman was gravely disturbed. Something serious had indubitably happened,\nand how to find out what it was he did not know.\n\nIt was a day of thick and lurid fog. London lay under a pall--the whole\nworld around was sombre and depressing.\n\nThe well-furnished editorial sanctum, with it's electric lights,\nleather-covered armchairs, gleaming telephones, and huge writing-table\nwas comfortable enough, but the leaden light outside, upon the Thames\nEmbankment, made London seem a city of dreadful night.\n\nHampson rose from his chair, and stood at the window for a moment, lost\nin thought.\n\nYes, London was indeed a terrible city. More terrible than Babylon of\nold, more awful when one remembered that Christ had come to the world\nwith His Message of Salvation.\n\nThe ancient city of palaces, in its eternal sunlit majesty, had never\nknown the advent of the Redeemer. Yet, were those forgotten people who\nworshipped the God Merodach really worse than the Londoners of to-day?\n\nOnly on the day before, a West End clergyman had come to Hampson with\ndetailed statistics of the vice in his own parish in the neighborhood of\nPiccadilly. The vicar's statements were horrible. To some people they\nwould have sounded incredible. Yet they were absolutely true, as Hampson\nwas very well aware--naked, shameful horrors in Christian London.\n\n\"Ah,\" the clergyman said, \"if only Our Lord came to London now how awful\nwould His condemnation be!\"\n\nAs the editor looked out upon the gloom he felt that the material\ndarkness was symbolic of a spiritual darkness which sometimes appalled\nhim when he realized it.\n\nThe door opened, and the sub-editor came in with \"pulls\" of the final\nsheets of the paper. Hampson had to read these carefully, initial them,\nand send them to the composing-room marked as ready for the\nprinting-machines. Then his work was done for the day.\n\nAt lunch time, the fog still continuing, he left the office. An idea had\ncome to him which might be of service in obtaining news of Joseph.\n\nHe would take a cab down to the East End Hospital, and ask Mary Lys if\nshe knew anything about his friend. Probably she would know something,\nher brother, Lluellyn Lys, would almost certainly have written to her.\n\nHampson had met Mary two or three times during the last weeks. He\nreverenced the beautiful girl who had saved him from the consequences of\nhis sudden madness, with all the force of his nature.\n\nIn her he saw a simple and serene holiness, an absolute abnegation of\nself which was unique in his experience. She represented to him all that\nwas finest, noblest, and best in Christian womanhood.\n\nSince his appointment to the editorial chair he had gloried in the fact\nthat he had been able to send her various sums of money for distribution\namong the most destitute of the patients under her charge.\n\nAt four o'clock he had an appointment with the clerk of the works at St.\nPaul's Cathedral, but until then he was free. The _Sunday Friend_\ncovered a very wide field, and hardly any question of interest to\nreligious people was left untouched. At the moment grave fears were\nentertained as to the safety of the huge building upon Ludgate Hill. The\ncontinual burrowing for various purposes beneath the fabric had caused a\nslight subsidence of one of the great central piers. A minute crack had\nmade its appearance in the dome itself.\n\nHampson had obtained permission from the dean to inspect the work of\nrepair that was proceeding, knowing that his readers would be interested\nin the subject.\n\nUntil four, however, he was perfectly free, and he drove straight\ntowards Whitechapel.\n\nHis cab drove slowly through the congested arteries of the City, where\nthe black-coated business men scurried about like rats in the gloom. But\nin half an hour Hampson arrived at the door of the hospital, and was\nmaking inquiries if Nurse Lys was off duty or no, and that if she were\nwould she see him.\n\nHe had not come at this time entirely on speculation. He knew that, as a\ngeneral rule, Mary was free at this hour.\n\nShe proved to be so to-day, and in a moment or two came into the\nreception-room where he was waiting.\n\nShe was like a star in the gloom, he thought.\n\nHow beautiful her pure and noble face was, how gracious her walk and\nbearing! All that spiritual beauty which comes from a life lived with\nutter unselfishness for others, the holy tranquillity that goodness\npaints upon the face, the light God lends the eyes when His light burns\nwithin--all these, added to Mary's remarkable physical beauty, marked\nher out as rare among women.\n\nThe little journalist worshipped her. She seemed to him a being so\nwonderful that there was a sort of desecration even in touching her\nhand.\n\n\"Ah, my friend,\" she said to him, with a flashing smile of welcome, \"I\nam glad to see you. To tell you the truth, I have a melancholy mood\nto-day, a thing so very rare with me that it makes me all the more glad\nto see a friend's face. How are you, and how is your work?\"\n\n\"I am very well, Nurse Mary, thank you, but I am troubled in mind about\nJoseph. I cannot get an answer to any of my letters, though at first he\nwrote constantly. I even wrote to Mr. Lluellyn Lys, hoping to hear from\nhim that all was well. But I have received no answer to that letter\neither. I came to ask you if you had any news.\"\n\nMary looked at him strangely, and with perplexity in her eyes.\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"I have had no news at all from either of them for some\ntime. I have been disturbed in mind about it for some days. Of course I\nhave written, too, but there has been no response. That is why I have\nbeen feeling rather downhearted to-day. It is curious that you, Mr.\nHampson, should have come to me with this question, and at this moment.\"\n\nThey looked at each other apprehensively, and for this reason: they were\nnot talking of two ordinary men and their doings.\n\nBoth felt this strongly.\n\nThere had been too many unusual and inexplicable occurrences in\nconnection with Joseph's accident and arrival at the hospital for either\nMary or Hampson to disregard any seeming coincidence. Both knew, both\nhad always felt, that they were spectators of--or, rather, actors in--a\ndrama upon which the curtain had but lately risen.\n\n\"When did you last hear from Joseph?\" Mary asked.\n\nHampson mentioned the date. It was, though, of course, he did not know\nit, the date of Joseph's strange experience upon the midnight moor, the\ndate on which he had been struck down, and on which his second illness\nbegan.\n\n\"It was at that time that I received my last letter from my brother,\"\nthe girl answered--\"the exact day, in fact. The letter troubled me when\nit came; it has troubled me ever since. It spoke of the end of his work\nhere, hinted that he felt he had almost done what he was sent into the\nworld to do, though at the same time he bade me prepare myself for great\nevents immediately imminent.\"\n\nThere was a silence in the big, bare reception-room. Mary broke it.\n\n\"What a dreadful day it is, Mr. Hampson,\" she said, with an effort to\ngive the conversation a less gloomy turn. \"I have rarely seen the fog\nlie so low over town. Oh, for a breath of fresh air--just five short\nminutes of fresh, unclouded air! I think I would give almost anything\nfor that at this moment.\"\n\nA sudden thought came to the journalist.\n\n\"Do you know, nurse,\" he said, \"I think I am one of the few men in\nLondon who can give you just what you ask at this moment; that is, if\nyou don't mind doing something slightly unconventional?\"\n\n\"Oh, convention!\" she answered, with the serene smile of the\nhigh-natured woman for whom the world has no terrors.\n\nHampson explained where he was bound when he left the hospital, and for\nwhat purpose. There would be no difficulty in the matter at all, if Mary\ncared to accompany him to the roof of the cathedral. It was certain,\nalso, that the dome would rise high above the low belt of fog which was\nstifling London.\n\nMary had three hours at her own disposal. In ten minutes they were\ndriving to the great church.\n\nWhen they had ascended to the roof of St. Paul's they found the fog was\nnot so dense. The sun was setting over the modern Babylon.\n\nHampson pointed down at the nether gloom.\n\n\"Vanity Fair!\" he said. \"Vanity Fair! What would Jesus Christ say to\nLondon if He came to it now?\"\n\nAs he spoke the breeze suddenly freshened, the fog clouds took new\nshapes, the light of the western sun grew in the dark.\n\nAnd then a thing happened that set their hearts beating furiously.\n\nRight ahead in the gloom, flashing, flame-like, clear-cut, and distinct,\na mighty cross hung over London.\n\nIt was at precisely this moment that Joseph was staring, trembling, into\nthe mirror, at the foot of which lay the long white body of Lluellyn\nLys, and realizing his own exact resemblance to the Man of Sorrows,\nJesus Who came to save us all.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE FINANCIER\n\n\nSir Augustus Kirwan, the great financier, was much disturbed by the news\nthat his nephew Lluellyn Lys was dead. Both Sir Augustus and his wife\nhad hoped that the recluse of the mountains might be induced to leave\nhis solitudes and take an ordinary place in the world. The baronet was\nsonless. His wealth was enormous, and he could leave his daughter\nMarjorie enough money to make her one of the richest heiresses in\nEngland, and still endow a male heir with a huge fortune. This he would\nhave done for his wife's nephew--his own nephew by marriage, for though\nnot a well-born man himself, he had an immense reverence for ancient\nblood.\n\nHe reverenced it in his wife, and was as well informed in the history of\nthe House of Lys as she was herself. Now, however, there was no longer\nany chance of reclaiming Lluellyn from what Sir Augustus and Lady Kirwan\nhad always regarded as the most incredible folly and semi-madness.\n\nThe last male Lys in the direct line was gathered to his fathers. There\nstill remained Mary Lys.\n\n\"My dear,\" the baronet said to his wife, \"Lluellyn's death has been a\ngreat blow to you, and, indeed, it has to me also, for you know that I\nshare your enthusiasm for your family and your hopes for it. But Mary\nis still with us. She is young and beautiful. We can give her a dowry\nthat will attract a duke. As soon as I am well again I shall put my foot\ndown in no uncertain way. This time, whatever Mary may say, I shall\ncompel her to leave this ridiculous slum-hospital work and take her\nproper place in society.\"\n\nSir Augustus spoke of his illness. He was a man by no means indifferent\nto the pleasures of the table. As he himself would have expressed it, he\n\"did himself well\" in every particular.\n\nBut people who like white truffles from Piedmont, caviare from the\nVolga, comet year port, and liqueurs of brandy at seven pounds a bottle,\nmust expect a Nemesis.\n\nTwo days before the news of Lluellyn's death arrived Sir Augustus was\nseized with a bad attack of gout.\n\nWhen Mary Lys, in uncontrollable grief, had hastened to her aunt's house\nin Berkeley Square, carrying the sad message from Joseph Bethune which\ntold her of her beloved brother's death, the banker had been quite\nunable to move.\n\nHad it been in any way possible, the worthy man would have hastened to\nWales to be present at the funeral of his nephew by marriage. But the\nphysicians had absolutely forbidden him the journey. He would not,\nhowever, allow Mary to travel to the principality by herself. In the\nfirst place he had the not uncommon dislike of men to their womenkind\nattending funerals. Mary would not hear of this.\n\n\"Uncle,\" she said, \"shall I not go to see my dear and saintly brother's\nbody put into the earth from which he will rise again when the trumpet\nof the Resurrection Day sounds?\"\n\nThis was rather above Sir Augustus.\n\n\"Tut, tut, my dear,\" he said; \"the--er--Resurrection trumpet is not very\nnear to the nineteenth century. But still, if you must go, I shall\ninsist on your having a proper escort.\"\n\nAccordingly Mary had been sent to Wales in the charge of the Kirwans'\nfamily solicitor, who was instructed to see that everything was done\ndecently and in order, as befitted the obsequies of the last male member\nof the House of Lys.\n\nFor her part, Mary did not in the least want the company of Mr. Owen,\nthe solicitor. She would have infinitely preferred to be left alone with\nher grief. Nevertheless she recognized the kindly feeling and family\ninstinct that prompted Sir Augustus' action, and submitted with the best\ngrace possible.\n\nLluellyn Lys had been dead for seven days, and it was now two days after\nthe funeral.\n\nSir Augustus was not yet able to leave the house, but his gout was\nbetter. After the simple dinner--which was all that the doctor allowed\nhim--he sat in his library reading the newspaper of that morning.\n\nThe first thing that caught his eye was a review of a new play which had\njust been produced under the title of \"The Golden Maiden.\" Sir Augustus\nwas an occasional patron of the burlesque stage. The sort of\nentertainments provided by the theatres that produce \"musical comedy\"\nwere quite to his taste. Kindly and generous as he was, he was a man\nwithout any religious belief whatever and with no ideals. To such a\nmind, the indelicacy and lubricity of these plays appealed intensely,\nand afforded him great amusement. Nor had he the slightest idea that any\nblame whatever could attach to him. These places were crowded night\nafter night by all sections of society--who was he to stay away?\n\nSir Augustus chuckled over the criticism. The writer first gave a\ndetailed synopsis of the plot--such as it was--and recorded his general\nimpressions of the performance. The critic was obviously a man of taste\nand decent feeling, for he spoke in no measured terms of the gross\nindecency of the play, which was, to put it plainly, little more nor\nless than a glorification of adultery.\n\n\"And the pity of it is,\" the writer concluded, \"that all London will\nflock to see this immoral nonsense. If the drama is to be thus\ndegraded--and no other form of entertainment has an equal popularity\nwith the one under discussion--then decent English men and women will\nbegin to long for the return of the Commonwealth, with its stern and\nself-sacrificing simplicity.\"\n\nSir Augustus put the paper down.\n\n\"Silly fool,\" he muttered. \"I wonder he is allowed to write such\nhypocritical twaddle. Certainly, from what he says, they do seem to have\ngone a little too far this time.\"\n\nNevertheless, Sir Augustus made a mental resolve to look in at the\nFrivolity for an hour or two as soon as ever his leg would let him.\n\nHe put down the paper and lit a cigar. All round him were the evidences\nof enormous wealth. The library was a large and beautiful room. A fire\nof cedar logs glowed in the open hearth, and threw flickering\nlights--rose-pink and amethyst--upon the gold and crimson books standing\nin their carved-oak shelves.\n\nThe parquet floor was almost hidden by priceless rugs from\nTeheran--white, brick-dust color, and peacock-blue. There was a\nmarvellous _console_ which had belonged to Marie Antoinette, a buhl\nclock which had stood in the palace of Sans Souci, and was a gift to\nFrederick The Great from Voltaire. As Sir Augustus looked round he\nforgot \"The Golden Maiden,\" and sighed. He was thinking of his dead\nnephew, Lluellyn Lys, and wishing that he had a son to succeed to all\nthese splendors.\n\nThe door opened, and Lady Kirwan entered, tall, stately, and beautiful\nstill, in her flowing black dinner-gown and the heavy ropes of pearls\naround the white column of her neck.\n\nShe sat down on the opposite side of the fire to her husband.\n\n\"My dear,\" she said, and there was distress in her voice, \"I am so\nworried about Mary.\"\n\n\"About Mary?\" Sir Augustus replied, with some little surprise. \"Oh, you\nneed not worry about Mary, Julia. Of course, this has been a great blow\nto her. But she is young and level-headed in many ways. Time will heal\nher wounds.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is not that, Augustus. Of course, the poor dear girl will get\nover her grief. Besides, she is religious, you know, and that certainly\ndoes seem to help certain natures. I have often observed it. But I am\nanxious about her now. Lluellyn was buried two days ago, and except Mr.\nOwen's telegram announcing the bare fact, we have not heard a word from\neither of them. Mary ought to be back here now.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" the baronet replied, \"I really don't think there is the\nslightest reason for anxiety. Mary is in perfectly safe hands. Indeed, I\nam particularly grateful to Owen for accompanying her himself. It is a\nthing I should hardly have ventured to ask him. I quite imagined he\nwould send one of the elderly confidential clerks--Mr. Simpson, for\ninstance--a most respectable and trustworthy person.\"\n\n\"I hope it's all right, I'm sure,\" the dame replied. \"But I can't see\nwhat is keeping the girl for two days after the funeral, all the same.\nAnd why is there no letter? Mary has a fortnight's leave of absence from\nthat stupid hospital, and she had arranged to come here and stay with\nus.\"\n\nThere was a silence. Then Lady Kirwan pressed a button in the panelled\nwall.\n\n\"I will take my coffee in here,\" she said. Sir Augustus nodded, and\npicked up the newspaper once more.\n\nA footman with powdered hair and large shoulder-knots brought in a\nlittle nacre-encrusted table, with a tiny silver cup, a bowl of\ndark-brown sugar-candy from Jamaica, and the long-handled brass pan from\nTurkey, which held the coffee.\n\nHe had hardly left the room when Lady Kirwan was startled by a sudden\nloud exclamation from Sir Augustus.\n\nShe rose from her seat in alarm, thinking that he was attacked by a\nsudden spasm of pain.\n\nIn a moment she was undeceived.\n\n\"Good Heavens,\" he said, \"here are extraordinary goings on! I never read\nsuch a thing in my life! No wonder Mary has not come back.\"\n\nTrembling with anxiety, Lady Kirwan ran to the back of her husband's\nchair, and, leaning over it, read the article, headed in large type, to\nwhich Sir Augustus pointed with a shaking finger.\n\n     STRANGE RELIGIOUS REVIVAL\n\n     A MOUNTAIN PREACHER EXCITES A WHOLE COUNTRYSIDE\n\n     Our North Wales correspondents telegraph accounts of some\n     extraordinary scenes in Wales, which are occurring on the mountains\n     of the Cader Idris district.\n\n     It seems that for some years past a mysterious recluse has been\n     living in a small cottage high up on the great slate-mountain of\n     Llan-y-Van. This man was a Mr. Lluellyn Lys, a member of a very\n     ancient Welsh family, and possessed of small private means. His\n     method of life was peculiar. Imbued with a deeply mystical\n     religious spirit, he lived very much as the preaching hermits of\n     the early days of the Christian faith. Sometimes he would remain\n     secluded for many days, or be found upon the summit of some lonely\n     mountain praying aloud to God. At others he would go preaching\n     through the villages, exhorting every one to repentance and a holy\n     life, with marvellous eloquence and fervour.\n\n     In addition to this, the \"Teacher,\" as this strange personality\n     appears to have been known among the peasants and local miners,\n     would sometimes hold vast meetings upon Sundays, high up in the\n     hills. Thousands of people from far and near would gather together,\n     and, standing upon a rock in their midst, Lluellyn Lys would speak\n     with fiery exhortation, and lead those great musical choruses and\n     hymns of praise for which the Celtic people are so famous.\n\n     A few weeks ago all those--and there seem to have been many\n     thousands--who regarded the Teacher as their spiritual adviser and\n     leader, became aware that he was entertaining a guest at his lonely\n     mountain home, for the first time within public remembrance. A\n     strange man had appeared at the little railway station in the\n     valley, and by Mr. Lys' orders he was carried up the mountain by\n     various of the Teacher's adherents and disciples. The man, who was\n     known only by the name of Joseph, was evidently recovering from a\n     severe illness. He remained in Lluellyn's lonely cottage for some\n     time, and the two men were attended by an old widow lady whose name\n     is Mrs. Price.\n\n     During the stranger's sojourn strange rumors were spread round the\n     countryside. The Teacher had more than once referred to him in\n     public as the \"Master,\" and had hinted that he was about to conduct\n     some great religious campaign, the precise nature of which was\n     never clearly specified. It was also said, and said very generally,\n     that some most extraordinary things were happening at the top of\n     Moel Llan-y-Van.\n\n     Incredible as it may seem to-day, there are at the present moment\n     hundreds of people in this part of Wales who confidently assert,\n     and offer to prove, that Mr. Lluellyn Lys possessed the gift of\n     healing. Dozens of cures are attributed to his agency. Be this as\n     it may, the consensus of opinion not only credits the Teacher with\n     something like miraculous power, but said that his strange visitor\n     was possessed of even more wonderful attributes than he was.\n\n     A week ago Lluellyn Lys died.\n\n     It seems that, in mystical language, he had already foretold his\n     decease. And now we come to the strange part of this excessively\n     strange story.\n\n     Two days ago Lluellyn Lys was buried. But his was no ordinary\n     burial; and, moreover, it is quite within the bounds of possibility\n     that it may yet become the subject of an official inquiry.\n\n     When the news of the Teacher's decease spread over the surrounding\n     country, from valley and mountain an enormous concourse of people\n     assembled. The body--it is described as being like a statue of\n     white marble--was taken from the cottage without a coffin and\n     buried on the very highest point of the mountain Llan-y-Van--a spot\n     where the dead preacher had been wont to pray.\n\n     It is understood that this was done by the dead man's wish and\n     stipulation, though, probably quite contrary to law. No one,\n     however, interfered--and interference would, of course, have been\n     useless against several thousand people, who appeared to be in an\n     ecstasy of grief, and who were obviously determined to carry out\n     the wishes of their dead friend to the letter.\n\n     If at this point readers of the _Daily Wire_ express incredulity at\n     what follows we can only say that we guarantee the substantial\n     accuracy of our report in the completest way.\n\n     After the actual interment of the corpse, and amid the wailing\n     cries of the vast multitude of mourners, a man mounted the cairn of\n     boulders which forms the highest part of the mountain--the exact\n     summit, so to speak.\n\n     Immediately the sounds of mourning were hushed, as if at the beat\n     of a conductor's b\u00e2ton.\n\n     Our correspondents describe the scene as wonderfully impressive and\n     without parallel in their very varied experience.\n\n     It was a cloudy morning, and somewhat chill in those high places.\n     Yet a beam of sunlight, white and sudden, fell upon the tall figure\n     upon the cairn. Every one could see the man quite distinctly; every\n     one knew that this was the stranger known as Joseph, who had been\n     the companion of Lluellyn Lys during the last weeks of his life.\n\n     The sudden silence was perhaps due to the fact of this universal\n     knowledge, but equally, perhaps, to another and extraordinary\n     fact.\n\n     Joseph in appearance resembles the traditional pictures of the\n     Christ in an astounding manner. It seems almost irreverent to write\n     these words. But they are written with no such intention. This man,\n     whoever he may be--charlatan and impostor, or sincere saint and\n     reformer of our own day--is the living, walking image of that idea\n     which all the world has of Him who died upon the Cross!\n\n     The words came; not very many, neither mystical nor obscure, but\n     plain statements of intention. Yet the voice hushed that vast\n     multitude of people as if with a magician's wand. Deep and clear,\n     full of a music that our correspondents say no orator of our day\n     can compass, a voice that goes straight to the heart--so, we are\n     informed, was the voice of this man Joseph.\n\n     The substance of his speech was startling--an actual shorthand\n     report of the words will be found upon another page:\n\n     This man, call him what you will, believes that he has a Divine\n     mission to come to London, that he may warn it of its sins and\n     bring its inhabitants to the foot of the Cross.\n\n     With a band of disciples--we must use the word--he is even now\n     speeding towards the metropolis. A dozen or more people are with\n     him, and it is also said that the sister of the late Teacher, a\n     very beautiful girl, who was formerly a hospital nurse, has joined\n     the little band of fanatics. One thing is quite certain. London is\n     on the eve of a new and most extraordinary sensation.\n\nThus the article concluded.\n\nLady Kirwan gave a gasp of dismay.\n\n\"Augustus!\" she cried, \"what a terrible scandal! What does it all mean?\nI was right! I knew something had happened to Mary. Why hasn't Mr. Owen\nlooked after her properly? The poor girl has lost her senses, of course.\nShe is under the influence of some unscrupulous impostor. Oh, this is\nawful, awful! To think that a member of the House of Lys should come to\nthis! What shall we do? What can we do? Something must be done at once!\"\n\nShe had but hardly finished speaking, and both husband and wife were\nlooking into each other's eyes with faces of perplexity and alarm, when\nthe door opened and the butler entered.\n\n\"Mr. Owen has returned, Sir Augustus,\" he said, \"and asks to see you\nimmediately.\"\n\nIn a moment or two a tall, elderly gentleman, with grey side-whiskers\nand a keen, though benevolent face, was ushered into the room. He was in\nmorning dress, carried a plaid travelling-coat upon his arm, and a hard\nfelt hat in his hand.\n\nHe seemed anxious and distressed.\n\n\"I can't get up, Owen,\" Sir Augustus said at once. \"I'm still a victim\nto this confounded gout. What's all this preposterous stuff I see in the\n_Daily Wire_? And where is my niece?\"\n\nThe lawyer choked and swallowed. His face grew red and embarrassed. For\na moment or two he did not speak.\n\nMr. Owen was a considerable man. He was one of the best known family\nsolicitors in London. His reputation was unspotted; he was the confidant\nof many great folk, and he may or may not have been worth three hundred\nthousand pounds. But he was, at this moment, obviously embarrassed, and\nperhaps angry also.\n\n\"Kirwan,\" he said, at length, \"we are old friends, and we have been in\nbusiness relations for many years. You know, I think, that I am no fool.\nYou have entrusted vast interests to my care. I have never failed you\nthat I know of--until to-day.\"\n\n\"What has happened, dear Mr. Owen?\" Lady Kirwan asked, terrified by the\nsolemnity of the lawyer's manner. \"Where is Mary?\"\n\n\"I've only just arrived,\" Mr. Owen answered. \"I came straight here from\nthe station, Lady Kirwan. Your niece, Miss Mary Lys, has gone with that\nfellow they call Joseph, and his company of crack-brained fools. Short\nof force, I did everything a man could do to restrain her; but she beat\nme. It was impossible to move her from her decision. For my part, I\nbelieve the girl's mad!\"\n\nHe paused, and both Sir Augustus and his wife realized that this eminent\nman was considerably affected.\n\nIn the radiance of the electric light they could see the beads of\nperspiration starting out upon his forehead like little pearls. The\nbaronet's face had gone quite pale.\n\nWith difficulty he rose from his seat, and an oath escaped him as he did\nso.\n\n\"The little fool,\" he cried--\"the fool! It's not your fault, Owen. Of\ncourse, I know that. But where is she now? Where is this precious\ncompany of tomfools and madmen?\"\n\n\"I have every reason to believe,\" Mr. Owen answered with quiet emphasis,\n\"that the whole crew--and Miss Lys with them--are in London at the\npresent moment!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\"THE GOLDEN MAIDEN\"\n\n\nThe theatrical criticism of the _Daily Wire_ was always printed on page\n4; the more important news on page 6, over the leaf.\n\nIt was for this reason that Hampson, the editor of the _Christian\nFriend_, never saw the news from Wales, and realized nothing of the\nstupendous happenings there until the extraordinary events of the same\nnight in London.\n\nHe had arrived at his office for a long day's work. Among his letters\nwas one from a young man who, it appeared, had but lately arrived in the\nmetropolis to fill a situation as clerk in a big mercantile house.\n\nHampson had inaugurated a special feature in the paper. It was a sort of\n\"advice bureau,\" and already he knew that he had been able to help\nhundreds of people in this way.\n\nThe letter from the clerk, obviously a Christian man who desired to live\na godly life, but was puzzled by the newness and strangeness of the\nmodern Babylon, in especial asked one question. He had been invited by\none of his fellows to attend a theatrical performance at one of the\n\"musical comedy\" houses. Although he knew nothing of theatres, save that\nthere was a strong prejudice against them among his own people in the\ncountry, he had declined the invitation. The result had been that he had\nendured a good deal of ridicule, and when asked to state his reasons for\nrefusal, had been unable to do so. Now he asked the editor's opinion\nupon the whole matter.\n\nThe question was one that Hampson had never thoroughly gone into. He had\ncertainly a low opinion of the calling of an actor or actress. He\nbelieved the body to be the temple of the Holy Ghost, and therefore\nthought it wrong to nightly paint that body and expose its grace and\nbeauty to the gaze of every one. It was years, however, since he himself\nhad entered the doors of a theatre. While he was thinking the matter\nout, and wondering what answer he should make to the inquirer, his eye\nhappened to fall upon the _Daily Wire_, which lay open on the desk\nbeside him.\n\nHe took up the paper and read the criticism of the new play at the\nFrivolity--read it with very different feelings to those which animated\nSir Augustus Kirwan on the evening of the same day.\n\nIf this was what the theatre was coming to, then let all decent men and\nwomen keep out of such places!\n\nYet he was a cautious man, and one who was averse to hasty judgments. He\nhad, moreover, a strict love of truth, and an intense dislike for\nhearsay evidence. An idea struck him. He would himself go and see this\nplay at the Frivolity! If it were really licentious and improper, he\nknew that it could not harm him personally. It would disgust him, but\nthat was all. On the other hand, the critic might have exaggerated, or\nhe might even have had some personal spite against the management of the\ntheatre. Dramatic critics sometimes wrote plays themselves, and these\nplays were rejected! Such things had been. And it would be a good thing\nthat his readers should have the impression of a cool and unbiassed mind\nupon a subject which was not without importance in the life of the\nmodern Christian in London.\n\nAccordingly he wrote a brief note to the business manager of the\ntheatre, explaining exactly why he wished to see the play, and asking if\na seat was to be had. This he sent round by a boy, with instructions\nthat if there was a vacant seat he should purchase it for him.\n\nIn an hour the lad returned. He brought a courteous note from the\nmanager, enclosing the coupon for a seat, marked \"complimentary,\" and\nreturning Hampson's ten-and-sixpence.\n\nDuring the rest of the day the editor was very hard at work, and had no\ntime to read any more news. The story of the strange doings upon the\nmountains in Wales, therefore, escaped him entirely.\n\nHe had heard nothing from Joseph, even yet, nor had he seen Mary Lys\nsince they had climbed to the roof of St. Paul's Cathedral together. At\nthat time, when both of them were filled with doubt and anxiety about\nLluellyn and Joseph, they had seen the august symbol of the world's\nsalvation painted on the sky. Through the terrible fog that hung over\nthe Babylon of our times the crimson Cross had shone.\n\nThe curious circumstance had brought comfort and relief to both of\nthem. It might be that they were sentimental, superstitious.\n\nYet God moves in a mysterious way, and who were they to say that the\nFather had not sent them a message from on high?\n\nMiracle is not dead yet, whatever the materialists may say. Ask a\ncaptain of the Salvation Army if Mary Magdalene does not still come to\nthe foot of the Cross! Ask the head of the Church Army if a thief is\nnever converted at almost the last moment in his evil career! Ask an\nAnglican priest, a Congregationalist minister--a Roman Catholic\npriest,--for their experiences of death-beds!\n\nOne and all will tell you that God rules the world still, the Holy\nSpirit yet broods upon the waters.\n\nHampson returned to his rooms in Bloomsbury. After a simple dinner,\nduring which Butler's _Analogy_ was propped up against the water-bottle,\nhe changed into evening clothes and walked down to the Frivolity Theatre\nin Shaftesbury Avenue.\n\nThe long curve of that street of theatres was thronged with carriages,\nmotor broughams, and cabs. Beautifully-dressed women with filmy lace\nmantillas over their shining hair, attended by well-groomed men in opera\nhats and white cashmere scarves, descended from the vehicles and entered\nthis or that theatre. The whole place blazed with light.\n\nThe great arc-lamps shone on the posters and the marble fa\u00e7ades crowned\nwith their huge electric advertisements. The smart restaurants of\nPiccadilly, Regent Street, and the Haymarket were pouring out their\nguests at this hour when all the plays were beginning.\n\nThe London world of pleasure was awake in all its material splendor,\nluxury and sin. The candle was alight, the gaudy moths fluttering around\nit.\n\nA man and woman descended from a hansom just as Hampson arrived under\nthe portico of the theatre, the woman so covered with jewels that these\nalone, to say nothing of her general manner and appearance, sufficiently\nindicated her class.\n\nHampson shuddered as he gave his hat and coat to an attendant, and\nwalked down the softly carpeted corridor through the warm, perfumed air\nto the stalls.\n\nThe theatre was very full. On all sides wealth and luxury displayed\nthemselves in unbounded profusion. But this was an audience nearly every\nmember of which was devoted to folly, idle amusement, and worse. Hampson\nsaw vice stamped upon the faces all round him, vice or stupidity, and\ncarelessness.\n\nImmediately upon his left, however, there was a young man, sleek and\nimmaculately dressed, who had a somewhat stronger face than many of the\nyoung fellows there. There was a certain strength about the jaw and\npoise of the head, an honesty in the blue eyes which the journalist\nnoticed at once.\n\nHampson sighed. Doubtless this young man was only just entering in upon\nthe life of pleasure and sin. He was not quite a slave yet--his soul not\nirrevocably stained. But some day he would become like the curious\nold-young men who sat all round, men with pointed ears, heavy eyes that\nonly brightened when they saw a pretty girl, mouths curved into\nlistless and weary boredom.\n\nWhat a brigade they were, these rich and vicious young fools who\nsupported the Frivolity! Night after night they sat in their accustomed\nstall while the actresses danced, and postured upon the other side of\nthe footlights--solemn, vacuous, and pitiable.\n\nTwo men bent over from their seats, and one of them touched the\nfresh-looking young man by Hampson's side upon the shoulder.\n\nThe journalist heard names being exchanged--the first speaker was\nintroducing a friend. From this he discovered who his companion was--Sir\nThomas Ducaine. The name was quite familiar. The young baronet owned an\nenormous property in Whitechapel. Some of the foulest and most fetid\ndens in Europe belonged to him. Filth and misery, gaunt hunger, and\nblack crime crawled through hideous alleys, and slunk in and out of\nhorrible places which were his.\n\nProbably there was not a property owner in England who was responsible\nfor the degradation of his fellow-creatures as this well-groomed young\nman in the stalls of the Frivolity Theatre. Hampson knew--none better.\nHad not he and Joseph starved in one of this man's attics? Yet, he\nreflected, probably Sir Thomas knew nothing whatever of the dreadful\nplaces from which he drew his vast revenues, had never visited them,\nnever would visit them.\n\nThe passing thoughts of those dark days in Whitechapel sent the editor's\nmind with painful wonder to his absent friend and his mysterious\nsilence, and a deep depression was beginning to steal over him when the\norchestra concluded the overture and the curtain rose.\n\nAlways methodical, and with a great power of concentration, Hampson\nbanished all other thoughts, and gave his undivided attention to the\nplay he had come to criticise.\n\nThe scene showed the interior of a great London bar, a smart West End\nestablishment. It was crowded with young men in shining silk hats,\ndove-colored trousers, and fashionably-cut grey frock-coats. They were\nleaning over the counter, which ran down one side of the stage, and\nflirting with half a dozen girls dressed as barmaids. The scene was\nbrilliant with light and color, accurate in every detail, and, indeed, a\ntriumph of the scene-painter's art.\n\nAfter a moment or two the barmaids burst into a chorus. The music was\nbright and tuneful, composed with real skill and sense of melody.\nHampson, who had a good ear, and was himself an amateur musician,\nrecognized the fact at once. But the words were incredibly vulgar and\nstupid, a glorification of drink, by the aid of which all troubles--and\ndoubtless decency and duty also--might be easily forgotten.\n\nThe whole thing was nauseating, utterly disgusting, to Hampson. He\nblushed even, and looked round him to see how the people took it. With a\nsad wonder he saw smiles and appreciative gestures on every side. \"The\ngrins of the lost,\" he thought bitterly, and then remembered that far\ngreater sinners than any of these fools had power to be, had yet been\nredeemed by the saving power of the red wounds of Christ.\n\nHe noticed, however, and with some degree of relief, that this ode to\ndrunkenness did not apparently interest or amuse the young man on his\nleft. Sir Thomas Ducaine neither smiled nor showed any sign of\nappreciation.\n\nSordid dialogue, prefatory to the thin story of the plot, began. The\ntopical slang that fast and foolish people use was introduced with\nsickening reiteration.\n\nThis, and much more which it is not necessary to detail, formed the\nfirst scene--a short one--and preparatory to the real action of the\nplay.\n\nThe thing went on. Hampson lay back in his softly-padded chair with a\nset, impassive face. He was well dressed; his evening suit had been\nbuilt by a good tailor, and outwardly there was nothing to distinguish\nhim from any other of these \"lovers of the drama.\" But as he listened to\nthis or that doubtful joke and _double entendre_, marked this or that\ndance or pose, realized the skill of each cold and calculated appeal to\nthe baser senses and passions, his heart was sick to death within him.\n\nHe saw how nearly every one of the young men who surrounded him was\nknown to this or that girl in the chorus. Swift glances or smiles\nflashed backwards and forwards from stalls to stage. The whole thing was\nan enormous, smoothly-running mechanism of evil! A great house of\nill-fame! It was just that, no more nor less than that!\n\nThe curtain fell on a peculiarly suggestive scene at the end of Act II,\nfell amid a roar of applause and laughter. It was so arranged that the\ncurtain descended hurriedly, as if to hide something that could not be\nwitnessed.\n\nFor five or six minutes this dirty wickedness was over. Nearly every one\ngot up and left his seat to go to the bar and take refreshment.\n\nHampson did not move, nor did Sir Thomas Ducaine, though the two men\nbehind asked him to accompany them to the _buffet_.\n\nHe happened to turn, and saw Hampson's face.\n\n\"Excuse me, sir,\" he said, with an entire disregard of the usual\nconvention which binds his class. \"Excuse me, but you seem rather sick\nof this.\"\n\n\"It's abominable!\" Hampson answered, in a sudden burst of anger. \"I\nnever go to the theatre, so I suppose I'm behind the times. But I really\nshouldn't have thought that several hundreds of apparently decent people\nwould have come to see this sort of thing.\"\n\n\"I'm very much of your opinion,\" the young man replied, \"and I don't\nthink I like it any better than you do. I never was fond of filth. But I\njust strolled in because I'd nothing much better to do.\"\n\nHe sighed, and, turning from Hampson, stood up and began to survey the\nhouse.\n\n\"Nothing better to do!\" The words stung the journalist, and made him\nshudder when he thought of Whitechapel. This young, kindly, and\nobviously nice-minded man, had nothing better to do than to \"drop in\" at\nthe Frivolity!\n\nDear God! Nothing better to do!\n\nThe electric bell whirred. Men began to make their way back to their\nseats, expectation was alight in most of the faces--faces somewhat\nflushed now with brandy-and-soda; eyes brighter now in anticipation of\nthe opening scene of Act III!\n\nThis was the second night of the play, yet already the opening of Act\nIII was being talked of all over London.\n\nMimi Addington was surpassing herself.\n\nMimi was the heroine, _par excellence_, of all the picture-postcards.\nErrand-boys whistled her songs, and told each other stories about her in\nwhispers. The front pages of the foul \"sporting\" papers which depended\nupon their obscenity for their circulation were never without constant\nmention of the girl's name.\n\nYoung, lovely, talented--with the terrible cleverness that one must\nsuppose the evil angels of Satan have--she stood almost alone in her\nsuccess and evil. She was a popular idol, though there were some who\nknew the woman as she was--a high-priestess of degradation, a public\npreacher of all that is debased and low!\n\nHampson knew. He did not watch the life in which she shone like a red\nstar. It was far alien from his own, utterly separate from the lives of\nall Christian people. But he was a man in the world, and he could not\nescape the popular knowledge.\n\nAs the curtain went up once more he set his teeth and sent up a wordless\nprayer to God that his mind might not be influenced or soiled, that the\nAlmighty would bring the woman to repentance and cause the scourge to\ncease.\n\nShe came upon the scene. There was a thunder of hands--even a few loud\ncries of welcome pierced the mad applause. Yes, she was beautiful--very\nbeautiful indeed. And there was charm also. It was not a mere soulless\nloveliness of face and form.\n\nAfter the first verse of the song, there was a momentary pause while the\norchestra played the symphony on muted strings.\n\nThen she began again, beautiful and seductive as a siren, with a voice\nlike a mellow flute. The lights were lowered in the auditorium. It was\nwell, for many folk, even amid that gay and worldly audience, grew hot\nand flushed.\n\nAs the last triumphant notes of the song trilled through the theatre an\nextraordinary thing happened.\n\nA deep trumpet voice rang through the house. The voice of a man, deep,\nmusical and terrible--a voice that cleft the brain like a sword.\n\nThe lights leapt up once more, and all the vast audience, with a shudder\nof fear, turned to look at the face and form of him who had spoken.\n\nStanding in the stage-box, surrounded by a group of sombre figures, a\nman was visible in the view of all.\n\nSomething went through the theatre like a chill wind. The music of the\nband died away in a mournful wail.\n\nThere were a few frightened shouts, and then came a deep, breathless\nsilence.\n\nStanding in the midst of them was one who, in face and form, seemed to\nbe none else but Our Lord Himself!\n\nHampson knew that voice. Even as it pealed out he rose, staggered, and\nsank back into the arms of the man next to him. He did not know that Sir\nThomas was pointing with outstretched arm to the figure of a woman who\nstood among the surrounding group in the box. He hardly heard the young\nbaronet's agonized cry of \"Mary! Mary!\"\n\nHe heard only that awful accusing thunder--\n\n\"WOE UNTO YOU, SAMARIA!\"\n\nThere was an extraordinary silence in the theatre, such a silence as the\nFrivolity had probably never known before in the whole of its\ndisreputable career.\n\nThe members of the orchestra dropped their instruments, and the gay\nmusic died away with a frightened wail. Mimi Addington stopped suddenly\nin her abominable song. No member of the vast audience made a single\nsound. The silence of fear, swift, astonished fear, lay over all the\ntheatre.\n\nWho was this man?\n\nJoseph was, of course, in modern dress. But the long, dark cloak he\nwore, Lluellyn's cloak, which Mary had given him, a veritable mantle of\nElijah, robbed the fact of any modern significance.\n\nThe frightened people in the theatre only saw come suddenly and\nmysteriously among them one who was the image and similitude of Christ\nHimself. It was as though He stood there.\n\nThe voice thrilled them through and through. In all their lives no\nsingle one of them had ever heard a voice like this.\n\nThere were those who had, at one time or another, listened to great and\npopular preachers, famous political orators. But none of these had\nspoken with such a voice. All were thrilled by it, stirred and moved to\nthe depths of their being. And there were some among the crowd in whose\nhearts the knowledge and love of God were only dormant, and not yet\ndead.\n\nThese few trembled exceedingly, for they recognized the voice with their\nspiritual, if not with their material ears.\n\nWhoever this man might be--and the marvellous resemblance blazed out as\nit were into the theatre--whoever he might be, the Holy Ghost was\nspeaking through his mouth!\n\nThe whole audience seemed turned to stone. Such a thing had never been\nknown before. The big, uniformed attendants who would have hustled out\nan ordinary intruder or brawler almost before the audience had had time\nto realize what was taking place, now stood motionless and silent.\n\n\"Behold, a whirlwind of the Lord is gone forth in fury, even a grievous\nwhirlwind. It shall fall grievously upon the head of the wicked.\"\n\nIn the terrible music and menace of its warning, the voice cleft the air\nlike a great sword. The people in the theatre cowered like a field of\ncorn when the wind blows over it. Every face grew pale, and in the\nslight pause and breathless silence which followed Joseph's words, quick\nears could distinguish a curious sound--or, rather, the intimation of a\nsound. It was as though muffled drums were sounding an enormous\ndistance away, so far and faint that the listener feels that, after all,\nhe may be mistaken, and there is nothing.\n\nIt was the beating of many human hearts.\n\nJoseph came forward into the full view of every one. His arm was\noutstretched, the marvellous eyes were full of a mystical fire and\ninspiration.\n\n\"This is a home of abominations,\" he cried, \"the lust of the flesh, the\npride of the eye. There!\"--he went on with unutterable scorn, pointing\nto Mimi Addington, with a sudden movement--\"there is the priestess of\nevil whom you have assembled to worship. Her body is fair. It was the\ngift of God. Her voice is beautiful, she is subtle and skilled--these\nare also the gifts of the Most High. But she has abused and degraded\nthese gifts. With her voice she has sung the songs of damnation, and\nchanted the music of hell. She has led many astray. There are homes in\nEngland desolate because of her. She has destroyed the peace of many\nhomes. She has poured poison into the minds of the innocent and young,\ncalling them to evil pleasure, and by her words leading them to think of\nthe flowery paths of sin. She has caused many to stumble and offend, and\nunless she cast herself upon the infinite mercy of God, it were better\nthat a millstone were put about her neck and she were cast into the\nsea.\"\n\nThe voice of the man with the message ceased for a moment.\n\nThere was a low sigh, though every one in the theatre heard it, and the\nwretched girl sank in a tumbled heap of senseless glitter and finery\nupon the floor.\n\nA universal shudder of fear swept through the huge, brilliant building,\na cumulative gasp of dismay--the material voice of many consciences\nawaking from sleep!\n\nBut no one moved to help the fallen actress, her companions on the stage\nstood absolutely still, not a man in the orchestra or the auditorium\nmoved.\n\nThen, with a swift movement, the accuser bent forward and pointed to the\nrows of sleek, well-groomed young men in the stalls.\n\n\"And you!\" he cried, his voice more stern and menacing than\nbefore,--\"you who sit nightly at the feast of sin, what of you? Young\nand strong, your youth and strength are given you to serve the Lord. But\nyou have made your lives an abomination, you bow down to foul idols,\nyour doings stink in the nostrils of the just. I am come here to say to\nyou that surely the Lord will smite you and humble you. You shall be as\nan oak that fadeth. Repent before it is too late. Seek God, and turn to\nHim. Do this and be saved. For you young men of London are even as the\nrulers in Sodom, and those who were set over Gomorrah. You have come in\nvanity, and you will depart in darkness, and your names shall be covered\nwith darkness, and you shall be utterly consumed.\"\n\nAnd then an almost incredible thing occurred. The terrible voice began a\nseries of _personal_ accusations, as if indeed the hidden secrets of the\nhearts of those who heard him were indeed laid bare, some supernatural\ninstinct had raised the curtain that hung before many evil lives.\n\n\"There sits one among you\"--so in each case Joseph began, though no name\nwas ever mentioned. But one by one those faultlessly dressed men of\nLondon's wealthy pleasure brigade were stricken down as by spears. So\nterrible a scene was without parallel in experience. Terrible stories\nwere revealed, black deeds sprang suddenly to light, and gradually a low\nmoaning sound began to fill the theatre, a deep and dreadful\naccompaniment to the pealing voice of one who seemed to be the Man of\nSorrows Himself.\n\nSuddenly a woman, somewhere in the back of the pit, began to shriek\nhorribly. In a second more the whole theatre was in a turmoil. Agonized\ngroans and cries of heartrending shame and sorrow grew into a piercing\ncacophony of sound, drowning the preacher's voice, and seeming to rend\nthe very walls with its unutterable mournfulness and despair.\n\nThen, it was never discovered how or why, though the point was ever\nafterwards debated, every single light in the theatre went out.\n\nThrough the darkness, and the sudden calm which this added fear induced\nfor a moment, the mighty voice was heard, tolling like a great bell,\nwith its burden of \"Repent! Repent! Repent!\"\n\nThere was, however, no physical panic. No one was bodily injured. When\nlight was at length restored, it was seen that the strange figure, with\nits little accompanying band of followers, had utterly disappeared. The\ncurtain had fallen and hidden the stage, the place where Joseph had\nstood was dark and empty; every one was standing and shaking with fear,\nand white faces were turned to faces whiter still, asking each other\nwhat this thing might mean.\n\nWith hardly a sound, the huge audience poured silently out of the\nFrivolity. People who, a few short hours before, had passed within the\ndoors light-hearted, smiling, and eagerly expectant of the mischievous\nnonsense they had come to see, now moved with drawn faces and hanging\nheads. Lips were clenched with resolve, or still trembled and muttered\nin fear. Cheeks were red with terrible shame or blanched with agony. Out\nthey came like a procession of ghosts, and--London was just the same!\n\nIt was obvious that no inkling of what was going on in the Frivolity\nTheatre had penetrated to the outside world.\n\nShaftesbury Avenue blazed with light as usual. Crowds--but how different\nto this one!--poured from the other playhouses. The street was full of\ncabs and carriages, the roar of late traffic, the hoarse shouts of\nnewsboys selling the last edition of the evening papers. The great\nrestaurants--Trocadero, Criterion, Monico--were hung with huge\narc-lamps, turning the night into wan and feverish day. Round about\nPiccadilly Circus and Regent Street everything was precisely the same as\nit had been. Was it all a dream? the late audience of the Frivolity were\nasking each other.\n\nThe question was not answered in words. Suffering eyes and stricken\nfaces told their own tale.\n\nHampson, the journalist, was full of a wonder and awe for which there\nwas no name. He had recognized Joseph at once, a changed--marvellously\nchanged--Joseph, but his old friend still.\n\nThe whole thing had come upon him like a thunderclap, for it must be\nremembered that he had not seen the report in the _Daily Wire_, and knew\nnothing of the occurrences in Wales.\n\nThe extraordinary transformation of his friend, the supernatural power\nof his words, the enormous hypnotic power of them--what did all these\nthings betoken?\n\nHe stood motionless, just opposite to the door of the Eccentric Club,\ncareless of the crowd that passed and jostled him, lost in a startled\ndream.\n\nThen he felt some one touch his arm, and, looking up quickly, saw that\nthe young man who had sat by him in the theatre, and whom he had heard\naddressed as Sir Thomas Ducaine, was accosting him.\n\nThe baronet's face was white and frightened, and he seemed oblivious of\nall ordinary conventions.\n\n\"I say,\" he began, in a curiously high-pitched and nervous voice, \"what\ndoes it all mean? You were sitting next to me, you know. And there was a\ngirl I know well--very well indeed--with that man; but I thought she was\nin Wales--\"\n\nHe broke off short, realizing that he was speaking to a total stranger.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, sir,\" he said, \"but I am unstrung, as I fancy most\nof us are to-night who have been to the Frivolity.\"\n\nHe lifted his hat mechanically, and was about to move away.\n\nHampson recollected a fact which he had hitherto forgotten. Sir Thomas\nhad called out \"Mary!\" when the mysterious party of strangers had first\nappeared in the box.\n\n\"You mean Miss Lys?\" he said.\n\nThe young man with great possessions stopped dead.\n\n\"You know her?\" he said, in accents of extreme surprise. \"Then you know\nwho the--the man was, too? At first I thought--oh, a mad\nthought!--because of the extraordinary resemblance!\"\n\nHe was still a little incoherent, and unable to speak the thoughts that\nwere rushing through his startled brain. With shaking hand, he took out\na gold cigarette-case and tried to light one of the little white tubes.\n\nA tall policeman came up to them.\n\n\"You must move on, if you please, gentlemen,\" he said. \"The pavements\nmust be kept clear at this time of night.\"\n\n\"Look here,\" Sir Thomas said to Hampson, \"my name is Ducaine--Sir Thomas\nDucaine. You know something of all this--you know Miss Lys. I want to\ntalk to you. I must talk to you, sir! Now, I live only a few yards from\nhere, my house is in Piccadilly. Won't you come and spend an hour or two\nwith me? It would be a great kindness. I'm sure you want some supper,\ntoo, after all this terrible excitement.\"\n\nHampson made up his mind immediately. He was attracted to the\nfresh-looking, strong-faced young man. He liked what he had said about\nthe leprous play, before Joseph's appearance. And he also was terribly\nbewildered, and needed human companionship and talk. Moreover, he was\nfaint with hunger--the emotions he had endured had robbed his blood of\nall his strength, and his brain had burnt up the vital force within him.\nHe would go with Sir Thomas.\n\n\"I thank you!\" he said, noting with surprise how thin and tired his own\nvoice was. \"I shall be glad to come. My name is Hampson, and I am the\neditor of a weekly newspaper.\"\n\n\"We will go at once,\" Sir Thomas answered, and crossing the Circus, the\nstrangely assorted pair walked rapidly down Piccadilly.\n\nThey had traversed about a third of that street of clubs and mansions\nwhen the baronet stopped at the massive door of a large bow-windowed\nhouse, opened it with a tiny Bramah key, and Hampson found himself, for\nthe first time in his life, in the house of a wealthy and fashionable\nyoung gentleman of London.\n\nA silent manservant took their coats, and the host led the way to a\nsmall room, which opened into the hall at the further end of it. Here\nanother and older man was waiting--the butler, evidently. A small round\ntable was laid for supper with dainty richness. A mass of hothouse\nviolets stood in a silver bowl in the centre; there were tall\nhock-glasses of Venetian ware, purple also; and the table-cloth and\nserviettes were fringed with purple.\n\n\"Bring some supper at once, please!\" Sir Thomas said. \"Something light,\nMr. Hampson? Oh, very well! Some _consomm\u00e9_, _Bryce_, some devilled\noysters--yes, and an omelette afterwards. That will do.\"\n\n\"And the wine, Sir Thomas?\"\n\n\"Oh, bring some hock and seltzer!\"\n\nThe man withdrew.\n\n\"Excuse me one moment, Mr. Hampson,\" the baronet said. \"I am expecting a\nrather important telegram. If it has arrived, they will have put it in\nthe library. I will go and see.\"\n\nHe hurried out of the room. Hampson looked round him. The walls were\npanelled in white, and priceless old sporting prints, full of vivid\ncolor and movement, had been let into the panels. A great couch, covered\nin blue linen, with broad white stripes, was drawn up to the cosy fire,\nand on the tiger skin which served as a hearthrug a little Japanese\nspaniel was lying asleep. In a moment or two Sir Thomas returned. He had\nchanged his evening coat for a smoking-jacket of quilted satin, and wore\na pair of straw-woven Italian slippers upon his feet.\n\n\"Supper won't be a moment,\" he said, sinking down upon the couch. \"I\nhave trained all my people to be quick. But if you are not too tired,\nwill you tell me, or begin to tell me, what you know? This means more to\nme than you can possibly imagine.\"\n\n\"How shall I begin?\"\n\n\"Who is that man who appeared in the theatre, and swayed and held it\nwith the force of his words?\"\n\n\"He is named Joseph Bethune,\" Hampson answered, \"and he is a great\npersonal friend of my own.\"\n\n\"And why was Miss Lys with him? And what do you know of her?\"\n\nWith perfect frankness Hampson explained how Mary had saved his life. He\ntold of the strange occurrences in connection with Joseph's accident,\nrecovery, and journey to Wales.\n\n\"Miss Lys, I know,\" Hampson said, \"was greatly impressed by Joseph and\nthe occurrences connected with him. Only three days ago I met her, and\nwe talked about him. She had not heard from her brother, with whom\nJoseph was staying. I had not heard from Joseph, either, for several\nweeks. We were both distressed.\"\n\nSuddenly, as he said this, Hampson started. He remembered the great\nfiery cross that he and Mary had seen hanging over London from the top\nof St Paul's Cathedral.\n\nWhy should he keep back anything? he thought; and in short, graphic\nsentences he described this marvel also.\n\nSir Thomas was intensely interested. His face was grave and set, his\neyes wide with wonder.\n\n\"Of course, I knew Miss Lys had a brother in Wales,\" he said. \"I know\nher very well. But she has never said anything to me of this man Joseph,\nwhom she sent to stay with him. What you have told me is extraordinary.\nFrankly, I could not have believed in all of it had I not been present\nat the theatre to-night. But I still fail to establish any connection\nbetween Joseph in Wales with Lluellyn Lys and Miss Lys with Joseph at\nthe theatre.\"\n\n\"And I am as much in the dark as you are,\" Hampson answered.\n\nWhile they had been speaking, the butler had been superintending the\nmovements of a footman who was bringing in the soup and the chafing-dish\nwith the oysters. Now he came up to his master, carrying a silver tray,\nupon which was a folded newspaper.\n\n\"I am sorry, Sir Thomas,\" he said, \"but I could not help overhearing\npart of what you and this gentleman were saying. You were mentioning\nsome names which made me think that you could not have seen the paper\nto-day, sir.\"\n\n\"Why, what d'you mean, Bryce?\" Sir Thomas asked, in amazement.\n\nThe butler took the paper, opened it, pointed to a column, and said:\n\n\"The name 'Joseph' and Mr. Lys, sir. Mr. Lys is dead, sir. It's all\nhere, in a special telegram to the _Daily Wire_.\"\n\nSir Thomas jumped up from his seat, seized the paper, and spread it out\nupon the supper-table.\n\nHampson rose also, and together the two men read the account of the\ndoings in Wales with eyes that were nearly starting out of their heads.\n\nThe butler and the footman had meanwhile discreetly withdrawn.\n\nSir Thomas was the first to break the silence. He read less quickly than\nthe practised journalist, but he was not long in supplying the\nconnecting links of the strange story.\n\nHe raised his hand to his head, with a weary and dejected movement.\n\n\"It is beyond me,\" he said. \"Since chance has thrown us together, and\nyou have been so frank with me, I will be equally so with you. I, Mr.\nHampson, have long had hopes that Mary Lys would be my wife.\"\n\nAs they sat down to supper, probably even in London, that city of\nmarvels, no couple more unlike could have been found anywhere together\nat that midnight hour. The one was a millionaire, rich even in this age\nof huge fortunes. He was young, goodly to look upon, in perfect health,\nand a universal favorite in society.\n\nThe man who confronted him was unknown, of humble origin, frail body,\nand regarded himself as abnormally lucky to be earning four hundred\npounds a year by constant, highly specialized toil, and the exercise of\na keen and nimble intelligence.\n\nYet on this night, at any rate, chance--or may we not say rather the\nexercise of the Supreme Will?--had brought them together in the\nstrangest circumstances and under the strangest conditions. Moreover,\nunlike as they were in temperament, position and way of thought, both\nwere drawn to each other. They had become friends at once, and they were\naware of the fact.\n\nFor the first few minutes of the meal there was silence. Hampson was\nphysically sick and faint. His whole body cried out for food and\nnourishment. He did not know that the _consomm\u00e9_ he was enjoying was a\n_consomm\u00e9_ of clear turtle, but almost immediately strength began to\nreturn to him. He was not an absolute teetotaller, though it was only on\nthe rarest occasions that he touched intoxicants. So to-night, though he\npartook sparingly of a simple glass of golden hock, he was unaware that\nit was the cuv\u00e9e of '94, from the famous vineyard of Wauloh Landskrona.\n\nSir Thomas broke the silence.\n\n\"We have been strangely brought together,\" he said, \"and by forces which\nI do not pretend to analyse or understand. But I can trust you, I know,\nand I am going to tell you something of my life.\"\n\nHe paused and frowned, as if thinking deeply. Then he began again--\n\n\"I have known Mary Lys for a long time,\" he said slowly and with some\ndifficulty, \"and I have loved her deeply almost from the first. To me\nshe is the most precious thing on earth. She is far, far above me--that\nI know; but, nevertheless, a great love gives courage, and I dared to\ntell her of mine. I think--indeed, I am sure--that she cares for me. But\nthere has always been a great barrier between us, and one which has\nseemed insurmountable. It seems more so than ever now, after what I have\nlearnt to-night. I have always been unable to believe in Christianity.\nIt means nothing to me. It is a beautiful fable, that is all. And I\ncannot pretend, Mr. Hampson--I would not if I could. To gain the woman I\nlove for my wife I would do anything except live a lie. No union\nfounded on a fundamental deceit can be a happy one. If I pretended to\nbelieve I should never know a moment's peace. Mary would soon find it\nout by that marvellous sixth sense of hers, and both our lives would be\nruined beyond recall.\"\n\n\"I fear,\" Hampson answered sadly, \"that there are many people who\nprofess and call themselves Christians who would have no such scruples,\nSir Thomas. They do you honor.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" the baronet answered. \"It's temperament with me, that's all.\nWell, again and again I have returned to the attack, but it has been\nuseless. Nothing will move her. However much she loved me, so she\nstated, she would never marry me unless I gave up everything and\nfollowed Christ. Those were her very words. And that I cannot do, for\nChrist is nothing to me, and does not touch my heart at all. I can't\nbelieve in Him. It is an impossibility. And I am rich, very rich. I love\nmy life; I am fond of beautiful things; I shrink from pain and sorrow\nand poverty. And yet I don't think I am a bad man, as men go. I have no\nparticular vices. When you saw me at that filthy play to-night it was\nquite an accident. I hate that sort of thing; the life that the\nFrivolity type of man leads is absolutely disgusting to me. I felt\nunhappy and bored; it happened that I had no engagement to-night, and I\nturned into the first place I came to, without a thought. But Mary wants\nme to give up everything and work among the poor--as a very poor man\nmyself. How can I give it up--my houses, estates, my yacht, and\npictures, all the things that make life pleasant? I can't do it! And\nnow, after to-night, Mary will be further away from me than ever.\"\n\nHe spoke with grief and despair in his fresh, young voice. Obviously he\nwas deeply stirred and moved. But there was doubt in his voice also. He\nseemed to be talking in order to convince himself. There was a struggle\ngoing on within his mind.\n\n\"What a wonderful man your friend Joseph must be,\" he said suddenly.\n\"There cannot be any one else like him in the world. There seems\nsomething almost supernatural about him--only, of course, the\nsupernatural does not exist.\"\n\nThen Hampson spoke.\n\n\"I know that you will believe what I am going to tell you,\" he said\nquietly. \"First, I must say a few words about myself. All my thinking\nlife--since I was a very young man--I have been a convinced Christian.\nEven in the darkest hours my faith has not wavered, whatever my sins and\nerrors may have been. Joseph, on the contrary, has been as convinced an\natheist as you say that you yourself are. A hundred times in my hearing\nhe has derided Jesus Christ and mocked at God. He threw up a great\ncareer at Cambridge because he felt it his duty to express his\nconvictions in public. Only a few weeks ago he was exactly of the same\nway of thinking. To-night you heard him sway and move hundreds of sinful\nmen and women directly inspired by God. Like a prophet of old--even as\nJesus Himself--he preached the truth in the places of the ungodly. You,\nyourself, were profoundly stirred. Now, I ask you, what does this\nmean?\"\n\nSir Thomas had been gazing at his guest with deep interest and wonder.\n\n\"You startle me, sir,\" he said. \"You overwhelm me with what you tell me.\nI must believe you. I do indeed! But what had changed him? Tell me\nthat!\"\n\n\"The power of the Holy Ghost,\" said the journalist.\n\nThere was a silence.\n\nSir Thomas leant back in his chair with an abstracted gaze. He had eaten\nnothing, though his guest, wiser than he, had made a sufficient and\nrecuperative meal.\n\nThe little Japanese spaniel rose from his sleep before the glowing fire,\nand put his nose into his master's hand. Sir Thomas stroked the tiny\ncreature absently.\n\n\"The Holy Ghost?\" he said, fixing his eyes upon Hampson. \"What is that?\nWho can say?\"\n\n\"The Holy Ghost, proceeding from the Father and the Son, is of one\nsubstance, majesty, and glory with the Father and the Son, very and\neternal God.\"\n\n\"I would,\" the young man said, with great sadness--\"would that the Holy\nGhost would come to me also.\"\n\nHe had hardly finished the sentence--probably the first prayer he had\never made since he lisped \"Our Father\" at his mother's knee--when the\ndoor opened, and the butler entered the room.\n\n\"A note, Sir Thomas,\" the man said. \"A note from Miss Lys. The bearer\nawaits an answer.\"\n\nThe young man took the note with trembling fingers and tore it open.\nThis was what he read:--\n\n     \"I saw you in the theatre to-night, and I knew that you were\n     disturbed about me. Have no fear. I am writing this from my aunt's\n     house, where I went immediately when we left the theatre. But I\n     want you to come and see me here to-morrow, quite early. Would ten\n     o'clock be too soon? I have something of the highest importance to\n     say to you. Send back an answer to say that you can come. I have\n     been here for an hour, and I have been thinking of you the whole\n     time. I have a premonition about you--a happy one!\n\n     \"MARY.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nA LINK CHAPTER\n\n\nJoseph, his followers, and Mary Lys, had passed out of the theatre\nwithout hindrance in the dark. They encountered no one in their passage,\nand found themselves in Shaftesbury Avenue as people pass from one dream\ninto another. The faces of all of them were pale and set, but no one\nspoke.\n\nIt is a well-known fact that hardly any one attracts attention in the\nstreets of London unless because of noise or eccentric behavior. This is\nquite true of the daytime, and especially true at night. So cosmopolitan\nis the modern Babylon, so intent upon their own business or pleasure are\nthe inhabitants, that a Chinaman in full native costume or an admiral in\nfull-dress would do no more than excite the merest passing regard.\n\nWhen, therefore, Joseph and his companions walked up the busy\npleasure-street, they were almost unnoticed. A man with a soft felt hat\npressed down upon his forehead, a bearded man wearing a black cloak of a\nsomewhat peculiar cut--what was there in that? A hospital nurse and a\nfew grave-faced men in country-clothes and obviously from the\ncountry--who was to give them any notice?\n\nIt happened, therefore, that the little party were well on their way\ntowards Oxford Street before the first member of the audience had left\nthe Frivolity. As far as any knowledge of their whereabouts was\nconcerned, they might have vanished into thin air.\n\nThey walked on in silence, Joseph leading the way with Mary, the\nhalf-dozen men following behind.\n\nWhen Oxford Street was reached, Joseph hailed a cab.\n\n\"You have been with us long enough for to-night, sister,\" he said; \"your\naunt and uncle must be anxious about you, and you owe them a duty after\nyou have fulfilled your duty to the Lord. Truly, the Holy Spirit has\nbeen with us on this night, during the first few hours we have been\nhere. May He always be with us and bless and prosper our great\nundertaking! Good-night, and God bless you, my dear sister. If it be\nGod's will we shall all meet again on the morrow. It may be that even\nbefore then some one of us will receive a sign or a revelation.\"\n\nHis eyes shone with mystical fire as he said this, and watched the cab\ndrive away into the roar of lighted traffic.\n\nThen he turned to his companions.\n\n\"Brethren,\" he said, \"I feel, I know not why or how, that my work\nto-night is not yet ended. But go you to your lodgings. I will be with\nyou for prayer and to break the fast not long after dawn. You trust me\nstill? You believe in our great work? You are not terrified by the noise\nand the glitter of this wicked, mighty city? If there is one among you\nwho would even now draw back, and once more seek the quiet hills of\nWales, then he may yet do so on this very night.\"\n\n\"We have no home, Master,\" one of the men said, Owen Rees by name, and\nobviously speaking in the name of his companions. \"We have no home but\nthe Kingdom of God. We have set our hand to the plough, and will not\nturn back. The Lord is with us,\" he concluded simply--\"whatever and why\nshould we fear?\"\n\n\"Then, brethren,\" Joseph answered, \"God be with you. That omnibus there\nwill take you to the door of the place by the station where we have\ntaken our lodging. David Foulkes knows the number, and has the money.\nPray for us all.\"\n\nWith these words he turned and strode away westward. They gazed after\nhim until the tall, black figure was swallowed up by the crowd.\n\nOn and on went Joseph, regardless of all around him. His mind was full\nof doubt and fear, despite the calm words he had spoken to his\ndisciples. All the saints of God have known dark and empty moments,\nwherein all seems hopeless and sad, and the great world seems closing\nround, shutting them off from the Almighty. It is always thus. We are\ntried and tempted to the last. We also must know faintly some of those\nhours of agony which the Man of Sorrows Himself knew and suffered.\n\nIt was thus with Joseph now. During the tremendous effort in the theatre\nhe had been conscious that God was with him, and speaking through the\nmouth of His servant. He was the vessel of the Unseen and Awful Power.\nIn a flash of Divine inspiration he had known of the lives of the men\nwho sat below him.\n\nBut when it was all over, a reaction set in. He was filled with gloomy\nand troubled thoughts. Had his words been right words after all? Was the\nimpulse which had drawn him to the theatre with irresistible strength an\nimpulse from on high? And who was he, after all, that he should lead\nothers in a new crusade against the sin and wickedness of this great\ncity?\n\nHe felt exactly as if some actual personality which had been animating\nhim was now withdrawn.\n\nTo his left, Park Lane stretched away towards Piccadilly, the palaces\nthere all blazing with light. It was typical of what he had come to\ndenounce, to warn, and to save.\n\nAnd how was it possible that he, a weak man, could do this thing?\n\nHe walked on. Half-way down Park Lane he saw that a coffee-stall stood\nin the shadow of the Park railings, drawn up close to the curb. The\nsight reminded him that he had not eaten for many hours, and he crossed\nthe road towards it.\n\nThere were no customers but himself, and in a moment or two a steaming\ncup of coffee and two great wedges of bread-and-butter stood before him.\n\nHe had never enjoyed a meal so much, he thought idly--no, not even in\nthe recent days of starvation in Whitechapel, when an unexpected\nwindfall had provided him and Hampson with food.\n\nWhitechapel! What a lifetime of experience had been his since those\ndays! Wales, the mystical life with Lluellyn Lys--\n\nA flush of shame and sorrow came over him. Why had he doubted even for a\nsingle moment the power and guidance of God! Had not the Holy Ghost been\nalways with him--always, from the very first?\n\n\"O Lord,\" he cried, in his heart, \"forgive Thine unworthy servant his\nweak doubts and fears! I know that Thou art with me, now, and forever\nmore!\"\n\nHe had concluded the short and unspoken prayer when he was startled by a\nvoice.\n\nHe had not noticed that when the coffee-stall proprietor--an old man\nwith snow-white hair, and large, horn-rimmed spectacles--had given him\nthe coffee, he had returned to a large book he was reading.\n\nNow Joseph looked round suddenly, and realized that the old fellow was\nsaying the sentences aloud to himself.\n\n\"He shall call upon Me, and I will hear him; yea, I was with him in\ntrouble. I will deliver him, and bring him to honour.\"\n\nJoseph put down his pennies upon the counter. The answer to his prayer\nhad come, once more God had spoken.\n\n\"Thank ye!\" said the old man, in a strong Scotch accent. \"I doot but I\nstartled ye with me reading. I read aloud to my wife, who can nae mair\nsee to read for hersel', and sae I've got in the way o't. But they're\ngran' words, lad.\"\n\n\"Thank you for them, and God bless you!\" Joseph answered; and with the\nold fellow's kindly \"Good nicht!\" ringing in his ears, resumed his walk.\n\nHe was immeasurably comforted and helped, and his whole soul went up in\na burst of praise and adoration.\n\nNo thought of sleep came to him. He no longer felt physically weary. He\nwas impelled to walk and pray for sleeping London.\n\n\"Lord, grant that they will hear me! Lord, send down Thy Holy Spirit\nupon me, and give me Thy grace! Raise up great and powerful helpers for\nthe work, for I am weak and poor.\"\n\nHe was in Piccadilly now, and as he prayed he walked more slowly.\n\nOh, that those great people who lived in this wonderful street--now so\ndark and silent--would open the doors of their hearts that Christ might\nenter in!\n\nThe dark was suddenly illuminated.\n\nA great door swung slowly open, and two men in evening dress stood\ntogether upon the threshold.\n\nHe turned instinctively and looked them full in the face.\n\nThere was a startled cry of \"Joseph!\" And as if in a dream he mounted\nthe steps and passed under the lintel.\n\nThe door closed quietly behind him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE COUSINS\n\n\nIt was midnight when Mary Lys arrived at her aunt's house in Berkeley\nSquare. Lady Kirwan had gone to bed; but it happened, so the butler told\nher, that Miss Kirwan was sitting up in her boudoir, in the hopes that\nher cousin might yet arrive that night.\n\nThe greeting between the two girls was warmly affectionate. Marjorie had\nalways loved Mary as a sister, loved her and reverenced her deeply. The\npretty society girl was certainly of a butterfly nature, loving the\nbright and merry side of life, and unwilling to look upon its darker\naspects. Yet she was unspoiled at heart, and the constant spectacle of\nMary's devotion to the suffering and poor of the world, her steadfast\npursuit of a hard and difficult path, always touched the younger girl.\n\n\"Oh, you poor dear,\" she said, \"I am so glad you have arrived at last!\nWe have all been so anxious about you. Mother has been actually crying,\nand father is in a great way. Mr. Owen, the solicitor who went with you\nto poor Lluellyn's funeral, has been here, and there has been something\nin the paper, too! We have all been so upset!\"\n\nWhile Marjorie was speaking, her maid had entered and taken Mary's\nnurse's cloak from her. Mary sank into a chair.\n\n\"Dear Marjorie,\" she said, \"I'm so sorry! I blame myself very much. I\nought, of course, to have sent auntie a telegram. But such wonderful\nthings have happened and are happening that my mind has been taken from\neverything else. It was very wrong of me.\"\n\n\"Never mind now, dear! But how pale you are! You have gone through so\nmuch, poor dear, of course! You must have something to eat at once, and\nafterwards you shall tell me everything. Antoinette shall get you\nsomething--would some soup or some chicken-jelly do?\"\n\nMary asked for a bowl of bread-and-milk, and while she was waiting gazed\nround her cousin's pretty sanctum with a sense of rest and ease which\nwas most grateful to her overstrung nerves, her utterly exhausted body\nand mind. Marjorie went into her bedroom, which opened into the boudoir,\nunwilling to tire Mary by questions until she was refreshed by food.\n\nIt was a beautiful place, this nest of the wealthy, happy maiden of\nsociety, though it had individuality and character also. It was thought\nout, the expression of a personality, and no mere haphazard collection\nof costly and beautiful things flung together anyhow, without regard to\nfitness or arrangements.\n\nHow peaceful and cultured it all was!\n\nFor some moments the tired girl abandoned herself to the gracious\ninfluence of the place, enjoying a moment of intense physical ease.\nThen, swiftly, her thoughts sprang over London from West to East. She\nsaw the huge, gaunt hospital, its dim wards full of groaning sufferers,\nlying there in night-long agony that the rich and fortunate might build\nthemselves just such \"lordly pleasure-houses\" as this. She thought of\nthe flaring gin-palaces of Whitechapel, at this hour full of the\nwretched and the lost. The noise, the hideous oaths, the battered, evil\nfaces of vile men and women--men and women made in God's image, men and\nwomen whom Jesus came to save, but who had never had a chance. It all\ncame to her with sudden vividness: the sounds, the smells, the crude raw\ncoloring.\n\nA passionate fervor of love welled up in her pure heart, a passionate\nrejection of the soft and pleasant things of life. Oh, that she could do\nsomething, something, however small, to help all this sorrow and pain,\nto purge London of its sores, to tell those who lived in high places and\nwore soft raiment of the terrible Nemesis they were laying up for\nthemselves in another world!\n\nMarjorie Kirwan only saw a pale-faced and beautiful girl, whom she\nloved, sitting at a little octagonal table sipping a bowl of milk. But\nif there were any of God's angels in that room--and may we not suppose\nthat the Almighty Father had given so high and pure a spirit into\nespecial charge?--if there were, indeed, august and unseen presences\nthere, they saw a saint praying to God for the conversion of London and\nfor success in the great battle which she had come to wage with Joseph\nand his companions.\n\n\"That's better, dear!\" Marjorie said, her pretty face all alight with\nsympathy, and, it must be said, with curiosity also. \"Now, do please\ntell me what all these mysterious things mean? What is all this in the\nnewspaper? And your Joseph, the man with the wonderful eyes, the man we\nsaw in the cab some weeks ago, before poor dear Lluellyn's death, what\nis he doing? Why were you with him?\"\n\n\"I don't know how I can tell you, dear,\" Mary said, suddenly alive to\nthe extreme difficulty of the task which lay before her, for how could\nshe hope to explain the deep solemnness and import of the coming\nmission?\n\n\"Oh, but I am sure I shall understand!\" Marjorie answered. \"And I am\ncertain it is awfully interesting!\"\n\nMary winced. The light words jarred upon her mood of deep fervor and\nresolve; but, gathering her powers together, she did her best.\n\n\"I believe,\" she said, in grave, quiet tones, \"that a special revelation\nis to come to London in the person of Joseph. Strange and, indeed,\nmiraculous things have happened. God has spoken in no uncertain way, and\nthe Holy Spirit has manifested Himself as He has never done before in\nour time. I cannot now go into all the circumstances attending my dear\nbrother's death. That they were supernatural and God-sent no one who\nwitnessed them can have any manner of doubt. But, briefly, I can tell\nyou just this. The Holy Ghost has descended upon this man Joseph in full\nand abundant measure, even as He descended upon the Apostles of old.\nJoseph and a few devoted companions have come to London. I have come\nwith them. We are about to wage a holy war against the wickedness of\nLondon, and the Spirit is with us.\n\n\"I cannot measure or define Joseph's new nature. It is all beyond me.\nBut I have thought deeply about it, and this is what I think. Joseph\nseems to be two persons, at different times. It almost appears to be a\ncase of what the French doctors who are experimenting with hypnotism\ncall \"dual control.\" Yet both these natures are quite distinct from his\nold one. He was an atheist, you know, until he went to Wales, but now he\nis the most sincere, and convinced believer that I have ever met. So far\nhe is no more than a brilliant and high-minded man who is trying to live\na holy life, a man such as one has met before, now and then. But the\nother side of him is quite different again. At times he seems to one\nalmost supernatural--or perhaps _supernormal_ is the better word.\nSomething comes into him. He is filled with the Holy Ghost. And there\nwere such strange circumstances about his change of character and dear\nLluellyn's death.... Do you know, dear, I sometimes wonder if it\nmightn't be that an angel of God inhabits him at times! People can be\npossessed by evil spirits, why couldn't they be controlled by good\nones?\"\n\nMarjorie listened earnestly, the light fading out of her bright face as\nshe did so.\n\n\"I don't think I quite understand,\" she said, with a little shudder.\n\"Anyhow, it all seems very strange and--What can Joseph do--what can you\ndo? Surely there will be a great deal of trouble and scandal! And, Mary\ndarling, you mustn't be mixed up in anything of this sort. Oh, it would\nnever do! What would father and mother say? Why, it's like\"--she\nhesitated for a simile. \"Why, it's like being a member of the Salvation\nArmy! You can't go about dressed like that, dear--and in the streets,\ntoo, with a trombone. You are not your dear sweet self to-night, dear,\nso we won't talk about it any more now. You have been through so much,\nno wonder you are tired. Go to bed now, and you will be better in the\nmorning. They will have taken your boxes to your room, and I will send\nAntoinette to you at once.\"\n\nMary rose.\n\n\"I do need sleep,\" she said, with a faint smile. \"I do need it\ndreadfully badly. But about my boxes, Marjorie dear. I only had one, and\nI have forgotten all about it, I'm afraid. I suppose it's at the station\nor somewhere. Joseph led us straight from the station to the theatre.\"\n\n\"The theatre! You've been to the theatre to-night! Before coming here!\nAre you mad, Mary?\"\n\nMarjorie's face had grown quite white, her voice was shrill in its\nhorror and incredulity. What could her cousin mean? Did she actually\nassert that two days after her brother's funeral she had gone to a\ntheatre with a strange man, and kept the whole household in Berkeley\nSquare in a state of suspense, while she did this dreadful thing?\n\n\"I can't explain, dear,\" Mary answered, in a tired voice. \"But you will\nknow all about it to-morrow. It is not as you think. And now I will\nreally go to bed.\"\n\nShe kissed her astonished cousin, and, with a faint smile, left the\nboudoir under convoy of the French maid.\n\nAfter her last prayer--for her whole life was one long prayer--she fell\ninto a deep and dreamless sleep, but not before she had sent a certain\nnote....\n\nThere was but little sleep for Marjorie that night. The hour was not\nlate for her, it was not yet one o'clock, and night after night in the\nseason she would dance till dawn.\n\nBut the girl was stirred and frightened to the depths of her rather\nshallow nature by the things which she had heard from Mary. The deep\nsolemnity and utter reality of Mary's words were full of a sort of\nterror to Marjorie. They came into her gay, thoughtless and sheltered\nlife with unwelcome force and power. She wanted to hear no such things.\nLife was happy and splendid for her always. It was one continual round\nof pleasure, and no day of it had palled as yet. There was nothing in\nthe world that she might wish for that she could not have. Her enormous\nwealth, her beauty, social position, and personal fascination brought\nall men to her feet.\n\nAnd incense was sweet in her nostrils! Heart-whole, she loved to be\nadored. Religion was all very well, of course. All nice people went to\nchurch on Sunday morning. It was _comme il faut_, and then one walked in\nthe Park afterwards for church parade, and met all one's friends.\n\nEvery Sunday Marjorie and Lady Kirwan attended the fashionable\nritualistic church of St. Elwyn's, Mayfair. The vicar, the Honorable\nand Reverend Mr. Persse, was a great friend of Marjorie's, and she and\nher mother had given him three hundred pounds only a few weeks ago for\nthe wonderful new altar frontals worked by the Sisters of Bruges.\n\nBut Mary's religion! Ah, that was a very different thing. It was harsh,\nuncomely, unladylike even.\n\nAnd what did this preposterous business about \"Joseph\" mean? Marjorie\nhad seen the paper, and could make nothing of it. And then the theatre!\nMary was making fun of her. She could not really have meant--\n\nWith these thoughts whirling in her brain and troubling it, the girl\nfell asleep at last. Although she did not know it nor suspect it, she\nwas never again to wake exactly the same person as she had been. She did\nnot realize that her unconscious antagonism to Mary's words sprang from\none cause alone, that a process had begun in her which was to lead her\ninto other paths and new experiences.\n\nShe did not know that, at last, for the first time in her bright,\ncareless life, conscience was awake.\n\nIt was not till nearly nine o'clock that she awoke. Antoinette had\npeeped into the bedroom several times. When at length the maid brought\nthe dainty porcelain cup of chocolate, a bright sun was pouring into the\nroom through the apricot-colored silk curtains.\n\nMarjorie did not immediately remember the events and her sensations of\nthe night before. When she did so, they all came back in a sudden flash\nof memory.\n\n\"Antoinette,\" she said quickly, \"find Mrs. Summers\"--Lady Kirwan's\nmaid--\"and ask if I can come to mamma's room at once.\"\n\nIn a minute the maid returned.\n\n\"M'lady is nearly dressed, mademoiselle,\" she said. \"Elle sera bien\ncontente de voir mademoiselle toute de suite.\"\n\nSlipping on a dressing-gown and fur slippers, Marjorie went to her\nmother's room immediately. She was bursting with eagerness and anxiety\nto tell her the news. She was not in the least ill-natured or\nsmall-minded. She had not the least wish to \"tell tales.\" But she was\ngenuinely and seriously alarmed about her beloved cousin's future.\n\nShe found Lady Kirwan already dressed and sitting in her boudoir. The\nelder lady wore a face of utter consternation, and her daughter saw at\nonce that there was little she could tell her.\n\nMrs. Summers, an elderly, confidential maid, was in the room, and there\nwas a pile of morning papers upon the writing-table.\n\nNothing that went on in Berkeley Square ever escaped the discreet\nSummers. She was perfectly aware of Mary's late arrival, and that she\nhad come without any luggage. When Mary had been put to bed, she had\nfound out from Antoinette all that the French girl could tell her.\n\nAnd the morning journals, which Mrs. Summers generally looked over\nbefore taking them to her mistress, supplied the rest.\n\nAll London was at this moment ringing with the news of what had happened\nat the Frivolity Theatre the night before. There had been several daily\njournalists among the audience, and plenty of other people either\ndirectly connected with, or, at any rate, in touch with, the Press.\n\nThe news eclipsed everything else. There were columns of description,\nrumor and report.\n\nThose who had actually been present had gone straight to the offices of\ntheir papers while still under the influence of the tremendous scene\nthey had witnessed.\n\nJoseph was in nearly every case identified with the hero of the strange\nepisodes on the Welsh Hills as exclusively reported in the _Daily Wire_\nspecial of the day before. But the wildest rumors and conjectures filled\nthe papers.\n\nSome said that the stranger and his disciples had appeared miraculously\nin a sudden flash of light, and disappeared equally mysteriously. The\nextraordinary and heart-piercing likeness of the stranger to the\ngenerally accepted pictures of Our Lord was spoken of with amazement,\nincredulity, dismay, or contempt, as the case might be.\n\nAnd nearly all of the papers spoke of a beautiful woman's face beside\nthe preacher, a face like the face of a Madonna--Raphael's picture in\nthe Sistine Chapel of the Vatican--alive and glowing.\n\nHere was something for an elderly and fashionable woman of the world to\ndigest ere she was but hardly from her bed!\n\nLady Kirwan pushed the paper towards Marjorie with trembling fingers.\n\n\"Read that,\" she said, in a voice quite unlike her usual tones of smooth\nand gracious self-possession.\n\nMarjorie hurriedly scanned the columns of the paper.\n\n\"Oh, mother!\" she said tearfully. \"Isn't it too utterly dreadful for\nwords! How can Mary do such things? Lluellyn's death must have turned\nher brain.\"\n\n\"Indeed, it is the only possible explanation, Marjorie,\" Lady Kirwan\nanswered. \"Poor Lluellyn's death and the strain of that dreadful\nhospital work. Fortunately, no one seems to have recognized her at the\ntheatre. This preaching person attracted all the attention. But Mary\nmust see a doctor at once. I shall send a little note to Sir William\nthis morning, asking him to come round. Now you saw the poor girl last\nnight, dear. Tell me exactly what occurred. Omit nothing.\"\n\nMarjorie launched into a full and breathless account of Mary's words and\nbehavior the night before. The girl was quite incapable of anything like\na coherent and unprejudiced narrative, and her story only increased Lady\nKirwan's wonder and distress.\n\n\"I tremble to think of the effect on your poor father's health,\" she\nsaid, when Marjorie had finished. \"I have already been to his room this\nmorning. He has seen the papers and is of course very upset. This man\nJoseph will of course have to be locked up. He is a dangerous lunatic.\nWe have sent a message to Mary, and she is to meet us both in the\nlibrary at ten o'clock. We mean to speak very seriously to her indeed.\nPerhaps you had better be there too. You have such influence with her,\ndarling, and she is so fond of you.\"\n\nAt ten o'clock Mary went down into the library. She found her aunt,\nuncle, and cousin already there. Lady Kirwan kissed her with warm\naffection, and Mary saw that there were tears in her aunt's kind eyes.\nSir Augustus could not rise from his chair, but as she kissed him she\nsaw nothing but the most genuine and almost fatherly feeling was\nanimating him.\n\nA pang shot through the girl's sensitive heart. How kind and good they\nwere to her--how she hated to wound and hurt them! Ah, if only she could\nmake them see with her eyes!\n\n\"Now sit down, dear,\" Lady Kirwan said, \"and let us talk over this\nbusiness quietly and sensibly, _en famille_, in short.\"\n\nMary was greatly agitated. She sat down as she was told. All other\nthoughts but those induced by the ordeal which she was about to face\nleft her mind.\n\nNow, in the early morning, the upper servants of the Berkeley Square\nmansion were employed on various matters, and only a young footman was\non duty in the hall.\n\nIt chanced that on this morning a raw lad from the country, who was\nbeing trained to London service, was the person who answered the front\ndoor.\n\nSir Augustus had cleared his throat and had just begun, \"Now, in regard\nto this man Joseph, my dear Mary,\" when the door of the library swung\nopen, and the young footman, in a somewhat puzzled and frightened voice,\nannounced--\n\n\"Sir Thomas Ducaine and Mr. Joseph, to see Miss Lys!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nJOSEPH IN MAYFAIR\n\n\nThere was a dead silence in the great library. The morning sunshine\npoured into it, touching and refining the rich decorations with a glory\nwhich was greater than they. But no one spoke a word. It was a dramatic\nmoment.\n\nThen Mary spoke, and there was a rose-pink flush upon her cheeks.\n\n\"Oh, auntie,\" she said, \"I am so very sorry! But I asked Sir Thomas\nDucaine to come here and see me this morning. I meant to have told you.\nBut when you and uncle sent for me here I forgot all about it.\"\n\n\"What does it matter if you did forget, dear?\" she said to Mary. \"Sir\nThomas, how do you do? So glad to see you!\"\n\n\"How do, Ducaine?\" said Sir Augustus. \"Sorry I can't get up; but this\nconfounded gout still hangs round me. Can't quite get rid of it.\"\n\nMary saw, with a strange throb at her heart, that Ducaine's face had\nchanged in some subtle way. She had not seen him for a fortnight or\nmore, and she noticed the difference immediately, though she could\nhardly have defined it. But what was Joseph doing here? How came the\nTeacher to be with the man who loved her? Even as she asked herself the\nquestion she knew the answer. What did _details_ matter, after all? The\nHoly Ghost was leading and guiding....\n\n\"I want you to know my friend Joseph, Lady Kirwan,\" Sir Thomas said.\n\"Allow me to introduce him to you. Joseph--Lady Kirwan.\"\n\n\"How do you do, Mr. Joseph?\" she answered. \"This is quite an unexpected\npleasure. Of course, we have all been hearing so much about you in the\npapers lately; and, of course, you were with my poor dear nephew when he\ndied.\"\n\nShe gave him her hand with great graciousness, marvelling at the tall,\nerect figure, the serene power and beauty of the face, the wonderful\nmagnetic eyes.\n\nJoseph bowed.\n\n\"Thank you very much, Lady Kirwan,\" he said in the deep, musical voice\nwhich could rise to such heights of passion and pleading, or remain as\nnow, so perfectly modulated and strong. \"I did not know Lluellyn for\nvery long, but we were like brothers for a time, and he allowed me to\nsee deep into his heart. I have never known a better man. I shall never\nmeet with anyone so good again, or so specially gifted and favored by\nGod.\"\n\nLady Kirwan was unable to repress a slight start of surprise. The man\nbefore her spoke and moved like an easy and polished gentleman. There\nwas no possible doubt about it. And she had expected something so very\ndifferent.\n\n\"Present me to your friend, Ducaine,\" Sir Augustus said from his\narm-chair; and the Teacher shook hands with the great banker, and then\nat his invitation sat down beside him.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" the baronet said, \"you have been making a pretty big stir\nin London, it seems. The most talked-of person in England at this\nmoment, I suppose.\"\n\nJoseph smiled.\n\n\"Oh, that was inevitable!\" he said. \"I am sorry in a way, because I\nintensely dislike publicity that is merely curiosity. But I expect our\nbacks are broad enough to bear it. And if only I can get people to\nlisten, that is the great thing, after all.\"\n\n\"But about last night,\" Sir Augustus said. \"Aren't you afraid of being\narrested for making a disturbance? I've no doubt the play went a little\ntoo far, even for the Frivolity. But such very drastic methods, you\nknow--well really, sir, if this sort of thing is allowed to continue--I\nmean no unkindness, believe me--society would be quite upset.\"\n\n\"I hope to upset it, Sir Augustus,\" Joseph answered with an absolute\nsimplicity that robbed his words of either ostentation or offence. \"No;\nthey will take no action against me for what I did--of that I am quite\ncertain.\"\n\n\"I by no means share your certainty,\" Sir Augustus answered. \"Though I\nam sure, for your sake, and for the sake of my niece, who, I gather,\nsomewhat foolishly accompanied you, I hope you're right. But I am a man\nof the world, you know, while you--if you will pardon me for saying\nso--hardly seem to be that.\"\n\n\"I was at the theatre last night,\" Sir Thomas Ducaine broke in, \"and I'm\nquite certain they will do nothing, Sir Augustus. They wouldn't dare. I\nsaw everything that went on. You may take it from me that it will be all\nright.\"\n\n\"Well, you ought to know, my dear fellow,\" the banker said, obviously\nrelieved at the words of the younger man. \"And I do hope,\nMr.--er--Joseph, that you don't mean to visit any more theatres, except\nin a purely private capacity.\"\n\n\"I don't think we are likely to visit any more theatres,\" Ducaine said\nquietly.\n\nEveryone looked up quickly at the word \"we\". There was a mute\ninterrogation upon every face.\n\nThen there was a silence. Sir Augustus Kirwan was thinking rapidly and\narriving at a decision. He had made his vast fortune, had gained his\nreputation and influence, by just this power of rapid, decisive thought,\nmingled with a shrewd intuition which all his life had served him well.\n\nHe saw at once that this man Joseph was no ordinary person. He had\npictured him as some noisy, eloquent, and sincere Welsh peasant. He\nfound him a gentleman in manner, and possessed of a personality so\nremarkable, a latent force so unmistakable, that in any assembly,\nwherever he went, he would be like a sword among kindling wood.\n\nThe newspapers of that morning had exaggerated nothing at all.\n\nAnd then the man was obviously closely intimate with Sir Thomas Ducaine.\nSir Augustus made up his mind.\n\n\"I am going to do a thing very much out of the ordinary,\" he said. \"But\nthis is not an ordinary occasion, however much some of us here would\nlike it to be so. I am going to speak out, and I am going to ask some\nquestions. I think you will admit that I have a right to ask them. My\nnephew by marriage, Lluellyn Lys, is dead. Lady Kirwan and I stand _in\nloco parentis_ to our dear niece here, Mary Lys. She is, of course, of\nage, and legally her own mistress. But there are moral obligations which\nare stronger than legal ones. Very well, then. Mary, my dear girl, I\nwant you to tell me why you asked Sir Thomas Ducaine to come here this\nmorning. And did you ask Mr. Joseph here to accompany him?\"\n\n\"I asked Sir Thomas to come, uncle,\" she said, \"because I wanted to\npersuade him to meet Joseph. I wanted him to hear the truth as I have\nheard it. I wanted him to believe in Christ, and follow Him with us. I\ndid not ask Joseph to come here. I did not know that he had ever met Sir\nThomas.\"\n\nThen Ducaine broke in.\n\n\"I think, Sir Augustus,\" he said, \"that here I must make an explanation.\nMary and I are old friends. We have known each other for a long time.\"\n\nHe paused, with an evident difficulty in continuing, nor did he see the\nswift glance which passed between Lady Kirwan and her husband--a glance\nfull of surprise, meaning, and satisfaction, which said as plainly as\npossible, \"this quite alters the position of affairs!\"\n\nDucaine continued:--\n\n\"I hate speaking about it,\" he said, \"but you have a right to know. I\nlove her better than anything else in the world, and over and over\nagain I have asked her to be my wife. She has always refused me. I have\nunderstood that such a great joy might be possible for me if I could\nbelieve as Mary believes. But I couldn't do so. I could not believe in\nChrist, and of course I could not pretend to accept Christianity in its\nfull sense unless I was really convinced. It was no use trying to trick\nmyself into a state of mind which my conscience would tell me was\ninsincere. There the matter has rested until last night. Last night I\nwas at the theatre, and saw Mary with Joseph. Afterwards, when I came\nout, I tried to find them everywhere, but they had vanished. I was in a\nterrible state of mind when I met, by chance, a friend of Joseph's--a\nMr. Hampson--who came home to supper with me. Late that same evening I\nmet, by a coincidence\"--Joseph shook his head with a smile, but Ducaine\ndid not notice him--\"by a coincidence, I met Joseph. We have talked all\nnight long, and I have come to this conclusion.\"\n\nHe paused, and, in the sunlight, Mary could see that little beads of\nperspiration stood out upon his brow. There was a dead silence in the\nroom now, every ear was strained--one heart, at least, was beating\nrapidly.\n\n\"Yes?\" Sir Augustus said.\n\n\"That I am going to throw in my lot with Joseph and his campaign,\" Sir\nThomas replied. \"My money, and such influence as I have, will be at his\ndisposal. Now, I do this without any thought of what I hope to gain by\nit--the priceless treasure I hope to gain.\" He looked at Mary for the\nfirst time since he had begun to speak. \"I am not yet convinced of the\ntruth of Christianity. I do not, even after this momentous decision\nwhich I have taken, believe in Christ. But I want to believe, for the\ntruth's own sake. One way or another the next few months will settle the\nquestion for me, and so I am going with Joseph.\"\n\nSir Augustus had listened to the young man with tightly shut lips.\nNothing in his face showed what he thought.\n\nSuddenly he turned to Joseph.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" he said, not without a kindly irony in his voice, \"you may\nbe quite sure that London will listen to you now. With Sir Thomas\nDucaine's money and influence behind you, the path is smooth.\"\n\n\"It is God's will--blessed be His name!\" Joseph answered quietly.\n\nHis voice was so humble and sincere, so full of gratitude and fervor,\nthat even in the mind of the hard-headed man of the world no further\ndoubt could possibly remain.\n\n\"Be that as it may,\" Sir Augustus said, after a pause. \"I suppose you\nhave some sort of a definite programme, sir?\"\n\nThe grave answer rang like a bell in the room:--\n\n\"To succor, help, and comfort all that are in danger, necessity, and\ntribulation. To strengthen such as do stand; to comfort and help the\nweak-hearted; to raise up them that fall; to rebuke those that do evil\nin the sight of the Lord, and finally to beat down Satan under our\nfeet.\"\n\nOnce more there was a silence.\n\n\"And you, Mary?\" Sir Augustus asked suddenly.\n\n\"I mean to give my humble aid to this great work,\" Mary answered slowly.\n\"Oh, don't oppose me, uncle--don't forbid me! It would make me so\nunhappy to do anything that you did not wish. But Jesus calls me--He\ncalls all of us--His voice is ever in my ears.\"\n\n\"I propose,\" Sir Augustus said, at length, \"that you all go into another\nroom and leave me here with my wife. I should like to discuss this with\nher for a few minutes.\"\n\nWhen the two elder people were alone, their conference was brief and to\nthe point.\n\n\"Of course, we shall withdraw all opposition,\" said Sir Augustus the\nworldly. \"The thing has quite changed its aspect. This Joseph fellow is,\nof course, as mad as a hatter. But he is obviously a gentleman, and, at\nthe same time, quite sincere--another Lluellyn, in fact, though with a\ngood deal more in him. Ducaine's accession to the movement makes all the\ndifference. Joseph will become a fashionable fad, and all sorts of\npeople will join him in search of a new sensation. I'm quite looking\nforward to it. London will be more amusing than it has been for years.\nThen it will all die a natural death, this Joseph will disappear, and\nMary will marry Tom Ducaine, the biggest catch in London.\"\n\n\"It does seem as if Providence was in it, after all,\" said Lady Kirwan\npiously.\n\n\"No doubt, no doubt!\" the banker answered jovially. \"Just make the girl\npromise to make this house her home--she shall have perfect freedom to\ngo and come as she pleases, of course--and everything will come right.\"\n\nThey had settled it to their mutual satisfaction, and were about to send\nfor Mary, when the butler entered the library and announced that the\nReverend Mr. Persse had called and asked for her ladyship.\n\nLady Kirwan was about to say that she was engaged, and could not see the\nclergyman, when Sir Augustus interposed. \"I think I should see Mr.\nPersse, dear,\" he said. And then, when the man had gone: \"We'll\nintroduce him to this Joseph. It will be most amusing, and I want a\nlittle amusement, after being tied by the leg like this for nearly a\nfortnight. And besides, that humbug Persse will go and tell everyone in\nMayfair, and it will give the whole thing a _cachet_ and a send-off!\nDon't say anything--leave it all to me.\"\n\nSir Augustus did not like The Hon. Mr. Persse, the fashionable clergyman\nof Mayfair, and it was with a somewhat sardonic smile that he welcomed\nhim a moment afterwards.\n\nThe vicar of St. Elwyn's was a tall, clean-shaven priest, who would have\nbeen pompous had he not been so suave. His face was a smooth\ncream-color, his eyes ingratiating and perhaps a little furtive, while\nthe mouth was mobile and clever. He occupied a somewhat peculiar\nposition among the London clergy. He was an advanced Ritualist,\ninclining to many ceremonies that were purely Roman and Continental.\nBut he had very little of the ascetic about him, and was as far removed\nfrom the patient, self-denying Anglican clergy of the slum districts in\nthe East End, as four pounds of butter is from four o'clock. St. Elwyn's\nwas one of the \"smartest\" congregations in London. The costly splendor\nof its ceremony, the perfection with which everything was done,\nattracted pleasure-loving people, who would go anywhere for a thrill\nthat would act as the blow of a whip to jaded and enervated lives.\n\nMr. Persse \"catered\"--the word exactly describes his methods--for\nprecisely that class of people whom he was so successful in attracting.\n\n\"How do you do, Lady Kirwan?\" he said, in a pleasant and gentlemanly\nvoice. \"Ah, Sir Augustus, I hope you are better. It is a trying time of\nthe year. I have called this morning on a somewhat singular errand. I\nwas told, I must not say by whom, that he actually saw your niece, Miss\nLys, in the theatre last night--you have read the papers this\nmorning--yes?--in company with this extraordinary mountebank of whom\nevery one is talking. Of course I denied it indignantly. I have met Miss\nLys at your house, and I knew such a thing to be impossible. But my\ninformant is, I am sorry to say, a little prone to gossip and\ntittle-tattle, and I thought, in justice to you that if I were armed\nwith an authoritative denial, I should be able to nip all such foolish\ngossip in the bud, before it has time to spread. You know how people\ntalk, dear Lady Kirwan.\"\n\nLady Kirwan certainly knew--and so did Mr. Persse. He was the hero of\nmany afternoon tea-tables, and an active disseminator of gossip.\n\n\"My dear Mr. Persse,\" Sir Augustus said somewhat emphatically, \"allow me\nto tell you that you have been _quite_ mistaken in your view of the new\nmovement. The man whom the papers call Joseph is not at all what you\nthink. Sir Thomas Ducaine, for example, is hand and glove with him. I\nmust really correct your ideas on the point. If irregular, perhaps, the\nmission will be most influential.\"\n\n\"Oh, ah! I had no idea,\" said Mr. Persse, with remarkable mental\nagility. \"Dear me, is that so, Sir Augustus? Anything that makes for\ngood, of course, must be welcomed by all of us. I myself--\"\n\n\"I will introduce you to Joseph,\" Sir Augustus interrupted, with intense\ninternal enjoyment. \"He happens to be in the house at this moment.\"\n\nThat afternoon all the evening papers contained an announcement that\nJoseph, the new evangelist, would preach at St. Elwyn's, Mayfair, after\nevening service on the morrow--which was Sunday.\n\nWhat had happened was this:\n\nJoseph had been duly introduced to Father Persse. The latter, in whom\nthe instincts of the theatrical _entrepreneur_ were very largely\ndeveloped, saw his chance at once. Mayfair would have a sensation such\nas it had never enjoyed before.\n\nJoseph had promised to preach without any more words than a simple\nassent. That there would probably be trouble with the bishop Mr. Persse\nknew very well. But he was already out of favor in Episcopal quarters,\nand could hope for nothing in that direction. At the worst, an apology\nand a promise not to repeat the offence of asking a layman, who was\nunlicensed by the bishop, to preach in St. Elwyn's, would make\neverything right. He had made the actual request to Joseph privately,\nasking leave to have a few moments' conversation alone with him.\n\nAfter obtaining the promise he went back to the library, where Mary and\nSir Thomas Ducaine had returned, and announced his success.\n\nBut when they went to look for the Teacher he had disappeared. No one\nknew where he had gone, and neither Mary nor any of the others saw him\nagain that day.\n\nThe West End of London waited with considerable excitement for what\nSunday would bring forth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE SERVICE AT ST. ELWYN'S\n\n\nAt the moment when Joseph had met the Vicar of St. Elwyn's, he knew him\nfor just what he was. The mysterious power which had enabled the Teacher\nto lay bare the sins and secrets of the strangers in the theatre came to\nhim then, and he saw deep through the envelope of flesh to the man's\nnaked soul. Nothing was hidden from him. The meanness, the snobbery, the\ninvincible absorption in a petty self, the hunger for notoriety and\napplause--all the layers and deposits of earthly stuff which overlaid\nthe little undeveloped germ of good--these were plain to the spiritual\nvision of the man who was filled with the Holy Ghost.\n\nThe man's mind and its workings moved in his sight as a scientist sees\nthe blood pulsing in the veins of an insect under the microscope. But\ndirectly Mr. Persse asked him to address the congregation of the\nfashionable West End church, Joseph knew that, whatever motives dictated\nthe vicar's offer, the opportunity was from God. It was ordained that he\nshould mount the pulpit and deliver the message that was within him.\n\nHe had slipped out of the mansion in Berkeley Square without bidding any\nof its inmates farewell. He had no wish to make mysterious entrances\nand exits. Indeed, he never thought about the matter at all, but there\nwas something within him that led and moved him, a force which he obeyed\nwithout question.\n\nAs he went out into the square, Joseph's heart was full of hope and\nthankfulness to God. God had led him to the door of Sir Thomas Ducaine's\nhouse in Piccadilly. God had been with him during the still watches of\nthe night as he pleaded and reasoned with the young man having great\npossessions. And God had prevailed! All that had seemed so hopeless and\ninsuperable during the dark hours after the scene in the theatre was\nover, was now lightened and smoothed away. In a few hours money and\ninfluence had come to him, and at a time when the sword of the Lord had\nbut hardly left its sheath for the battle that was to be fought.\n\nJoseph bent his steps at once towards the Euston Road. His faithful\nfollowers were there in the quiet hotel by the station. Ignorant of\nLondon, knowing nothing of what was going to happen, unaware of their\nleader's plans or place, they waited, trusting in God. The thought\nquickened his steps. He longed to be with these trusting ones, to pray\nwith them that God would be with him on the morrow.\n\nEvery now and again, as he walked, some one or other glanced curiously\nat him. The face of this or that passer-by would wear a look of\ncuriosity and interrogation, and then, in several instances, the wonder\nchanged into recognition, and the wayfarers felt almost sure that this\nmust indeed be the very man with whose name all London was ringing. But\nno one followed him. No one could be quite sure of his identity, even\nthough it was more than once suspected, and walking so swiftly as he\ndid, he was far out of hail before anyone could make up his mind to\naccost or follow him.\n\nFor his part Joseph heeded these significant signs and tokens of the\nhuge interest with which his personality was inspiring London very\nlittle. He had not seen the morning papers, though he knew from what he\nhad heard in Berkeley Square that they were much occupied with his name\nand doings. That was to be expected, he knew. But he did not care to see\nwhat they were saying of him. He walked through the streets of London, a\nman walking with God, holding high commune with the Eternal. But ere he\nmet his brethren, he was to have a very practical illustration of\nLondon's excitement, and London was to have another sensation.\n\nHe had turned into the Euston Road, and was nearing the house which\nsheltered his disciples, when he saw that a huge crowd stood before it.\nThe road was almost impassable for traffic, and a dozen stalwart\npolicemen urged the thick mass of humanity to move in vain.\n\nEvery face was turned up to the dingy red-brick front of the hotel.\n\nThere may have been nearly a thousand people there, and the crowd was\ngrowing every moment, and every one was gazing up at the windows of the\nhouse.\n\nThe strange thing about the crowd was that it was an absolutely silent\none. No one shouted or spoke, the thick clotted mass of humanity was\nmotionless and orderly, though it refused to obey the orders of the\npolice to disperse.\n\nWhat had occurred was simple enough. The landlord of the hotel was\ninterested from the first in the band of grave, silent men who had\narrived at his house on the evening before. He had had but a few\nmoments' conversation with Joseph, but the interview had powerfully\naffected him. Himself one of the sidesmen of a neighboring church, an\nhonest and God-fearing man, who ran his temperance hotel with\nconspicuous decency in a street renowned for its bad and unsavory\nreputation, the landlord had read all about the strange mountain revival\nin Wales.\n\nHe identified his new guests immediately upon their arrival. It was\nimpossible to mistake Joseph, that strange and mysterious being whose\noutward form resembled the very Christ Himself in such a marvellous and\nawe-inspiring fashion. When the band had bestowed their simple luggage\nin their rooms, and had left the hotel for the theatre under Joseph's\nguidance, the landlord, all agog with his news, went to the local\nConservative club, of which he was a member, and told it. Then had come\nthe stupendous intelligence in the journals of that morning, and it had\nimmediately got about--as news does get about, who shall say how or\nwhy?--that the headquarters of the evangelist were at a certain\ntemperance hotel in that neighborhood.\n\nBy half-past eleven, silently, swiftly, as if drawn by some unseen\nmagnet, the people had collected in front of the house, and, even as\nJoseph drew near, journalists from all parts of Fleet Street, summoned\nby telephone and telegram, were hastening to the scene as fast as hansom\ncabs could bring them.\n\nJoseph walked straight up to the edge of the tightly packed mass of\npeople. The way to the hotel door was entirely blocked, and he was at a\nloss how to approach it.\n\nAt length he touched a policeman upon the shoulder. The man's back was\nturned to him, and he also was staring at the window of the hotel in\npuzzled silence.\n\n\"My friend,\" Joseph said quietly, \"do you think you could make a way for\nme? I must get to the house. My friends are there.\"\n\nSomething in the deep, quiet voice startled the constable. He turned\nround with a rapid movement, involuntarily knocking off the Teacher's\nsoft felt hat as he did so.\n\nThe big man's face grew pale with surprise, and then flushed up with\nexcitement. He was a huge fellow, a tower of bone and muscle, but he\nseemed no taller than the man beside him, no more powerful than Joseph\nat the moment of their meeting.\n\nThe sun was still shining, and it fell upon the Teacher's face and form,\nlighting them up with almost Eastern definiteness and distinctness. But\nit was not only the sun which irradiated Joseph's face with an unearthly\nserenity and beauty. He had been communing with God. His thoughts were\nstill on high. His face was not of this world. It was \"as the face of an\nangel.\"\n\nThe man shouted out in a loud, high-pitched voice, which sent an\nimmediate responsive quiver through the crowd.\n\n\"Make way!\" he called. \"Make way! He's come! Joseph has come!\"\n\nThere was a sudden rustling sound, like the first murmur the upspringing\nwind makes in a forest. The crowd swayed and strained as every member of\nit turned, and Joseph saw a mass of stippled pink framed in black before\nhim.\n\nThere was a deep organ note from many voices, interspersed here and\nthere with sharp cries, falsetto, high in the palate, ejaculations of\nexcitement, which could not be controlled.\n\nThen every one saw him.\n\nThe deep note swelled into a great shout of welcome, astonishment, and\neven fear, while, as the waters rolled back for the passage of Israel,\nthe living billows of humanity separated and were cleaved asunder.\n\nIt was the triumph of a personality which, at this moment, was\nsuperhuman, a personality such as had never visited the modern Babylon\nbefore. Good men and saints have ofttimes trodden, and still tread the\nstreets of London, but never before had its weary, sin-worn people known\nthe advent of one such as this man, an \"angel\" or \"messenger\" of warning\nstraight from God!\n\nIt was a scene which recalled other scenes in the dim past. Human nature\nhas not changed, though the conditions under which it manifests itself\nhave changed. Steam and electricity, all the discoveries of science,\nall the increase of knowledge which they have produced, have had no real\ninfluence for change upon the human heart. Science does not limit, nor\ndoes knowledge destroy, the eternal truths of Christianity. This man,\ncoming as he did, influenced as he was influenced, had the same power\nover a modern mob in London as he would have had in those ages which\nfools call \"dark\" or \"superstitious\"--not realizing that the revelation\nof God to man is still going on in perfect beauty and splendor, that day\nby day new proofs are added to the great Central Truth of the\nIncarnation.\n\nThey swept aside to let him pass, calling aloud upon his name, in anger,\nin supplication, in fear and in joy--a mighty multiple voice of men and\nwomen stirred to the very depths of being.\n\nHis bare head bowed, his face still shining with inward spiritual fire,\nJoseph passed among them, and was lost to their sight within the doors\nof the house.\n\nHe moved swiftly up the stairs, still as if in a dream in which worldly\nthings had no part, with the rapt face of one who sees a vision still.\nPushing open a door, he found himself by instinct, for no one had\ndirected him, in the large upper chamber where the brethren were\ngathered together.\n\nThe room was a large bare place, occasionally let for dinners and other\nsocial occasions, but ordinarily very little used. The dozen or so of\nthe faithful friends who had come with Joseph from their native hills\nwere kneeling at the chairs placed round the walls. One of them, David\nOwen, was praying aloud, in a deep fervent voice.\n\n\"Lord God of Hosts, we know how Thou didst anoint Our Lord with the Holy\nGhost and with power; Who went about doing good, and healing all that\nwere oppressed of the devil; for God was with Him. Anoint our Master\nJoseph in the same way, that he and we with him may prevail against the\ndevils of London and their captain, Beelzebub. And oh, most Merciful\nFather, preserve our Teacher while he is away from us from the assaults\nof Satan and the craft and subtlety of evil men. Send him back to us\nwith good news, and armed for the battle with Thy grace and protection.\nDear Lord, Amen.\"\n\nThere was a deep groan of assent, and then a momentary silence, broken\nby David, who said: \"Brethren, I have it in my mind to read a portion of\nthe Holy Book, this being the first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles.\nFor it is therein that we shall remind ourselves of how the Apostles\nremained at Jerusalem waiting for the promise of the Father that ere\nmany days passed they should be baptized with the Holy Ghost. And\nreading thus, we shall be comforted and of a stout heart.\"\n\nWith these words the old man rose, and, turning, saw Joseph standing\namong them. He gave a glad shout of surprise, and in a moment the\nTeacher was surrounded by the faces of his friends. They wrung him by\nthe hand, they pressed on him with words of joy, the sonorous Welsh\nejaculations of praise and thanksgiving rang like a carillon in the\nlong, bare room.\n\nThe tears came into Joseph's eyes.\n\n\"My brethren,\" he said, and all marked the splendor of his countenance\nand the music of his voice, \"God has richly blessed us, and shown us\nsigns of His love and favor. Sit you down, and I will tell you my story\nand all that has happened to me. Blessed be the name of the Lord!\"\n\nHe told them everything, leaving out no single detail, and beginning his\nstory from the moment on which he had left them the night before. Many\nwere the exclamations of sympathy and comprehension as he told of the\nblack doubts and fears that had haunted him upon this midnight walk.\nLike all men who have passed through deep spiritual experiences, they\nknow such hours well. For all men who love God and try to serve Him must\nendure their agony and must be tempted in the desert places, even as\nChrist Jesus Who died for us was tempted.\n\nThe simple band of brethren heard with rapt attention how the Holy\nSpirit had led their chief into the dwellings of the rich and powerful,\nand raised up mighty help for the battle that was to come.\n\nIn all they saw the hand of God. Miracle had succeeded miracle from the\nvery moment when they laid the body of their beloved Lluellyn Lys to\nrest upon the wild mountain top.\n\nGod was with them indeed!\n\nIt is not too much to say that during the remainder of the Saturday\nLondon was in an extraordinary ferment.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe time was one of great religious stagnation. It was as though, as the\nold chronicle of the Middle Ages once put it: \"God and all his angels\nseemed as asleep.\" For months past a purely secular spirit had been\nabroad. Socialistic teachings had been widely heard, and the man in the\nstreet was told that here, and here only, was the real panacea for the\nills of life to be found.\n\nAnd now, at the very moment of this universal stagnation, Joseph had\ncome to London.\n\nThere had suddenly arisen, with every circumstance of mystery and awe\ncalculated to impress the popular mind, a tremendous personality, a\nrevolutionary from God--as it seemed--a prophet calling man to repent, a\nbeing with strange powers, a lamp in which the fires of Pentecost burned\nanew, one who \"spake boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus.\"\n\nBy dinner-time on the Saturday night all Mayfair knew that Joseph was to\npreach at St. Elwyn's on the evening of the morrow. The evening papers\nhad announced the fact, and a series of notes had been sent round to\nvarious houses by the vicar and his assistant clergy.\n\nSt. Elwyn's was a large and imposing building, but its seating capacity\nwas limited.\n\nMr. Persse was very well aware that the occasion he had provided would\nhave filled Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's as well. The crowd was sure\nto be enormous. He therefore determined that admission to the service\nshould be by ticket only, a perfectly unjustifiable proceeding, of\ncourse, but one which would secure just the sort of congregation he\nwished to be impressed by his own activity and broad-mindedness. The\ntickets were hurriedly printed and issued, some of them were sent to the\nPress, the remainder to the wealthy and influential society people who\nwere accustomed to \"worship\" at this church.\n\nThe service was fixed for eight o'clock. As a usual thing the Sunday\nevensong was but poorly attended at St. Elwyn's. The fashionable world\ndidn't mind going to church on Sunday morning, and afterwards for\n\"church parade\" in Hyde Park, but one really couldn't be expected to go\nin the evening! The world was dining then--and dinner was dinner!\n\nMr. Persse knew this, and he announced a \"choral evensong\" at eight, and\n\"an address by the Evangelist Joseph\" at nine. No one, owing to the fact\nof the numbered and reserved tickets, need necessarily attend the\npreliminary service. Every one could dine in peace and comfort and\narrive in time for the sensation of the evening. Nothing could have been\nmore pleasant and satisfactory.\n\nThe vicar, busy as he was with the necessary work of preparation, yet\nfound time for a few moments of acute uneasiness. Nothing had been seen\nof Joseph. Would he come after all? Could he be depended upon, or would\nthe whole thing prove a tremendous fiasco?\n\nLate on the afternoon of the Saturday, Mr. Persse heard of the doings\noutside the hotel which had obviously occurred within an hour of\nJoseph's acceptance of the offer to preach and his mysterious departure\nfrom Berkeley Square. Immediately on reading this the vicar had\ndispatched his senior curate in his motor-brougham to make final\narrangement with the Teacher about Sunday evening.\n\nThe young man, however, had returned with the news that Joseph and his\ncompanions had left the house by a back entrance during the afternoon,\nand that nothing was known of their whereabouts.\n\nDuring the day of Sunday Mr. Persse, though he wore an expression of\npious and sanctified expectation, found his uneasiness and alarm\nincrease. He showed nothing of it at the luncheon party which he\nattended after morning service, and answered the excited inquiries of\nthe other guests with suavity and aplomb. But as the hour of eight drew\nnear and no word had been received from the Teacher, all the mean fears\nand worries that must ever be the portion of the popularity-hunter\nassailed him with disconcerting violence.\n\nAt eight o'clock that evening there was probably no more nervous and\nfrightened man in the West End of London than this priest.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe stately ritual of evensong was over. The celebrated choir, in their\nscarlet cassocks and lace cottas, had filed away into the vestry,\npreceded by the great silver-gilt cross which Lady Kirwan had given to\nthe church, and followed by the clergy in their copes and birettas.\n\nA faint sweet smell of incense lingered about the great arched aisles,\nand an acolyte was putting out the candles on the High Altar with a long\nbrass extinguisher.\n\nIt was a quarter before nine, and the church was filling rapidly. The\nvergers in their gowns of black velvet were showing the ticket-holders\nto their seats; on all sides were the rustle of silk, the gleam of\njewels, breaths of faint, rare perfumes.\n\nMr. Persse always encouraged people to come to his church in evening\ndress. He said, and quite rightly, that there was no possible reason why\npeople who belonged to a class which changes its costume in the evening\nas a matter of course should be prevented from coming together to\nworship God by that circumstance.\n\nNevertheless, the sight was a curious one, in comparison with that seen\nat the same hour in most other churches. The women wore black mantillas\nover their elaborate coiffures--just as the poorer class do at church in\nItaly--but the sparkle of diamonds and the dull sheen of the pearls were\nbut hardly veiled. Fans moved incessantly, and there was a continuous\nsound of whispering, like the wind in the reeds on the bank of a river.\n\nMr. Persse was in the inner vestry with his two curates. His face was\npale, and little beads of perspiration were beginning to start out upon\nit.\n\n\"I don't know what we shall do, Nugent,\" he said to one of the young\nmen; \"this is dreadful. We can't wait very much longer. Nearly every one\nhas come, the verger tells me. Every seat is occupied, and they are\nputting chairs in the aisles. There is an enormous crowd of ordinary\npeople outside the church, and fifty policemen can hardly keep a way for\nthe carriages. There has been nothing like it before; it is marvellous.\nAnd the man has never turned up! I don't know what to do.\"\n\n\"It's very awkward,\" Mr. Nugent answered--he was Sir Arbuthnot Nugent's\nsecond son, and a great pet in Park Lane and its environs--\"and if the\nman does not come it will do St. Elwyn's a great deal of harm.\"\n\n\"It will indeed,\" the vicar answered, \"and I don't mind telling you,\nNugent, that I have had quite an inspiration concerning him. When I\nasked him to come here he assented at once. I felt--you know how one has\nthese intuitions--that he was a man over whom I should have great\ninfluence. Now, why should I not induce him to take Holy Orders, and\ngive him a title to St. Elwyn's? He is no mere ignorant peasant, as the\ngeneral public seem to imagine. He is a gentleman, and, I am informed by\nSir Thomas Ducaine, took an excellent degree at Cambridge. The bishop\nwould be glad to obtain him, I feel quite sure of it, and there can be\nno manner of doubt that he is a real spiritual force. Nor must we forget\nthat God in His Providence has ensured a most influential following for\nhim. I have it on quite unimpeachable authority that Joseph is to be\ntaken up by all the best people.\"\n\nThere was a knocking at the door which led into the small courtyard at\nthe back of the church.\n\nThe vicar called out \"Come in!\" in a voice that rang with uncertainty\nand hope, and Joseph himself entered.\n\nThe Teacher was very pale and worn. His face was marked and lined as if\nhe had quite recently passed through some rending and tearing\nexperiences, some deep agony of the soul. So Jacob might have appeared\nafter he had wrestled with the Angel of the Lord, or Holy Paul when at\nlast the scales fell from his eyes, and he received sight forthwith and\narose.\n\n\"Ah, here you are,\" Mr. Persse said in tones of immeasurable relief. \"We\nhad almost given you up! There is a very large congregation, and some of\nthe most important people in London are here. I hope you are prepared!\"\n\n\"God will give me words,\" Joseph answered quietly, though he did not\nlook at the priest as he spoke.\n\n\"Oh, ah, yes!\" Mr. Persse replied; \"though, for my own part, I confess\nto anxious preparation of all my sermons. Have you a surplice and a\ncassock? No? Oh well then we can fit you out very well from the choir\ncupboard.\"\n\nA surplice was found for him, the vicar knelt and said a prayer, and\nthen the three men, the two priests and the evangelist, walked into the\nchurch.\n\nThere was a stir, a rustle, and then a dead silence.\n\nMr. Persse and the curate sat in their stalls, and Joseph ascended the\nstone steps to the pulpit, which was set high on the left side of the\nchancel arch.\n\nHe looked down from his high place upon the faces below. Row after row\nof faces met his eye. Nearly all the electric lights, save only those\nwhich gleamed on the pulpit ledge and illuminated a crucifix behind his\nhead, were lowered. He saw a sheen of black and white, the dull glitter\nof jewels, and the innumerable faces.\n\nStill standing, he lifted his hands high above his head, and in a loud\nvoice cried upon God--\n\n\"Father, give me a tongue to speak to these Thy children. Lord Jesus,\nguide me. Holy Ghost, descend upon this church, and speak through the\nmouth of Thy servant.\"\n\nThe voice rang like a bugle through the arches, and echoed in the lofty\nroof.\n\nAnd now the words of the text: \"Oh, consider this, ye that forget God;\nlest I pluck you away, and there be none to deliver you.\"\n\nThe second terrible warning to London had begun.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE CONSPIRATORS OF ST. JOHN'S WOOD\n\n\nAt precisely the same hour on the Sunday evening when Joseph ascended\nthe pulpit of St. Elwyn's Church a large red Napier motor-car stopped\nbefore the gate of a smart little villa in St. John's Wood.\n\nThe villa stood in its own grounds, and was surrounded by a high wall.\nIt had a general air of seclusion and retirement, though it was\nobviously the property or in the tenancy of people of wealth.\n\nThe wall was clean and newly pointed, the gate was painted a dark green,\nthe short drive which led to the front door was made of the finest white\nmarl.\n\nThe motor-car stopped, and two men descended from it, clearly defined in\nthe radiance from two electric globes that were mounted on each pillar\nof the villa gate. Both wore opera hats, white scarves round their\nthroats and black overcoats.\n\nOne was tall, slim, and clean-shaven. His age was about twenty-six, his\nhair was a pale golden color, and his face, too young as yet to be\npermanently spoilt and damaged, nevertheless bore the unmistakable\nimprint of a fast life.\n\nThe young man, evil though his countenance was, conveyed a certain\nimpression of birth and breeding.\n\nHis companion, on the other hand, was just as unmistakably destitute of\nboth. He was short and fat in figure. His face boasted a modicum of\nimpudent good looks, and was of a strongly Hebraic cast. The fine dark\neyes, the hooked nose, the large lips--red like a ripe plum--all shouted\nthe prosperous Jew.\n\nThe younger man gave an order to the chauffeur. The automobile swung\naway towards Hampstead, and the companions walked up the approach to the\nvilla, the door of which was opened to them by a servant.\n\nThey entered a small hall, luxuriously furnished in the Eastern style,\nand lit with shaded electric lamps. As they did so, a manservant hurried\nup to them from behind some heavy Moorish curtains.\n\n\"Where is your mistress?\" said the younger of the two men.\n\n\"My mistress is in the drawing-room, my lord,\" the servant answered.\n\n\"Oh, all right! Take our coats. We will go and find her at once.\"\n\nThe servant took the coats and hats, and the two men walked down a\nwide-carpeted passage, brilliantly lit by globes in the roof, which made\ntheir stiff white shirt-fronts glitter like talc, and opened a heavy\ndoor of oak.\n\nThe villa was the home of Miss Mimi Addington, the leading musical\ncomedy actress of London--the star of the Frivolity.\n\nThe young man with the light hair and the dissipated expression was Lord\nBellina, an Irish viscount.\n\nHe had succeeded to the title some three years before, and to a very\nlarge fortune, which had come into the impoverished Irish family owing\nto a marriage with the daughter of a wealthy Liverpool manufacturer.\n\nThe short Jewish-looking man who accompanied him was Mr. Andrew Levison,\nthe theatrical _entrepreneur_ and leesee of the Frivolity Theatre, in\nwhich Lord Bellina had invested several thousand pounds.\n\nLord Bellina opened the door of the room and entered, followed by Mr.\nLevison.\n\nUpon one of the divans, wearing a long tea-gown of Indian red, Mimi\nAddington was lounging. Her face was very pale, and on this occasion\nquite destitute of the little artistic touches with which she was wont\nto embellish it. The expression was strained and angry, and the\nbeautiful eyes shone with a hard, fierce glitter.\n\nThere had been no performance at the Frivolity Theatre on the night\nafter Joseph's sudden appearance there.\n\nMimi Addington had been taken away in a state of wild and terrified\nhysteria. It was impossible for her to play upon the Saturday night, and\nher understudy, who should have sustained the part in the illness of her\nprincipal, had disappeared, and could not be found. Moreover, several\nother members of the cast had sent in their resignations, and many of\nthe ticket offices of the West End of town had reported that the gilded\ngang of young men who were accustomed to take stalls for considerable\nportions of the run of a popular piece had withdrawn their\napplications.\n\n\"Well, Mimi, my dear,\" said Mr. Levison, with anxious geniality, \"and\nhow are you to-day?\"\n\n\"Bad,\" the girl answered in one single bitter word.\n\nMr. Levison made a commiserating noise.\n\n\"Tut, tut!\" he said; \"you must try and bear up, Mimi, though I must own\nthis abominable and unprecedented occurrence has been enough to try any\none--this Joseph.\"\n\nAt the word the woman sprang from her couch with a swift feline movement\nof rage.\n\n\"Him!\" she screamed, in a voice from which all the usual melody and\nsweetness had entirely departed. \"If I had him here I'd murder him! No,\nthat would be too good for him! I've thought of worse things than that\nto do!\"\n\nLord Bellina went up to her and put his arm round her shoulder.\n\n\"And serve him right,\" he said; \"but try and be quiet, Mimi, you'll only\nmake yourself worse.\"\n\nShe pushed the young man roughly away, in a blaze of passion so lurid\nand terrible that it frightened the two men.\n\nLord Bellina looked helplessly at Levison for a moment. The elder man\nrose to the occasion.\n\n\"Let's get to business,\" he said; \"something must be done.\"\n\nThe woman nodded eagerly and quickly, and with the same unnatural\nglitter in her eyes.\n\n\"Have you seen any of the papers?\" Levison said.\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"Well, Bally and I have been going through them, and, what's more, we\nhave been seeing a whole lot of people, and getting various extra\nopinions. You know that I can say without boasting in the least that\nthere are very few men in London who know the popular taste as I do.\nI've made my success by realizing exactly what London will do and think\njust a day or two before it has made up its own mind. I have never made\na mistake. I won't bother you now with an account of how I have arrived\nat my present conclusion. It is enough to say that I am certain of it,\nand that it is this:\n\n\"There is not the slightest doubt that if this man Joseph continues in\nhis pleasant little games--you see, I speak without heat--theatrical\nbusiness in London will be ruined for months. There is going to be a\ngreat wave of religious enthusiasm all over the place. This man--Joseph\nhe calls himself--is going to lead it. The man is an extraordinary one.\nHe has a personality and a force greater, probably, than any living\nperson in Europe to-day. There is no doubt about it. You, my dear Mimi,\nwill have to forego your nightly triumphs. Public opinion will hound you\noff the stage and shut up my theatre, or compel me to let it as a\nmission-hall for ten pounds a night! As for you, Bellina, you will have\nto retire to your estates in Galway, and superintend the potato crop,\nand take an intelligent interest in the brood of the Irish national\nanimal--the pig in short, Bally!\"\n\nAlthough he spoke jauntily enough, there was a deep vein of bitterness\nand sincerity underlying the Jew's words. He watched the faces of his\ntwo listeners with a quick and cunning scrutiny.\n\nMimi Addington spoke.\n\n\"You've hit the mark, Andrew,\" she said, in a low voice, in which there\nwas a curious hissing quality--\"you've hit the mark, as you always do.\nWhat you've said is perfectly true. I know it and feel it.\"\n\nHer eyes blazed, and she put one white and shapely hand up to the ivory\ncolumn of her throat, wrestling with the agony of hysteria and hate,\nwhich once more threatened to master her. With a great effort of will,\nshe calmed herself, and went on speaking.\n\n\"But all this, Andrew, depends upon one little word, 'if.'\"\n\nLord Bellina looked quickly at Levison, with a glance which seemed to\nsay that they had already arrived at precisely the same conclusion.\n\n\"That's it,\" he said; \"there is always that little word, 'if.'\"\n\nThere was a dead silence in the little room, and three faces, pale and\nfull of sinister purpose, sought each other in a horrid trio of hate.\n\nThe girl's face was as it had been from the first, unredeemed evil. The\ncountenance of the young peer had changed from its usual vacuous and\ndissipated weakness into something which, bad as it was, had still a\nquality of strength. He had sat cowering in the theatre while the\nterrible denunciation of the evangelist had laid bare the secrets of his\nlife. And although he did not outwardly show how hard he had been hit,\nhis resentment was no less furious though less vulgarly expressed, than\nthat of Mimi.\n\nThe Israelite gave no indication of his inward feelings. In truth, they\nwere of a quite different nature from those of the other two. He lived\nfor two purposes. One was to make money, the other was to enjoy himself;\nhe saw now that his money-making was menaced, and that his enjoyment\nwould be spoiled--unless--\n\nMimi Addington became suddenly quite calm and business-like. She\nrealized that she was in perfect accord with the other two.\n\n\"Now let's get to work,\" she said. \"This Joseph must be got rid of at\nonce. It can be done, I suppose, if we pay enough.\"\n\n\"Quite so,\" said Mr. Levison. \"It now only remains to form ourselves\ninto a committee of ways and means.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE WARNING\n\n\nLike a bell the preacher's voice rang through the crowded church.\n\nAfter the delivery of the solemn and menacing text of warning, Joseph\nbegan, suddenly and swiftly, without any of the usual preliminary\nplatitudes with which so many preachers in all the churches commence\ntheir addresses.\n\n\"I look down upon you and see you with an inward and spiritual vision.\nAnd to me, you men and women in your wealth, your temporal power, your\nbeauty, your curiosity and your sin, seem as a vast Slough of Despond.\n\n\"I need no such fantastic images, powerful and skilful as they may be,\nby means of which Dante or Milton portrayed the horrors of hell, to show\nme a horror more real and terrible than any of which they wrote. This is\nthe City of Dreadful Night. It is the Modern Babylon, where Christendom,\ncorrupt both in state and in society, sits by many waters, and speaks in\nher heart, and boasts, 'I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no\nsorrow.'\n\n\"Sin and Satan exercise a terrible dominion, ungodliness and debauchery\naccompany them, for Babylon is the abode of all unclean spirits.\n\n\"And in this church, you men and women to whom I am speaking now\nrepresent in your very persons no small portion of the army of\nwickedness which rules London and fattens upon its corruption.\"\n\nHe paused for a moment, looking down from his high place with a pale\nface, burning eyes, and a hand outstretched in condemnation.\n\nThere was a soft, universal, and perceptible noise of movement, which\nrose and ceased. Then all was silent again. With their eyes fixed\nsteadfastly on Joseph, no one had seen the vicar half rise from his seat\nin the chancel, with a scared look upon his face, and a sudden\ndeprecatory movement of his arm.\n\nThe preacher resumed:--\n\n\"In a very short time--for some of you the time is shorter than you\ndream of--for to-night God has revealed much to me--you will all be\ndead. The feasting, and the folly, and the fun, and the lying and the\ndrinking and the lust will all be over for you, and you will answer for\nwhat you have done.\n\n\"This is what I tell you to have constantly in your minds while I am\nspeaking to you to-night. You may think in your blindness, in your\nfolly, that I am exaggerating the evil of the time, the monstrous\nwickedness of London, for which you and people like you are largely\nresponsible. Delude yourself with no such vain imagining, for I speak to\nyou as the ambassador of the Most High God, and to-night you shall hear\nme.\n\n\"The signs of the time are unmistakable. London has come to the worship\nof the image of the beast, of the human spirit, which has apostatized\nfrom God, and made itself God. You have fallen into strong delusions,\ninto which the Lord suffers all to fall who have not received the truth\nin the love of it, that they might be saved. You worship that which the\ninspired words of the Bible call the 'beast' because it denies what is\ntruly human, and, with all its culture and civilization, is more and\nmore tending to degrade humanity.\n\n\"All who see with the eye of the Spirit know that atheistic and\nmaterialistic systems, denying God and the existence of the Spirit, and\nbased upon a purely physical view of existence, and atheistic\nliterature, which by its poetry, fictions, and romances, diffuses the\nGospel of the flesh among the masses, grow daily, and are triumphant.\nThe words of Revelation have come true, and out of the mouth of the\ndragon and out of the false prophet have proceeded the three unclean\nspirits, like frogs. These creatures of the swamp, the mire, and the\nmorass are among you. Their croaking, powerless as it is in itself, yet\nproduces a sound which penetrates, and is heard all around; repeating\nthe same thing day after day, deluding men, and bringing them into the\nright state of mind for the service of Antichrist.\n\n\"You call yourselves Christians. You are here in a church, and the\npresence of most of you is the most grim and ghastly mockery that the\nfinite mind can possibly conceive.\n\n\"Day by day in this holy temple of the Blessed Trinity God Incarnate\ncomes down upon the altar yonder as the priest says the words of\nConsecration--those incredibly wonderful five words which put the\nBlessed Body of our Lord under the white species of the Host. Only this\nmorning many of you heard those\n\n    _Jewels five words long\n    That on the outstretched forefinger of all time,\n    Sparkle for ever._\n\nNext Sunday, it may be, you will hear them again, as you heard them last\nSunday. Yet you live for evil pleasure still.\n\n\"When you think at all, you delude yourselves into imagining you are\nworshipping God, when you are taking a fitful interest in a ceremony\nwhich means no more to you than a ceremony. You come here for an hour in\nthe morning of one day of the week, your minds full of worldly pleasures\nand the memories of your pleasant sins. You listen to the words of the\nBible in your comfortable seats, and think how quaint, far off, and\nunreal they are. With a languid mental smile you hear of the devil and\nthe evil spirits who walk up and down the City seeking whom they may\ndevour. You would not smile if you were to take a short journey from\nthis church into the devil's country, the East End of London--if now,\nwith one accord, you were to drive in your carriages to those places\nwhere the air is heavy with ceaseless curses, where hideous disease and\nuncleanliness that you cannot even imagine, stalk hand in hand with\nfamine, despair, and unmentionable horrors of vice.\n\n\"You would believe then, perhaps, that the devil still goes about the\nstreets of London doing his work.\n\n\"I tell you this without any possibility of mistake, that you are the\nservants of Satan, and that in your lives you have enrolled yourselves\nunder the black banners of hell.\n\n\"And more especially than all, you are hypocrites. Outwardly all is fair\nand of good report until, as happens now and then, your lives are laid\nbare to the world in some hideous scandal. You go to church, your names\nare seen upon the lists of those societies which endeavor to ameliorate\nthe life of the downtrodden and the oppressed. But what personal service\ndo most of you give to the cause of the God in whom you confess to\nbelieve? You live for pleasure, and you are hypocrites.\n\n\"Hypocrisy occurs in all the relations of your life; in the daily\nintercourse between man and man, when friendship is feigned; in the\npolitical sphere, when tyrants and self-seekers pretend a deep care for\nFatherland, and thereby lead men according to their design. In art and\nscience you are hypocrites, pretending a pure unselfish love to the\nhigher ideal, when self-gratification is all you look for; incense is\noffered to the idols of the time, and pleasure is alone the end and aim,\nthe Alpha and Omega of existence.\n\n\"You are as 'trees whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead,\nplucked up by the roots; raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own\nshame; wandering stars.'\n\n\"And all around you London grows worse and worse, while it is from its\ncorruption and from its misery that your sordid pleasures are distilled.\n\n\"There are men here to-night who have won fortune, rank, and celebrity\nfrom the wholesale poisoning of the poor. The food which the slaves of\nthe modern Babylon eat, the drink they drink, is full of foulness, that\nyou may fare sumptuously every day, that your wives may be covered with\njewels. There are men here to-night who keep hundreds and thousands of\ntheir fellow-Christians in hideous and dreadful dens without hope, and\nfor ever. In order that you may live in palaces, surrounded by all the\nbeauties and splendors that the choicest art, the most skilled\nhandicraft can give, hundreds of human beings who lurk in the holes for\nwhich they pay you must spend their lives, where no ordinary man or\nwoman can remain for more than a moment or two, so terrible are these\nnauseous places.\n\n\"Whole miles of ground in the modern London are thickly packed with\nfellow-Christians who are hourly giving up their lives in one long\ntorture that you may eat, drink and be merry. At midday you may go into\nthe East End of London and pass a factory. Men come out of it dripping\nwith perspiration, and that perspiration is green. The hair of these men\nsprouts green from the roots giving them the appearance of some strange\nvegetable. These men are changed and dyed like this that your wives may\nspend the life-earnings of any one of them in the costly shops of the\nperruquiers in Bond Street.\n\n\"In order that you may draw twenty, thirty, forty, or fifty per cent.\nfrom your investments, instead of an honest return from the wealth with\nwhich God has entrusted you, there are men who eat like animals. In the\nlittle eating-houses around the works, there are human beings who leave\ntheir knives and forks unused and drop their heads and bury their noses\nand mouths into what is set before them. All the bones, nerves, and\nmuscles below their wrists are useless. These are the slaves of lead,\nwho are transmuting lead with the sacrifice of their own lives, that it\nmay change to gold to purchase your banquets. You are the people who\ndirectly or indirectly live in a luxury such as the world has never seen\nbefore, out of the wages of disease and death. Copper colic, hatter's\nshakers, diver's paralysis, shoemaker's chest, miller's itch,\nhammerman's palsy, potter's rot, shoddy fever, are the prices which\nothers pay for your yachts and pictures, your horses and motor-cars,\nyour music, your libraries, your clubs, your travel, and your health.\n\n\"And what of the other and more intimate side of your lives? Do you live\nwith the most ordinary standard of family and personal purity before\nyou? Do you spend a large portion of your lives in gambling, in the\nendeavor to gain money without working for it from people less skilful\nor fortunate than yourself? Do you reverence goodness and holiness when\nyou find them or are told of them, or do you mock and sneer? Do you\ndestroy your bodily health by over-indulgence in food, in wine, and in\nunnatural drugs, which destroy the mind and the moral sense? Do you\never and systematically seek the good and welfare of others, or do you\nlive utterly and solely for yourself, even as the beasts that perish?\"\n\nThe preacher stopped in one long pause; then his voice sank a full\ntone--\n\n\"Yes, all these things you do, and more, and God is not with you.\"\n\nNearly every head in the church was bent low as the flaming, scorching\nwords of denunciation swept over them.\n\nWealthy, celebrated, high in the world's good favor as they were, none\nof these people had ever heard the terrible, naked truth about their\nlives before. Nor was it alone the denunciatory passion of the words and\nthe bitter realization of the shameful truth which moved and influenced\nthem so deeply. The personality of the Teacher, some quality in his\nvoice which they had never yet heard in the voice of living man, the\nall-inspiring likeness to the most sacred figure the world has ever\nknown, the intense vibrating quality of more than human power and\nconviction--all these united to light the fires of remorse in every\nheart, and to touch the soul with the cold fingers of fear.\n\nAccustomed as most of them were to this or that piquant thrill or\nsensation--for were not their lives passed in the endless quest of\nstimulating excitement?--there was yet something in this occasion\nutterly alien to it, and different from anything they had ever known\nbefore.\n\nOf what this quality consisted, of what it was composed, many of them\nthere would have given conflicting and contradictory answers. All would\nhave agreed in its presence.\n\nOnly a few, a very few, knew and recognized the truth, either with\ngladness and holy awe or with shrinking and guilty dread, the Power\nwhich enveloped them with the sense of the presence of the Holy Ghost.\n\nThere was a change in the accusing voice--\n\n\"But it is not yet too late. God's mercy is infinite, and through the\nmerits of His Son you may save yourselves while there is time. Kneel now\nand pray silently as you have never prayed before, for I tell you that\nGod is here among you. An opportunity will be given to each one of you\nto make reparation for the evil you have done, for the messengers of the\nLord have come to London, and wondrous things will come to pass! And now\npray, pray, pray! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy\nGhost. Amen.\"\n\nWith no further word the Teacher turned and quietly descended the pulpit\nsteps.\n\nEvery head was bowed; hardly a single person heard or saw him move away\ninto the vestry, and a great silence fell upon the church.\n\nAs if in a dream, the tall figure in its white linen ephod passed\nthrough the outer vestry into the large and comfortable room used by the\npriests. No one was there, and Joseph sank upon his knees in prayer. He\nhad been sending up his passionate supplications for the souls of those\nwithout but a few seconds, when he felt a touch--a timid, hesitating\ntouch--upon his shoulder.\n\nHe looked up, and saw a little elderly man, wearing the long\nvelvet-trimmed gown which signalized a verger in St. Elwyn's, standing\nby his side. The old man's face was moving and working with strong\nemotion, and a strange blaze of eagerness shone in his eyes.\n\n\"Master,\" he said, \"I heard it all, every word you said to them; and it\nis true--every word is bitter true. Master, there is one who has need of\nyou, and in God's name I pray you to go with me.\"\n\n\"In God's name I will come with you, brother,\" Joseph answered gravely.\n\n\"Ay,\" the old man answered, \"I felt my prayer would be answered,\nMaster.\" He took Joseph's surplice from him, divested himself of his own\ngown, and opened the vestry door. \"You found this way when you came,\nMaster,\" he said. \"The public do not know of it, for it goes through the\nbig livery-stables. The district is so crowded. No one will see us when\nwe leave the church, though there are still thousands of people waiting\nfor you to pass in front. But my poor home is not far away.\"\n\nAs they walked, the old man told his story to Joseph. His son, a young\nfellow of eighteen or nineteen, had been employed as basement porter in\nthe Countess of Morston's Regent Street shop for the selling of\nartistic, hand-wrought metal work.\n\nLike many another fashionable woman in London, Lady Morston was making a\nlarge sum of money out of her commercial venture. But the repousse work\nwhich she sold was made by half-starved and sweated work-people in the\nEast End of town, and all the employees in the shop itself were\nmiserably underpaid. From early morning, sometimes till late at night,\nthe old fellow's son had been at work carrying about the heavy crates of\nmetal. His wages had been cut down to the lowest possible limit, and\nwhen he had asked for a rise he had been told that a hundred other young\nfellows would be glad to step into his shoes at any moment.\n\nOne day the inevitable collapse had come. He had found himself unable to\ncontinue the arduous labor, and had left the position. Almost\nimmediately after his departure he had been attacked with a long and\npainful nervous complaint. Unable, owing to the fact of his resignation,\nto claim any compensation from the countess as a legal right, he had\nhumbly petitioned for a little pecuniary help to tide him over his\nillness. This had been coldly refused, and the young man was now\nbedridden and a permanent encumbrance to the old man, who himself was\nunable to do anything but the lightest work.\n\nMr. Persse, on being applied to for assistance, had consulted the\nCountess of Morston, who was one of his parishioners, in order, as he\nsaid, to find out if it were \"a genuine case.\" With an absolute\ndisregard for truth, and in order to shield herself, the woman had told\nthe clergyman that her late assistant was a dishonest scoundrel who\nmerited no consideration whatever.\n\n\"And so, Master,\" the old man concluded--\"and so I lost all hope, and\ntried to make up my mind to see my lad die slowly. And then I see about\nyou in the paper, and something comes into my mind like. And then the\nvicar he tells me about this here service to-night, and that you were\ncoming yourself, Master. So I prayed and I prayed that I should have a\nchance to speak to you. Master, I want you to raise Bill up and make him\nwell.\"\n\nThe old man clutched Joseph by the arm, his cracked and pathetic voice\nfull of poignant pleading.\n\n\"You will, won't you, Master?\" he said once more.\n\n\"Take me to the young man,\" Joseph answered.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nJOSEPH AND THE JOURNALIST\n\n\nEric Black was thirty-three years of age, and one of the chief and most\ntrusted writers upon the staff of the _Daily Wire_.\n\nVery few of the younger school of journalists in London had the crisp\ntouch and vivid sense of color in words possessed by this writer. His\nrise to considerable success had been rapid, and his signed articles on\ncurrent events were always read with extreme interest by the enormous\npublic who bought the most popular journal of the day.\n\nEric Black's intellect was of first class order, but it was one-sided.\nHe saw all the practical and material affairs of life keenly, truly and\nwell. But of that side of human existence which men can neither touch\nnor see he was profoundly ignorant, and as ignorance generally is,\ninclined to be frankly contemptuous.\n\nIn religious matters accordingly this brilliant young man might have\nbeen called an absolute \"outsider.\" He never denied religion in any way,\nand very rarely thought about it at all. No one had ever heard him say\nthat he did not believe in God, he simply ignored the whole question.\n\nHis personal life was singularly kindly, decent, and upright. He was, in\nshort, though he had not the slightest suspicion of it himself, a man\nwaiting and ready for the apprehension of the truth--one of those to\nwhom the Almighty reveals Himself late.\n\nOn a great daily paper, when some important event or series of events\nsuddenly rises on the horizon of the news-world, a trusted member of the\nstaff, together with such assistants as may be necessary, is placed in\nentire charge of the whole matter. Eric Black, accordingly, was deputed\nto \"handle\" the affair of Joseph and his epoch-making arrival in London.\n\nMr. Persse, the vicar of St. Elwyn's, had sent two tickets of admission\nfor Joseph's address to the _Daily Wire_, and Eric Black, accompanied by\na shorthand writer who was to take down the actual words of the sermon,\nsat in a front seat below the pulpit during the whole time of Joseph's\nterrible denunciation of modern society.\n\nWhile the reporter close by bent over his note-book and fixed the\nTeacher's burning words upon the page, Black, his brain alert and eager,\nwas busy in recording impressions of the whole strange and unexpected\nscene. He was certainly profoundly impressed with the dignity and\nimportance of the occasion. He realized the emotions that were passing\nthrough the minds of the rich and celebrated people who filled the\nchurch. His eyes drank in the physical appearance of the Teacher, his\nears told him that Joseph's voice was unique in all his experience of\nmodern life.\n\nEnormously interested and stirred as he was, Black was not, however,\nemotionally moved. The journalist must always and for ever be watchful\nand serene, never carried away--an acute recorder, but no more.\n\nTowards the end of the sermon, when the young man saw that Joseph would\nonly say a few more words, a sudden flash of inspiration came to him. No\njournalist in London had yet succeeded in obtaining an interview or a\ndefinite statement with the extraordinary being who had appeared like a\nthunderbolt in its midst. It was the ambition of Eric Black to talk with\nthe Teacher, and thus to supply the enterprising journal which employed\nhim, and for which he worked with a whole-hearted and enthusiastic\nloyalty, with an important and exclusive article.\n\nHe had noticed that the Teacher could not possibly have entered the\nchurch by the main entrance. The journalist himself, in order to secure\nthe best possible seat, had arrived at St. Elwyn's at the commencement\nof the evening service which preceded the address.\n\nWith a keen, detective eye he had noted the little subtle signs of\nuneasiness upon the vicar's face, and had deduced accordingly that\nJoseph had not yet arrived. When the Teacher actually appeared, it was\nobvious that he must have come by the vestry door, in order to elude the\nwaiting crowd. It was morally certain also that he would leave by the\nsame route.\n\nThe writer saw his chance. By his side was the representative of a rival\npaper, a drawback to the realization of his scheme. As his quick brain\nsolved the difficulty of that, he remembered Mr. Kipling's maxim, that\n\"all's fair in love, war, and journalism.\" The shorthand writer from\nthe _Daily Wire_ sat just beyond the rival journalist.\n\n\"Look here, Tillotson,\" he whispered, in tones which he knew the\n_Mercury_ man could hear, \"I'm feeling frightfully unwell. I must get\nout of this, if I can, for a minute or two. Of course, after the sermon\nis over, Joseph will go down into the aisles. I hear that a big\nreception is arranged for him at the west entrance. I am going to slip\naway for a minute or two. When the preacher comes out of the vestry,\nfetch me at once. I mustn't let any of the other fellows get to him\nbefore I do. I shall be in the side-chapel over there, which is quite\nempty, and where the air will be cooler.\"\n\nSatisfied that he had done all that was necessary to mislead his rival,\nBlack slipped out of his seat, passed behind a massive pillar, and,\nunobserved by any one, slipped into the outer vestry, through the inner,\nand eventually came out into the narrow passage which led to the livery\nstables, where he waited with anxious alertness.\n\nIn less than five minutes his patience and clever forestalling of events\nwere richly rewarded. Joseph himself, accompanied by a little old man,\nwhom Black recognized as the verger who had shown him to his seat, came\nout together, talking earnestly. They passed him, and when they had gone\na few yards the journalist followed cautiously. He was anxious, in the\nfirst place, to discover where the mysterious man, whose appearances and\ndisappearances were the talk of London, was going, and upon what errand.\nHe waited his time to speak to him, resolved that nothing should now\nprevent him from bringing off a journalistic \"scoop\" of the first\nmagnitude.\n\nJoseph and the verger passed through the mews, and turning to the right,\nentered one of those tiny but well-defined slums which exist in the\nheart of the West End and are inhabited by the lowest in the ranks of\nthe army that ministers to the pleasures of the great.\n\nThe newspaper man followed cautiously some four yards behind his quarry.\nIn about three minutes Joseph and his companion stopped before the door\nof a small house, and the elder man felt in his pocket and produced the\nkey to open it. Suddenly Joseph put his hand upon the old man's shoulder\nfor a moment, and then, turning suddenly, walked straight up to Eric\nBlack.\n\n\"Brother,\" he said, \"you are welcome, for God has sent you to see what\nis to be done this night.\"\n\nThe confident young journalist was taken aback, and for a moment all his\nreadiness of manner left him.\n\n\"I--er--I--well, I represent the _Daily Wire_, you know, sir. I hoped\nthat perhaps you would give me the pleasure of an interview. All London\nis waiting most anxiously to hear something of your views and plans. I\nshould take it as a great favor if you could spare me a few minutes.\"\n\nJoseph smiled kindly, and placed his hand upon the young man's shoulder,\ngazing steadily into his eyes with a deep, searching glance.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"it is as I knew. God has sent you here to-night, for\nyou are as an empty vessel into which truth and the grace of the Holy\nSpirit shall be poured.\"\n\nThe journalist answered nothing. The extraordinary manner in which the\nTeacher had addressed him, the abnormal knowledge which the man with the\nbeautiful, suffering face and lamp-like eyes seemed to possess, robbed\nthe other of all power of speech.\n\nAnd Black was conscious, also, of a strange electric thrill which ran\nthrough him when Joseph had placed a hand upon his shoulder. It was as\nthough some force, some invisible, intangible essence or fluid, was\nbeing poured into him. Certainly, never before in his life had he\nexperienced any such sensation. Still without any rejoinder, he followed\nthe Teacher through the opened door of the house, down a narrow and\ndirty passage, and into a small bedroom lit by a single gas-jet.\n\nThe place was scantily furnished, and grim poverty showed its traces in\nall the poor appointments of the room. Yet it was scrupulously clean and\nneat, and the air was faintly perfumed by a bunch of winter violets\nwhich stood upon a chair by the bed.\n\nA young man, tall but terribly emaciated, was lying there. His face,\nworn by suffering, was of a simple and homely cast, though to the seeing\neye resignation and patience gave it a certain beauty of its own.\n\n\"This is my Bill,\" said the old man, in a trembling voice--\"this is my\npoor lad, Master. Bill, my boy, this is the Master of whom we have been\nreading in the papers. This is Joseph the Teacher, and, if it is God's\nwill, he is going to make you well.\"\n\nThe young man looked at Joseph with a white and startled face. Then he\nstretched out his thin and trembling hand towards him. His eyes closed\nas if in fear, and in a weak, quavering voice he said three words--\n\n\"Lord help me!\"\n\nJoseph bent over the bed, and placed his hand gently on the young man's\nforehead.\n\n\"Sleep,\" he said, in a low deep voice.\n\nThe two watchers saw a strange calmness steal over the patient's\nfeatures. The convulsive movements of the poor, nerve-twitched body\nceased, and, in a few moments more, quiet and regular breathing showed\nthat the magnetic touch of the Teacher had indeed induced a tranquil\nslumber.\n\nThe old man looked on, shaking with anxiety.\n\n\"Master,\" he said, \"can you cure him--can you heal him? He is my only\nson, all I've got left in the world--my only son!\"\n\nEric Black, who had watched this curious scene with great interest and a\nconsiderable amount of pity, sighed. He was not inexperienced in\nillnesses, especially those terrible nervous collapses for which medical\nscience can do nothing, and to which there is one inevitable end. He\nknew that no human skill could do anything for the sleeping and\ncorpse-like figure upon the bed, and he wondered why Joseph had cared to\naccompany the old man and to buoy him up with false hopes.\n\nJoseph did not immediately answer the old man's question about his son.\nInstead of that he turned quickly to the journalist.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said; \"but with God all things are possible.\"\n\nBlack started violently. His very thoughts had been read instantly, and\nanswered as swiftly. Then a curious resentment mounted in his brain\nagainst Joseph. Who was this man who sent a suffering invalid to sleep\nin a moment by his hypnotic touch; who brought terror, remorse, and\nshame into a great lighted theatre; who dared to tell the wealthiest and\nmost influential people in London that they marched beneath the standard\nof Beelzebub; who even now had read his secret thoughts with unerring\nintuition?\n\nWith a slight sneer, foreign to his usual nature, but he was frightened\nand was trying to reassure himself, he said--\n\n\"That is all very well, sir, no doubt; but miracles do not happen.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir, they do--they do!\" cried the old verger, wringing his\nhands. \"Oh, don't say that, sir; miracles aren't over yet. I don't like\nthe way you say it, sir. God will surely never let my poor Bill die!\"\n\nJoseph took no notice of the poor old fellow's entreaty. He spoke to\nBlack.\n\n\"My brother,\" he said, \"and what is a miracle?\"\n\nBlack thought for a moment, and then replied, though he did not know it,\nin the words of Hume: \"A miracle,\" he said, \"is a violation of the laws\nof Nature, and therefore impossible--Huxley showed that long ago.\"\n\nThe journalist was quite unconscious of the progress of modern thought,\nand in his ignorance believed that Huxley was the last word in\nphilosophic criticism.\n\n\"Huxley,\" Joseph answered quietly, \"has said that if a miracle, such as\nthe restoring to life of a dead man, were actually to take place, the\nphenomenon would simply become a problem for further scientific\ninvestigation. That is perfectly true as far as it goes, nor does it in\nany way discredit the possibility of a miracle. Is it not a fact that\nevery day new natural laws, previously entirely unsuspected by any one,\nare being discovered? Have not the papers of late been full of strange\nnews of great chemical discoveries, such as radium--electrical wonders,\nsuch as the sending of messages without wires? What are these but\nnatural laws? But would they not have been miracles three hundred years\nago?\n\n\"Supposing we admit the Divine regulation of the world by natural law,\nthe spiritual nature of man, and his value to God. Let us say that in\nthe exercise of his free will man has disturbed the poise and balance of\nthe moral universe by sin, and that God proposes to restore it. If we do\nthis, there can be no improbability in our mind that God supplements, or\neven in a manner reverses, the workings of natural law by a fresh\nrevelation of His will and character. Have you ever seen or known of a\ncase in which a man or woman full of bitter hatred of God, and stained\nby a life of continuous sin, has been suddenly changed by the power of\nthe Holy Spirit, and has become from henceforward a righteous and\nChristian man? You must have come across such cases--they are common\nenough in the experience of every one. Is not this a miracle? Is not\nthis a revelation of Our Lord Jesus Christ?\n\n\"And if Jesus Christ be the bearer of this new revelation, may we not\nregard His miracles as the spontaneous, even natural, expressions of His\nPersonality? Miracles are thus perfectly credible to any one who\nbelieves in two things--the love of God and the existence of sin.\"\n\nThe journalist bowed without replying. His keen and logical mind saw at\nonce the force of Joseph's quiet argument. He was not prepared to answer\nthe Teacher. Nevertheless, there was still a certain sense of\nstubbornness and revolt within his mind.\n\nThis was all very well, but it was, after all, mere abstract\nphilosophical discussion. It did not affect the matter in hand, which\nwas that the Teacher was buoying up a poor and unhappy old man with\nfruitless hopes.\n\nWhen he had finished speaking to Black, Joseph turned to the old verger.\n\"Come, my brother,\" he said, \"and let us kneel by the bedside of the one\nwho is sick, praying that the Holy Spirit may come down upon us and heal\nhim.\"\n\nThen Eric Black, standing against the opposite wall of the little room,\nsaw the two men kneel down, and saw also the marvel which it was to be\nhis privilege to give to the knowledge of the whole world, and which\nwas to utterly change his own life from that moment until its end.\n\nThere was a long silence, and then suddenly the journalist began to be\naware that, in some way or other, the whole aspect of the room was\naltered.\n\nIt was incredibly, wonderfully altered, and yet _materially_ it was just\nthe same.\n\nThe young man had known nothing like it in all his life experience,\nthough he was to know it again many times, when in the future he should\nkneel at the Eucharist.\n\nNeither then, nor at any other time, was Black able to explain his\nsensations and impressions at that supreme moment. With all his\nbrilliant and graphic power, to the end of his days the power of\ndescribing the awe and reverence, the absolute certainty of the Divine\nPresence which he experienced at the Mass, was denied him. Celebrated as\nhe became as a writer, his attempts to give the world his own testimony\nto the Truth in a convincing way always failed. It was the great sorrow\nof his career. He would have counted it as his highest privilege. But he\nbore his cross meekly till the end, knowing that it was sent him for a\nwise purpose, and that perhaps it was his punishment for his long days\nof hard-heartedness and blindness.\n\nHe began to tremble a little, and then he saw that Joseph's hands were\nplaced lightly upon the temples of the sleeping man, just touching them\nwith the long, nervous finger-tips.\n\nThe Teacher may have remained motionless in this position for five or\nten minutes--the journalist never knew--and all the time the power and\nunseen influence grew and grew in the silence, until the very walls of\nthe little room seemed to melt and dissolve beyond the bounds of sense,\nand the brain, mind, and soul of the watcher to grow and dissolve with\nthem in one overpowering ecstasy of reverence and awe.\n\nAnd then the next thing that Eric Black knew was that the tall thin\nfigure which had lain upon the bed was standing in the middle of the\nroom, robed in its long, grey flannel gown, and that the old man had\nleaped at his son with loud cries of joy and wonder, and that the two\nmen, locked in each other's embrace, were weeping and calling out in\ngratitude upon God.\n\nJoseph took the journalist by the arm, and led him, unresisting, from\nthat awful and sacred scene.\n\nThey were out in the quiet back street, and the young man was swaying as\nif he would fall. He felt an arm pass through his, and heard the deep,\nvibrating voice of the Teacher speaking.\n\n\"Come swiftly with me, for we have to meet a great company of people in\nanother place, and to witness the marvellous ways of God.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE BATTLE OF THE LORD\n\n\nAmong the audience, or rather the congregation, which had assembled to\nhear Joseph in St. Elwyn's Church, all those people who were intimately\nconnected with him had been present.\n\nIt had been arranged beforehand, although Mr. Persse had known nothing\nof it, that Joseph's followers, Sir Augustus and Lady Kirwan, Marjorie,\nand Mary, accompanied by Sir Thomas Ducaine and Hampson, the journalist,\nshould all have seats reserved for them by ticket in the church.\n\nAccordingly they had all been there. After the Teacher's solemn\nexhortation to private prayer, the whole congregation had awoke as if\nfrom a dream. The influence, the magnetic influence of Joseph's\npresence, was removed. Every one sat up in their places with grave and\ntired eyes, wearing the aspect of people who had come back to life after\na sojourn in that strange country of the soul which lies between this\nworld and the next.\n\nThe vicar, very pale and agitated, had descended from the chancel in his\nsurplice and biretta, and had gone among the people, whispering here and\nthere, frowning, faintly smiling, and only too obviously upset and\nfrightened in body, mind, and spirit.\n\nOver all the great congregation of wealthy and fashionable people there\nhad lain that same manner of uneasiness, that hidden influence of fear.\nAfter a few minutes the majority of them rose and went silently from the\nchurch. As they walked down the broad and lighted aisle it was obvious\nenough, both in their walk and in their faces, that they were trying to\ncall back their self-respect and that mental attitude which ruled their\nlives, and was but an insolent defiance of all claims upon conduct, save\nonly the imperial insistence of their own self-will.\n\nBut it was an attempt, and nothing more, upon the part of those who\nthronged and hurried to be quit of the sacred building in which, for the\nfirst time in their lives, a man inspired by God had told them the truth\nabout themselves.\n\nNevertheless, a considerable residue of people was left. They sat in\ntheir seats, whispering brokenly to each other, glancing at the vicar,\nand especially at two pews where a company of countrymen in black were\nstill kneeling with their heads bowed in prayer.\n\nIt had already been bruited about in society that Sir Augustus and Lady\nKirwan, together with Sir Thomas Ducaine, were intimately connected with\nthe Teacher. The regard and attention of those who still stayed in the\nchurch were, therefore, also directed to the pew which held the baronet,\nhis wife, and their daughter, Sir Thomas, the beautiful girl in the\ncostume of a hospital nurse who was recognized by some of them as the\nniece of Lady Kirwan, and a little, meagre-looking man whom no one\nknew--Hampson, the editor of the _Sunday Friend_, in fact.\n\nMr. Persse seemed oddly ill at ease. He was unable to answer the queries\nwhich were constantly addressed to him, but his embarrassment was\npresently relieved. Sir Thomas Ducaine, followed by Mary Lys, rose from\nhis seat and went round about among the people.\n\n\"If you will come to my house,\" Sir Thomas whispered to this or that\nfriend; \"if you care to come, of course, Joseph is to be there to meet\nus all at eleven o'clock. He will make the first pronouncement as to\nwhat he intends to do, as to why he has come to London, and of the\nmessage which the future holds.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn Sunday night, about half-past ten, the squares and the street\nthoroughfares of the West End of London are not thronged. The exodus of\nthe crowds from the East End which takes place earlier every evening, so\nthat the poor may catch a single holiday glimpse of those more\nfortunate, is by that time over and done with.\n\nThe rats have gone back to their holes, and the spacious streets of the\nwealthy are clear and empty, save only for the swift and silent\ncarriages of those who have supper parties, to end and alleviate the\ndulness of the first day of the week in town.\n\nThe walk from Mayfair to Piccadilly is not a long one, and Joseph, with\nhis companion, met few wayfarers as they walked swiftly among the swept\nand lighted streets, wound in and out among the palaces of the West End.\n\nEric Black strode by the side of the Teacher with never a word. His\nheart was beating within him like sudden drums at midnight. His mind\nand thoughts were swirling in multitudinous sensations. What he had seen\nhe had seen, and what to make of it he did not know. Where he was going,\nhe was going, and what new marvel he was about to experience he was\nunable to conceive or guess.\n\nYet, as he moved swiftly towards the house of Sir Thomas Ducaine, he\nknew in a strange, sub-conscious fashion, that all his life was altered,\nall his ideas of the future were overthrown.\n\nSomething had come into the life of the brilliant young man, something\nhad fallen upon him like a sword--it would never be the same any more!\n\nMeanwhile, as he walked with Joseph, he walked with a man who warmed his\nwhole being with awe and reverence. Speculation ceased within him. He\nwas content to be taken where the other would--dominated, captive, and\nglad.\n\nAnd in his mental vision there still remained the vivid memory of the\nmiracle which he had seen--the piercing cries of joy and thankfulness,\nthe picture of the poor old man and his recovered son, drowned all other\nthought within him!\n\nHe felt, as Moses must have felt on Sinai, the rapture and fear of one\nwho has been very near to God.\n\nThey came to the door of the house in Piccadilly.\n\nA row of carriages lined the pavement, and the butler was standing in\nthe hall, surrounded by his satellites. The door was half ajar, held by\na footman, and as the two men entered there was a sudden stir and\nmovement of the people who were expectant there.\n\nSir Thomas Ducaine, who had been talking earnestly and in a low voice to\nMary Lys, came forward quickly as the two men entered.\n\nHis face was charged with a great reverence and affection as he took\nJoseph by both hands.\n\n\"Master,\" he said, \"welcome! We are all waiting for you.\"\n\nThen he turned inquiringly to Eric Black. Joseph interpreted the look.\n\n\"This is a brother,\" he said, \"who will be very strong in the Lord. He\nis a strong and tempered blade which has for long rested in the\nscabbard. Our Blessed Lord has come to him this night.\"\n\nThe twenty or thirty people who had been waiting round the great hall\nnow came forward in a group. With the exception of Joseph's friend\nHampson, there was not a single person there who was not important in\none way or another in English life. Here was a well-known and popular\nKing's Counsel, his keen, clean-shaven face all alight with interest and\nwonder. By his side was a prominent society actress, a great artiste, as\nfar removed from the Mimi Addington type as light is from darkness.\nThere were tears in the great grey eyes, and the sensitive mouth was\nquivering with emotion. A young peer, an intimate friend of Sir Thomas\nDucaine, a group of well-known society women, a popular Mayfair doctor,\na middle-aged baronet, who was one of the Court officials at Buckingham\nPalace--of such materials was the advance band of people composed.\n\nAlong the other side of the hall, in strange contrast to these\nfashionable and beautifully dressed people, the faithful band of Welsh\nminers and quarrymen was standing in their black coats, talking\nearnestly and quietly together.\n\nThey turned also as the Master entered.\n\nThen David Owen took three or four steps in front of his companions and\nraised his gnarled old brown hands high above his head.\n\n\"Blessed be he that cometh in the name of the Lord,\" he cried, \"and who\nis filled with the Holy Spirit!\"\n\nThen he turned suddenly to his companions, and with a wave of his arm\nstarted the \"Veni Creator Spiritus\"--\n\n    Come, Holy Ghost, eternal God,\n      Proceeding from above,\n    Both from the Father and the Son;\n      The God of peace and love.\n\n    Visit our minds, into our hearts\n      Thy heavenly grace inspire;\n    That truth and godliness we may\n      Pursue with full desire.\n\n    Thou art the Comforter\n      In grief and all distress;\n    The heavenly gift of God Most High\n      No tongue can it express.\n\n    The fountain and the living spring\n      Of joy celestial;\n    The fire so bright, the love so sweet,\n      The Unction spiritual.\n\nA glorious burst of deep and moving harmony filled the great hall, and\nthundered away up in the dome above as the Welshmen caught up the old\nhymn.\n\nNone of the other people there had ever heard anything like this in\ntheir lives. All this melody and wild beauty, which is the heritage of\nthe country which produces the most perfect chorus singers in the world,\nwere mingled with a spiritual fervor so intense, and a love and rapture\nso ecstatic, a purpose so inviolable and strong, that souls and hearts\nwere moved as they had never been moved before.\n\nThe organ voices ceased suddenly, as a symphony played on some great\norchestra ceases without a single dropping note.\n\nThen every one saw that the Master's hand was raised in blessing. He\nseemed suddenly grown taller. His face shone with heavenly radiance, he\nwas more than human in that moment, his whole body was like some thin,\ntransparent shell which throbbed and pulsed with Divine fire.\n\n\"The blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit\nbe with you and remain with you always.\"\n\nThe words of blessing fell upon hearts and souls long dry and arid,\natrophied by the things of this world, like the blessed rain of heaven\nupon the thirsting fields. Worldly ambitions, hopes, thoughts and\npreoccupations, shrivelled up and disappeared. A deep penitence flowed\nover those dry spaces like a river. Sorrow for the past, resolution for\nthe future, the glory and awe of worship, came upon them all in the\nsupreme moment.\n\nWhile they were looking at the Teacher with rapt attention they saw him\nsuddenly drop his arm, which fell heavily to his side like a dead thing.\n\nThe light faded from his face, the thin, blue-veined lids fell over the\nshining eyes, the mouth dropped a little, with a long sigh, and Joseph\nfell backwards in a deep swoon.\n\nThe man who but a moment before realized for them the absolute visual\npicture of Christ Himself, as He may have looked on one of those great\nmoments of tenderness and triumph which star the Holy Gospel with the\nradiance of their recital, was now, indeed, a visible picture in his own\nbody of the \"Man of Sorrows Who was acquainted with grief,\" The Redeemer\nWho fell by the way.\n\nSir Thomas and Hampson were standing by the Teacher as he fell, and it\nwas their arms which received the swooning form, carried it into an\ninner room, and laid it gently upon a couch.\n\nBut it was Mary, tall, grave and unutterably lovely in her healing\nministry, who chafed the cold, thin hands, wiped the damp moisture from\nthe pale and suffering brow, and called back life into the frail and\nexhausted vessel of God.\n\nWhile the Teacher was being tended by his friends Sir Thomas had given\norders to the butler to take his other guests into the large\ndining-room, where there was some supper waiting for them.\n\nEvery one assembled in the great, rich room, with its Jacobean carvings\nand family portraits by Gainsborough and Reynolds.\n\nBut nobody ate anything, or sat down at the long, gleaming table. One\nand another took a sandwich, but every one was too expectant and highly\nstrung to think of food in the ordinary way.\n\nProbably for the first time in the lives of the society people there,\nthey felt a real brotherhood and equality with the rugged sons of toil.\nThe cultured accents of Park Lane mingled with the rougher voices of the\nMaster's disciples. Distinguished and famous men walked with their hands\nupon the shoulders of the peasants from Wales. Beautiful women in all\nthe splendor of dress and jewels hung upon the words of some poor\nservant of God whose whole worldly possessions were not worth twelve\ninches of the lace upon their gowns.\n\nIt was an extraordinary scene of absolute, uncalculating love and\nbrotherhood. As in the very early Christian time, the mighty and the\nhumble were once more one and equal, loving and beloved in the light\nwhich streamed from the Cross on which the Saviour of them all had died\nin agony that they might live in eternity.\n\nThere was no single trace of embarrassment among Joseph's followers.\nThey answered the eager questioning of the others with quiet and simple\ndignity. The marvellous story of Lluellyn Lys was told once more with a\nfar greater fulness of detail than the public Press had ever been able\nto give to the world. The miracles which had taken place upon the wild\nhills of Wales were recited to the eager ears of those who had only\nheard of them through garbled and sensational reports.\n\nDuring the half-hour all the London folk were put in possession of the\nwhole facts of Joseph's mission and its origin.\n\nProbably never before in the social history of England had the force and\npower of the Christian faith been so wonderfully and practically\nmanifested as at this moment. Degrees, dignities, rank, wealth, and\npower were all swept away, and ceased utterly to exist. The Divine love\nhad come down upon this company in full and overflowing measure, and a\njoy which none of them had known before, and which seemed indeed a very\nforetaste of the heavenly joy to come, was with them all.\n\nSir Thomas Ducaine came into the room.\n\n\"My friends,\" he said, \"the Master has recovered and asks you to pray\nand talk with him upon this great and happy night. He is waiting for you\nall in the ball-room upstairs. Will you come with me?\"\n\nThe young baronet led the way. They followed him out of the dining-room,\nthrough the hall in which the liveried servants stood about with\nawe-struck faces, up the wide marble staircase with its crimson carpet,\nand into the vast room, lit by a thousand lights, which gleamed in the\nmirrors with which the walls were lined, and were reflected again in the\nsmooth and shiny parquet floor.\n\nAnd in the midst of all these splendors, seated upon a chair at one end\nof the room, they saw the dark-robed figure of the Master, with a sweet\nand gentle smile upon his face.\n\nWithout a word they grouped themselves round him, and, still smiling on\nthem in love and brotherhood, Joseph began to speak.\n\n\"My dear brothers and sisters,\" he said quietly, \"you have come here\nto-night from the church where I spoke as the Spirit of God compelled me\nto speak. The words that I said were there given to me, and to many of\nthe congregation they must have seemed harsh and cruel. But out of all\nthat congregation you have chosen to be with me to-night, and I pray and\nbelieve that a new life is to begin for all of you, even as it began for\nme no long time ago.\n\n\"I am going to ask you now how, and in what measure, each of you is\ngoing to live for Christ Jesus. Think about your past life and think\nabout your future life in this world! God has given to all of you great\npowers and opportunities. In the ranks of this world you are set high. I\nand my companions have come from the hills of Wales, led by God, our\nband captained by the Holy Ghost, to wake this great and sinful city\nfrom its sloth and evil. By the blessing of the Holy Trinity you are\nassembled here to-night under the roof of a young man who is very rich\nand powerful in England. By the direct operation of the Paraclete, that\nyoung man is being led to the Truth, and has thrown in his lot with the\nservants of God. At the beginning of our battle we are thus provided\nwith money and influence, and all the weapons with which God in His\nDivine wisdom makes it necessary for His servants to use.\n\n\"What are you, also, going to do for Jesus?\"\n\nThere was a silence for a full minute when Joseph had made an end of\nspeaking.\n\nThen, quite suddenly, a strong, clear, and confident voice rang out in\nthe great ball-room.\n\nEric Black, the journalist, was speaking.\n\n\"Sir Thomas Ducaine, Ladies and Gentlemen,\" he said, \"I am not one of\nyou. I am a writer for the Press, and, I may say, a writer who is\nsuccessful and whose words are read by very many people. I have never\nbefore to-night thought much about religion, nor have I loved God or\ntried to serve Him. But from now, with the help of the Holy Spirit, I\nvow and pledge myself to write nothing that is untrue; nothing which\nshall not, in intention and effort, redound to the glory of God. With\nsuch power as in me lies, I enlist under the banner of this man, which I\nverily, truly and honestly believe to be the banner of Jesus. And there\nis one thing more that I must say. I beg you will excuse my presumption,\nand listen patiently to me for a moment, for I have a wonderful thing to\ntell you.\"\n\nThen, in crisp, vivid sentences, full of color and movement, he told the\nlistening company of the miracle of healing he had just witnessed in the\nWest End slum.\n\nHe spoke as he wrote, keenly and directly, with the technical power of\nproducing an actual picture in the hearer's or the reader's brain.\n\nWhile he was telling his experience Joseph's eyes were half closed. His\nhands were resting upon the arms of his chair, and he was quite\nmotionless.\n\nWhen he had finished, the keen-faced King's Counsel began to speak in a\nsomewhat hard and metallic voice, though with force and determination in\nevery note of it.\n\n\"For my part,\" he said, \"without any further preamble I will say just\nthis. I will never again defend a cause in the courts in which I do not\nbelieve. I will give up all the methods and intrigues by which I have\nhoped to secure a judgeship. I will no longer court a political party in\nwhose policy I do not really believe, in order that I may gain a prize.\nAnd when I am not exercising my profession and doing the duty to which\nGod has called me, in an honest and Christian fashion, I will spend a\nright proportion of my wealth and time in helping Joseph to alleviate\nthe sorrows and miseries of the poor, and to bring London back to Jesus\nChrist!\"\n\nThe silence which ensued after the great lawyer, in his brusque and\ndetermined fashion, had made his confession of faith, was broken by a\nvoice which was like water falling into water.\n\nThe great actress was speaking, gently and humbly.\n\n\"For my part,\" she said, \"I can do little, oh, so very little. But I\nhave enough money to live on quietly, and there will still be some to\nspare for the poor people. I will act no more. My art, such as it is,\nhas been well thought of in this world. But I am sure now that I cannot\ngo on playing. There is so much more to do for God. And, perhaps, I do\nnot yet know, because I have not thought it out, it may not be good in\nthe sight of Heaven that I should continue in my profession. That is\nwhat I will do, Master.\"\n\nYoung Lord Ashbury, Sir Thomas Ducaine's friend, began to mumble and\nstutter. He was a short, thick-set young fellow, with a clean-shaven,\npleasant, but not particularly intellectual countenance.\n\n\"I--er--really, I don't quite know, but I--well, it's difficult to say,\ndon't you know! At any rate, I'll do what I can. Old Tommy Ducaine is a\ngood lead, and I haven't done all I ought to do--not by a very long way.\nBut I will if I can. If I can help the poor Johnnies Joseph talks about,\nI jolly well will. That's all!\"\n\nVery red in the face, the Earl of Ashbury subsided into silence.\n\nThe night wore on, and many hearts were laid bare, many natures opened\nthemselves before the Teacher.\n\nIt was close upon dawn when the last carriage rolled away, and the door\nopened to let the latest guest out into Piccadilly.\n\nThe battle of the Lord was begun. People were flocking to the\nenlistment. The standard of Jesus was raised in the Babylon of our\ntime.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE CONSPIRATORS\n\n\nMr. Andrew Levison, the lessee and part proprietor of the Frivolity\nTheatre, sat in his private office, which led out of the foyer, one damp\nand foggy afternoon, a fortnight after Joseph's now famous sermon at St.\nElwyn's.\n\nSince that momentous occasion, much water had run under the bridge.\n\nJoseph and his companions had become the question of the hour. What, in\nthe first instance, had been mere excitement and surmise, was now an\naccepted and revolutionary fact. Except by hearsay, London in reality\nwas divided into two camps--those who were for, and those who were\nagainst the Teacher.\n\nAnd the hostile party was infinitely greater than the friendly one.\n\nIn the first instance, the attitudes of the religious bodies were\nextremely varied.\n\nMr. Persse himself, whose church had become suddenly emptied of its\ncongregation, and whose personal prestige had suffered an irremediable\ninjury, headed a most virulent and persistent antagonism.\n\nBut the really fine brains and spiritual natures in the Anglican\nChurch--including those noble men who live the lives of paupers among\npaupers, and work like galley-slaves--were much more friendly. They\nnoticed that the Teacher made no personal assumptions. He did not say\nthat those whose sins he remitted were cleansed. He baptized none; he\ncalled himself an ambassador, but not a priest of God.\n\nThat, in His inscrutable providence, the Father had richly endowed this\nman with the Holy Spirit, that he did indeed walk under the direct\nguidance of God, seemed to these good men impossible to doubt. They\nwere, despite the certain restrictions of thought to which their\ntraining and temperament inclined them, ready to believe that because\nthe advent of one directly inspired by the Holy Ghost in the sense with\nwhich the Apostle Paul was inspired was outside their personal\nexperience, it was not to be rejected upon that account.\n\nAs far as in them lay, in the measure of their opportunities and\npossibilities, they held out the welcoming hand.\n\nBut, as was inevitable, it was the Free Sects who were in the front of\nthe Teacher's army--as far as definitely Christian people went.\n\nDuring the last few days of the fortnight which had intervened between\nthe present moment and the sermon in St. Elwyn's, Dissent, with the\nexception of the Unitarians, had spoken in no uncertain way in favor of\nJoseph's mission. They saw, with a singular unanimity, that here was a\ndeeply spiritual revival of religion upon true evangelical lines. Here\nwas a greater than Wesley even, a force and a personality which could\nnot be explained away by any accusations of charlatanism or\nself-interest, a man with a personal magnetism, a power over the human\nsoul, a power even over the material things of life which was verily\nwithout precedent or likeness since the times of the holy apostles\nthemselves!\n\nThat much of his teaching was definitely Catholic in tone, that he sent\npeople to the true channels of grace--the Sacraments of the Church--did\nnot alienate them as it might have done in another. It was now known\nthat in his youth Joseph was a baptized and confirmed member of the\nChurch of England, that he in no way repudiated it nor stood outside it,\nthat he constantly received the Blessed Sacrament. But Nonconformity was\nnot hostile.\n\nThe word \"miracle,\" so long derided and discredited by the materialists\nand scientists who denied the immanence of God in all things, was now\nonce more in the air.\n\nThe whole of England was awaking to the realization of strange new\nhappenings. Men who had never thought or spoken of such things before\nnow talked in low voices, one with the other, of the Holy Ghost. \"God is\na Spirit\"--once more men said this to each other.\n\nThe healing of the verger's son was known to all the world. It was a\nfact beyond possibility of doubt, more authenticated and certain, more\neasily capable of proof than any of the Roman Catholic wonders of\nLourdes or Treves. The colder analysis of the Anglo-Saxon temperament\nhad been brought to bear upon the event. Evidence was weighed and\nsorted as the impulsive, emotional Latin temperament is incapable of\ndoing.\n\nAnd, in the event, even the most sceptical were forced to admit that\nthere was no doubt at all.\n\nThe thing had really happened!\n\nEric Black had put it upon record. His vivid and powerful description\nhad touched the heart of the nation. Then it was the turn of the\ninvestigators, and they had been unable to discover a single flaw in the\nsequence of cause, operation, and effect.\n\nIt was said also, and hinted everywhere, that a certain famous family\nhad brought an afflicted daughter to the Teacher. Nothing was known\ndefinitely, but the generally believed story was this:--\n\nThe Lady Hermione ---- was the third daughter of the Duke of ----. The\nfamily, one of the most famous in the historical annals of England, was\nstill rich in power and wealth. But it was a physical ruin. Sons and\ndaughters for the last three generations had been born feeble in brain\nand stunted in body.\n\nA mysterious taint was on the ancient house, that Nemesis for past\ngrandeur that Thackeray has drawn for us in the picture of the Marquis\nof Steyne in _Vanity Fair_.\n\nThe young and lovely lady had been seized with a mysterious and\nincurable disease of the mind. She had disappeared from society. It was\nsaid that her condition was terrible; that at times even the doctors and\nnurses who watched over her impenetrable seclusion shrunk back from her\nin fear.\n\nIt was as though she was possessed of an evil spirit--so the tale had\nlong been whispered.\n\nAnd now it was abroad and upon the lips of every one that the poor\nliving body inhabited by some evil thing had been brought to the\nTeacher, and that all was once more well with the maid--the soul\nreturned, health and simplicity her portion once more.\n\nThese things had made a most lasting and powerful impression upon the\npublic mind. Who Joseph was, what were the reality and extent of his\npowers, what was to be the outcome of his mission: these were the\nquestions of the day, and all the world was asking them.\n\nThe non-religious world sneered. The majority in \"Christian\" England was\nalso divided in unequal portions. Most people said that Joseph was a\nmarvellous trickster and cheat--a cheat and impostor such as England had\nprobably never seen before, but still a rogue of rogues.\n\nBut among the last and poorest sections of the London community a very\ndifferent opinion obtained.\n\nThey didn't know anything about religious matters, they cared still\nless. \"God\" was a word which gave point and freedom to an oath. The\nchurches were places in which one was adjured to give up even the\nmiserable pleasures which made life possible to be endured. The Bible\nwas the little black Book you kissed in the police courts.\n\nBut Joseph was a friend.\n\nGreat things were going to happen in the congested districts of the\nlost. A material Saviour seemed to have risen up. A man who rebuked the\nrich and powerful, who poured words of fire upon the tyrant and the\noppressor, had come to London. There was help then! A light was to dawn\nin the sky, there was a little patch of hope in the sombre environment\nof lost and degraded lives.\n\nJoseph and his brethren were coming to help!\n\nSo all London was stirred to its depths.\n\nVested interests were threatened in innumerable ways, a revolution in\npublic thought and sentiment was imminent, in some way or other, for all\nclasses of society; things were going to be changed.\n\nThings were going to be changed.\n\nAnd, whether it knew it or not, the Modern Babylon was in the throes of\na spiritual revolution.\n\nThe Holy Ghost brooded over the waters.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMr. Andrew Levison sat in his private office at the Frivolity Theatre.\n\nIt was a richly furnished and comfortable place.\n\nThe walls were decorated with large photographs of the popular actors\nand actresses of the day. A heavy Turkey carpet covered the floor, a\ngreat writing-table of carved oak was littered with papers, electric\nlights in little silver shells glowed here and there; it was the luxury\nof a business room.\n\nAndrew Levison's theatre had remained closed since the night when Joseph\nhad first appeared in London and denounced the place. The attendance at\nmany other theatres of the same class was dwindling enormously. It was\nexactly as the shrewd Jew had foreseen--the advent of the evangelist\nbade fair to ruin, or, at any rate, terribly embarrass, his unscrupulous\nenterprises.\n\nHe sat in his big arm-chair of green leather and smiled. A light\nyellow-colored cigar was between his firm white teeth. He drummed gently\nupon the writing-table with fat white fingers. No more happy-looking and\nprosperous person, at peace with the world and with himself, could have\nbeen seen anywhere--upon the surface.\n\nIt is a great mistake to imagine that the most evil passions of the\nheart show themselves in the face. Criminals, with the exception of\nthose unhappy people who live _continuously_ by crime, are no monsters\nin aspect. Your murderer is, as often as not, a mild and\npleasant-looking man. Mr. Levison looked what he was--a good-natured,\nshrewd and money-loving Hebrew, no more. Yet, as he sat there, he was\nplanning murder, and waiting the arrival of an assassin!\n\nIt is always thus, though many people have neither sufficient\nimagination nor knowledge of life to realize it. A man may be a panderer\nlike Levison, or a robber like any successful rascal in the City, and\nyet he may still be a kind husband and father and a generous friend.\n\nThe Son of God, Who hung upon the shameful tree of Calvary, knew this.\n\n\"This day thou shalt be with Me in Paradise\" was not said idly. Man is\nmade in God's image, however marred or defaced the Divine imprint may\nbe.\n\nIt is well to remember this sometimes, though it is fatal to allow our\nappreciation of its truth to make us kind to sin or tolerant of it. But\nmay we not hope that no single son or daughter of God is ever entirely\nlost?\n\nThe theatrical manager's secretary, a pale and tired-looking girl, who\ntook down his letters in shorthand and typed them upon her machine,\nknocked at the door and entered.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Campbell, what is it?\" Levison said, making a pretence of\nlooking up from a pile of papers.\n\n\"A man has come,\" the girl said, \"who tells me that he is one of the\nsupers in the last play. There is another man with him, and he says that\nhe thinks you will see him. His name is Harris, and he states that he is\none of the regular people here.\"\n\n\"Well, that's nothing to do with me,\" Levison answered. \"They ought to\nsee the stage-manager. He looks after all those things. However, you may\ntell them to come in. I suppose they're hard up, and want a shilling or\ntwo? I shan't disappoint them, I dare say.\"\n\nHe smiled, a flashing, good-humored smile of strong white teeth; and the\ngirl went out, thinking that under a brusque exterior her employer had a\nheart of gold, after all.\n\nIn a moment or two more the carefully arranged comedy was over, the door\nof the office was carefully closed, and two seedy-looking, clean-shaven\nmen stood in front of Mr. Levison's writing-table.\n\n\"This is my pal, Mr. Levison,\" one of the men said, in a hoarse and\nfurtive voice.\n\nHe spoke softly and in the way of one who shared a confidential secret.\n\nLevison looked the other man up and down with a keen and comprehensive\nregard. The fellow was shorter and stouter than his companion. His face\nwas like a mask. It betrayed nothing whatever, although its obvious\nconcealment of what lay behind--the real man, in short--was rather\nsinister. The light, red-flint eyes kept flickering and shifting from\nside to side, and that was the only betrayal of uneasiness apparent.\n\n\"What's your name?\" Levison said; and then, with a sudden wave of his\nhand, he corrected himself. \"No, I don't want to know your name, after\nall. That matters nothing to me. But what I am going to ask you is just\nthis: Has Harris explained to you what you are going to be paid to do?\"\n\n\"'E 'ave, gov'nor,\" said the man.\n\n\"He's told you exactly?\"\n\nThe fellow nodded, without further waste of words.\n\n\"Very well, then,\" Levison answered--\"then there is no need of any\nexplanations on my part. At the same time, I will say just this: A\ncertain person has got to be put out of the way. That you already\nunderstand. But there need not necessarily be anything more than that.\nAn injury that would incapacitate the person we know of, would put him\non the shelf for a long time, would be quite enough.\"\n\nThe man smiled. The whole ghastly immobility of the mask was suddenly\ntransformed into a hideous and mocking countenance. The tool of the arch\ncriminal betrayed his superiority to scruple, and in that moment the\nhired assassin was contemptuous of the greater scoundrel and the weaker\nman.\n\n\"As you like, gov'nor,\" he said, in a low, oily voice. \"It's all one to\nme and my pals--give you my word. There's lots of ways of putting a cove\nthrough it wivout doin' of 'im entirely like. But the whole thing's just\nas easy.\"\n\nLevison, whose face had suddenly grown very white, made him an impatient\nand terrified movement with his hand.\n\nIt was one thing to call up one of the foul creeping things of London,\nit was quite another to hear hideousness voicing horror in a quiet and\naccustomed room.\n\n\"I want to hear nothing at all!\" he said, in a high-pitched and unsteady\nvoice. \"Don't tell me! Don't tell me! I don't want to know!\"\n\nOnce more the assassin smiled--dreadfully.\n\n\"Very well, gov'nor,\" he whispered. \"That's all O.K. Leave it to me, and\nit'll be safe as 'ouses. Day after ter-morrer this 'ere Joseph is going\ndown into Whitechapel wiv a lot of 'is swell pals. Sort of explanatory\ntour, it is. 'E's a-goin' to show them 'ow the pore live. Tike 'em over\nthe rookeries and preach the Gospel. We'll 'ave lots of chances, and no\none won't know 'oo done it. It's a question of terms, that's all. You're\na gen'leman, you are, sir; and Mr. 'Arris 'ere, an old pal of the boys,\nis a gentleman, too. Guv'nor, what are you a-goin' to hoffer?\"\n\nLevison's hand trembled as he opened a drawer of the big writing-table.\n\nHe withdrew ten sovereigns in gold.\n\n\"Take this,\" he said, \"and when the thing is done, I'll give you twenty\nmore of the same. Harris will give them to you from me. And now, for\nGod's sake, get out of my sight!\"\n\nThe last words burst from him in a high, almost feminine note, and as\nthe two men shuffled away into the fog of the empty foyer, the fat,\nwhite hand of the Jew went up to his throat, clutching at it in sick\nhysteria.\n\n\"In the name of God, get out of my sight!\"\n\nWas there ever a more blasphemous parody and mockery than this? He who\ntaketh the name of the Lord God in vain--\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nREVEALED IN A VISION\n\n\nMary Lys stood in the great hall of the East End Hospital, where she had\nworked for three years. She was saying good-bye.\n\nA little group of men and women stood round her--the men mostly young,\nclean-shaven, alert, and capable in expression; the women in the uniform\nof hospital nurses.\n\nSome of the women were crying quietly, and the great visiting surgeon,\nSir Abraham Jones himself, alternately tugged at his grey, pointed beard\nor polished the glasses of his pince-nez.\n\n\"Well, nurse,\" said the great man, \"I must go. I am due in the operating\ntheatre. I am sure that I am only representing the thought of the whole\nhospital staff when I say how deeply we all regret that you are leaving\nus. You have--ahem!--endeared yourself to every one, and your work has\nbeen splendid. You have been a pattern to your colleagues in every way.\nI hope that in the new sphere of life you have chosen you will be happy\nand prosperous.\"\n\nSir Abraham was not an orator in ordinary life, though he had been known\nto rise to real eloquence when lecturing upon some of the obscurer forms\nof appendicitis. But the short, jerky sentences came from his heart as\nhe shook the hand of the beautiful girl who, like himself, was a soldier\nin the noble army of those who fight disease and death.\n\nThey all crowded round Mary. The nurses kissed her, the young doctors\nwrung her by the hand and tried to express something of their feelings.\n\nMen and women, they all loved and valued her, and every one knew that\nwhen she went out through the great doors for the last time they would\nall suffer a loss which could never be replaced.\n\nIt was over at last. No longer in her nurse's dress, but clothed in the\nordinary tailor-made coat and skirt that young ladies wear in London\nduring the mornings, Mary got into the waiting hansom cab. The driver\nshook the reins, the horse lurched into a trot, there was a vision of\nwaving hands and kindly faces, and then the long, grimy fa\u00e7ade of the\nhospital slid past the window and was lost to view.\n\nMary Lys was no longer a hospital nurse.\n\nAs she drove westward--for she was on her way to her aunt's house in\nBerkeley Square, where she was about to make her home for a time--she\nreviewed her past life, with its many memories, bitter and sweet. It had\nbeen a hard and difficult life--a life of unceasing work among gloomy\nand often terrible surroundings. And moreover, she was not a girl who\nwas insensible to the beauty and softer sides of life. Culture, luxury,\nand repose were all hers did she but care to speak one word to Lady\nKirwan. She was constantly implored to leave the work she had set\nherself to do.\n\nShe had always refused, and now, as she looked back on the past years,\nshe knew that she had been right, that her character was now fixed and\nimmovable, that the long effort and self-control of the past had given\nher a steadfastness and strength such as are the portion and attributes\nof few women.\n\nAnd as the cab moved slowly up the Strand, Mary Lys thanked God for\nthis. Humbly and thankfully she realized that she was now a better\ninstrument than before, a more finely tempered sword with which to fight\nthe battle of Christ.\n\nFor though Mary was to live beneath the roof of Sir Augustus Kirwan, she\nwas not going to live the social life--the life of pleasure and\nexcitement as her cousin Marjorie did. Mary had left the hospital for\none definite purpose--that she might join the army of Joseph, and give\nher whole time to the great work which the evangelist was inaugurating\nin London.\n\nJoseph and his brethren had now definitely taken up their abode in a\nlarge house in Bloomsbury which Sir Thomas Ducaine had given them to be\nthe headquarters of their mission. Workers of all classes were flocking\nthere, and Mary knew, without possibility of doubt, that she was called\nto the work. Every fibre of her spiritual nature told her the truth.\nFrom the first she had been mysteriously connected with the movement.\nThe supernormal chain of events, the long succession of occurrences that\nwere little less than miraculous, told their own tale. In common with\nall those people who had anything to do with Joseph, and who were about\nto join him, Mary was sure that she was being directly guided by the\nHoly Ghost.\n\nShe thought of her dead brother, the strange, prophet-like figure of the\nmountain and the mist, the real beginner of it all, the man who had\ntaken the empty brain and soul of Joseph himself, and as it were,\nthrough his own death, by some strange psychical law unknown to us,\npoured the Spirit of God into them as into a vessel.\n\nMary knew that Lluellyn was aware of her determination, and that he\napproved it. There were few people who drew more comfort or believed\nmore heartily in the glorious truth of the Communion of Saints than Mary\nLys.\n\nShe felt that Jesus Christ had conquered death, that our loved ones are\nwith us still, and the time of waiting is short before we shall see them\nonce again.\n\nShe did not know how near she was to another special manifestation of\nGod's grace and power, for, saint-like and humble as were the pious\nmaids and matrons who listened to the teachings of Our Lord and\nministered to Him, she did not realize the growth of her own soul and\nhow near to the great veil her life of purity and sacrifice had brought\nher.\n\nThe cab passed out of the Strand into Trafalgar Square, and, the traffic\nbeing less congested, began to roll along at a smarter pace than before.\n\nBut Mary noticed nothing of her surroundings as the vehicle turned into\nPall Mall. From the sweet and tender memory of her dead brother her\nthoughts had now fallen upon one who was becoming increasingly dear to\nher, but one for whom she still prayed--and over whom she\nmourned--unceasingly.\n\nFrom the very first Mary had been strongly attracted by Sir Thomas\nDucaine. Even in the past, when she had definitely refused to listen to\nhis suit, she had known that she was upon the brink of something more\nthan mere affection for him. He was strong, his life was clean, his\nheart kindly and unspoiled.\n\nBut she had restrained herself with the admirable self-control which her\nlife of sacrifice had taught her; she had put the first beginnings and\npromptings of love away.\n\nHe did not believe, he could not believe. God the Father, God the Son,\nGod the Holy Ghost were incredible to him. He would not pretend. He\nwould not seek to win her by a lie, but the Holy Trinity meant nothing\nat all to him.\n\nBut then Joseph had come. The Teacher had influenced the rich and famous\nyoung man, so that he had given him everything. Without having realized\nin its essential essence, the truth of Joseph's mission and the Divine\nguidance the Teacher enjoyed, Sir Thomas had nevertheless changed his\nwhole way of life for him.\n\n\"Father, teach him of Thyself. Lord Jesus, reveal Thyself to him. Holy\nSpirit, descend upon him.\" Thus Mary prayed as she was being driven out\nof her old life into the new.\n\nIt was about one o'clock when the cab stopped at Sir Augustus Kirwan's\nhouse in Berkeley Square.\n\n\"My lady and Miss Marjorie told me to tell you, miss,\" the butler said,\nas he greeted Mary, \"that they are both very sorry indeed that they\ncannot be here to welcome you. They would have done so if they possibly\ncould. But my lady is lunching at Marlborough House, Miss Mary. Sir\nAugustus is in the City.\"\n\nThe man handed her on to a footman, who conducted her up the great\nstaircase, at the head of which Mrs. Summers, Lady Kirwan's maid, and\nconfidential factotum, was waiting.\n\nThe good woman's face was one broad grin of welcome. Summers was in the\nconfidence of her mistress, and had long known of the efforts made by\nthe baronet and his wife to induce Miss Lys to give up her work at the\nhospital and take up her residence in Berkeley Square.\n\nOnly that morning Lady Kirwan had said, \"Everything is really turning\nout quite well, after all, Summers, though, of course, one could not see\nit at first. The arrival of this eccentric Joseph person has really been\na blessing in disguise. Sir Thomas Ducaine is more devoted to Miss Mary\nthan ever, since they are both mixed up in this mission affair. We shall\nsee everything come right before very long.\"\n\n\"Your rooms are prepared, miss,\" said Summers. \"Bryce has told you why\nm'lady and Miss Marjorie couldn't be home to welcome you. But I'll send\nsome lunch up at once to your boudoir. And there's a letter come this\nmorning. Sir Thomas' valet brought it himself. I've put it on your\nwriting-table, miss.\"\n\nThere was a world of meaning and kindly innuendo in the woman's voice as\nshe ushered Mary into the luxurious suite of rooms which had been made\nready for her.\n\nBut the girl noticed nothing of it. Her thoughts were in far distant\nplaces.\n\nNothing could have been more dainty and beautiful than the rooms which\nwere to be hers.\n\nThe most loving care had been lavished on them by her aunt and cousin.\nOne of the head men from Waring's had been there on that very morning to\nput the finishing touches.\n\nMary's eyes took in all the comfort and elegance, but her brain did not\nrespond to their message. She was still thinking of and praying for the\nman who loved her and whom she loved, but the man who had not\nyet--despite all his marvellous generosity--bowed his head and murmured,\n\"I believe.\"\n\nThen she saw his letter upon the writing-table--the firm, strong\nhandwriting, with the up-stroke \"d\" and the Greek \"e,\" which denote a\npublic school and University training.\n\nHer heart throbbed as she took up the square envelope and opened it.\n\nThis is what she read--\n\n     \"Lady Kirwan has told me you are coming to them to-day. I want to\n     see you most particularly. I bring you a message from Joseph, and I\n     bring you news of myself. At four o'clock I will call, and please\n     see me. Dearest and best,\n\n     \"THOMAS SHOLTO DUCAINE.\"\n\nShe smiled at the signature. Tom always signed his full name, even in\nthe most intimate letters. It was a trick, a habit he always had. For\nthe moment Mary was like any other girl who dwells fondly on some one or\nother little peculiarity of the man she loves--making him in some subtle\nway more than ever her own.\n\nMary lunched alone. Her luxurious surroundings seemed to strike an alien\nnote. She was not as yet at home in them, though when the meal was over\nshe drew up her chair to the glowing fire with a certain sense of\nphysical ease and enjoyment.\n\nIn truth, she was very tired. The strongly emotional incidents of her\nfarewell at the hospital, the concentration of nervous force during her\ndrive to Berkeley Square, had left her exhausted for the moment. She was\nglad of the comfortable silence, the red glow from the cedar logs upon\nthe hearth, and, as the afternoon lengthened into the early dusk of a\nLondon fog, she sighed herself to sleep.\n\nDeath has been defined as the cessation from correspondence with\nenvironment--a logical and scientific statement which, while it is\nperfectly accurate, still leaves room for every article of the Christian\nfaith. Sleep, in a sense, is this also: and we have the authority of\nHoly Writ itself that many revelations have come to the dreamer of\ndreams.\n\nMary lay back in her arm-chair, and the dewy loveliness of her face\nwould, in its perfection, have shown no trace of what was passing in her\nsub-conscious mind to an onlooker. But all her life was being unfolded\nto her in a strange panorama as she slept. From first to last everything\nthat had ever happened to her was unwound as if from the spool of Fate\nitself. She saw all the events of her life as if she were standing apart\nfrom them and they were another's. But, more than all this, she saw\nalso, in a dread and mysterious revelation, the purpose, the controlling\npurpose of God, which had brought these events about.\n\nIt was as though she was vouchsafed a glimpse into the workings of the\nDivine mind; as if all the operations of God's providence, as they had\nbeen connected with her past, were now suddenly made clear.\n\nOn some dark and mysterious fabric, half seen and but little understood,\nthe real pattern had flashed out--clear, vivid, and unmistakable, while\nthe golden threads that went through warp and woof were plain at last.\n\nOn and on went the strange procession of events, until she found herself\nupon the lonely mountain-tops of Wales. Her dead brother was there, and\npraying for her. She heard his passionate, appealing voice, she saw with\nhis very mind itself. Joseph was there also, and Mary began to\nunderstand something of the miracle that had made the Teacher what he\nwas, that had changed him as Saul was changed.\n\nAnd at this moment the color of the dream began to be less real and\nvivid, while its panoramic movement was greatly accelerated.\n\nShe was as though suddenly removed to a great distance, and saw all\nthings with a blurred vision as the present approached. Then her\nsensations entirely changed. She no longer saw pictures of the past\nexplained for her in the light of a supernatural knowledge. All that was\nover. Her whole heart and mind were filled with the sense of some\nstrange presence which was coming nearer and nearer--nearer and nearer\nstill.\n\nThen, quite suddenly and plainly, she saw that the figure of Lluellyn\nLys was standing in the centre of the room, clear and luminous. The\nfigure was that of her dead brother as she had last seen him, and seemed\nperfectly substantial and real. It was seen in the darkness by an aurora\nof pale light that seemed to emanate from it, as if the flesh--if flesh\nindeed it was--exhaled an atmosphere of light.\n\nMary fell upon her knees. \"Brother--brother!\" she cried, stretching out\nher hands in supplication. \"Dear brother, speak to me! Tell me why you\nare here from the grave!\"\n\nThere was no answer in words. The face of the figure grew much brighter\nthan the rest, and the weeping, imploring girl saw upon it a peace so\nperfect, a joy so serene and high, a beatitude so unspeakable, that her\nsobs and moans died away into silence as she gazed at the transfigured\ncountenance in breathless awe and wonder.\n\nFor the face was as the face of one who had seen God and walked the\nstreets of Paradise.\n\nIt smiled upon her with ineffable tenderness and greeting, and then she\nsaw that one arm was raised in blessing. For some seconds the figure\nremained there, motionless. Then with a slight movement, though no sound\naccompanied it, the luminous outline turned towards the door. The right\narm still remained in its attitude of blessing, the left pointed to the\nportal.\n\nThere was a sound of footsteps outside in the passage, the figure began\nto sway and shake, precisely as a column of vapor shakes in a wind. It\ngrew fainter and more faint, and as Mary tried to clasp it, calling\naloud on it to stay, it vanished utterly away. She was awake now, and\nfor some reason she could not explain she rushed to the wall and turned\non the switch of the electric light. In a second the room was\nilluminated. It was just the same in its ordered daintiness and comfort.\nNothing was altered, there was nothing whatever to show that any ghostly\nvisitor had been there.\n\nThere was a knock at the door.\n\nSir Thomas Ducaine entered, and there was something upon his face which\nsent the blood leaping through Mary's veins once more in the shock of a\nsudden revelation.\n\nShe knew now why her brother had come to her in her vision! Sir Thomas\nentered the room, and came straight up to Mary.\n\n\"My dear,\" he said, \"I asked especially to see you alone because I have\nsomething to tell you. Lady Kirwan knows; she gave me permission to\ncome. Mary, can you guess what I have to say?\"\n\nThe light upon his face had told her even before he spoke; the ghostly\nvisitor had told her; her heart had told her.\n\n\"I think I know,\" she said. \"I think that my prayers are answered.\"\n\nHe caught her by both hands, and looked steadily into her eyes.\n\n\"My love,\" he said, in a voice that trembled with emotion, try how he\nwould to control it, \"I have come to tell you just that.\"\n\nHer face did not change. It bore the traces of the supernatural\nexperiences through which she had passed; there was a rapt ecstasy in\nthe eyes, the lovely lips spoke of love, belief, hope. Her face did not\nchange, but it already wore the look he had longed to see upon it. She\nhad never seemed more beautiful. \"It has been a gradual process, Mary,\"\nhe continued, speaking quickly and nervously. \"But it has been quickened\nat the last. And I owe it all, absolutely and utterly, to Joseph. The\nnight that Joseph came into my life, when I saw him at the theatre, and\nwhen I found him standing on the steps of my house late on the same\nnight, was the beginning of everything for me. All life is changed. I\nlook upon it in a new way. I see it with fresh eyes. I believe in God, I\nknow that Jesus died for me, I know that the Holy Ghost is immanent in\nthis world--I believe!\"\n\n\"I knew it,\" she said in a low voice. \"I knew it directly you entered\nthe room. God sent a messenger in a dream to tell me.\"\n\n\"He has us in His care,\" the young man said reverently. \"But I have\nmuch to tell you, Mary. Do not tire yourself.\"\n\nHe led her to a large ottoman, which came out at right angles to the\nDutch fireplace, and sat down by her side. He had released her hands\nnow, and by an intuition she knew his motive. He would not speak to her\nof love until he had told her the whole history of his conversion, the\ndawn of his belief, his acceptance of Christ!\n\nHe wanted her to be sure, to understand the change in him to the full,\nand he would take nothing until it was fairly due!\n\nHe was indeed a true and gallant gentleman, Mary thought, as she heard\nthe grave young voice and saw the firelight playing upon the strong,\nclean-cut profile.\n\nShe had been attracted to him from the first. No one had ever stirred\nher as he had done. Liking and powerful attraction had grown into love,\nstrong, steadfast, and sure.\n\nBut there had always been that great and terrible barrier between them.\nShe could not give herself to an infidel. For that was what it meant,\nugly and harsh as the word was. He did not really and truly believe\nthere was a God. He was an atheist and infidel, even as Joseph himself\nhad been.\n\nAnd now, and now! It was all over, God had spoken and revealed Himself\nto the blind, ignorant heart!\n\nThe man was speaking. Thomas was telling her of how this marvel had come\nabout.\n\n\"It was not only Joseph's great magnetic powers, the marvellous way in\nwhich he can stir one, that influenced me. A great orator is not\nnecessarily a Christian; the personal force which hypnotizes and directs\nthe thoughts and movements of a crowd is not necessarily derived from\nbelief. I recognized, of course, that I had come in contact with a\npersonality that was probably unique in the modern world. I saw it at\nonce, I was dominated by it; I put my money and influence at Joseph's\ndisposal because I was perfectly certain of his goodness and his power\nfor good. I knew that I was doing right. But that, after all, was not\naccepting the Christian faith. Even the miraculous things that I have\nseen him do, or know of his having done, did not in themselves convince\nme. Natural causes might account for them. They might be produced by\npowers superior in intensity, but not different in kind, to those latent\nin all of us.\"\n\nMary listened carefully to the grave and reasoned statement. Every now\nand then there was a little break and trembling in the young man's\nvoice, telling of the hidden fire beneath the veneer of self-control.\nThe lovely girl who listened half smiled with love and tenderness once\nor twice.\n\n\"And what was it really, dear, in the end, that brought you to the foot\nof the Cross?\" she said gently.\n\nAt the word \"dear\" he started violently, and made a quick movement\ntowards her. His face was flushed with joy, his eyes shone.\n\nThen, with a great effort, he restrained himself. She could see how his\nhands were clenched, could hear how his breathing came fast from his\nparted lips.\n\n\"It was the simplest and yet the most wonderful thing possible,\" he\nsaid. \"I had been thinking about these questions for months. I read\ntheology. I went to the churches and chapels of every sect, and, as you\nknow, I couldn't believe. I know the reason now. I wanted to believe in\norder that we might be closer together, you and I, love of my heart. I\ndid not want to believe because my heart was touched, and I loved God!\nThen Joseph came into my life, and more and more I tried. But it was\nstill of no use.\n\n\"But I think my heart must have been softened insensibly by being in\ndaily contact with a nature so saintly and a personality so much in\ncommunion with the Unseen as Joseph is. A little time ago, as I was\nreading the Gospel of St. John, one night, just before I went to bed, a\nsudden revolution took place in all my feelings and desires. These were\nthe words--\n\n\"'And after eight days again His disciples were within, and Thomas was\nwith them; then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the\nmidst, and said, Peace be unto you.\n\n\"'Then saith He to Thomas, reach hither thy finger, and behold My hands;\nand reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into My side; and be not\nfaithless, but believing.\n\n\"'And Thomas answered and said unto Him, My Lord and my God.' And when\nI read those words, Mary, they seemed to come straight to my heart, to\nbe spoken to me, Thomas Ducaine. I saw, for the first time, the long,\nfrightful agony upon the Cross. I knew, as I had never known before,\nwhat the Son of God had suffered for me. A great rush of love and\nadoration came over me. With streaming eyes I knelt and prayed for\nforgiveness, I lost myself in Him and for His sake alone. All thoughts\nof what I might gain from surrender to Jesus and from loving Him were\nabsent from my mind and consciousness. I loved Him for Himself--very God\nand very man, begotten not made, being of one substance with the Father.\n\n\"I said the Lord's Prayer, and then I slept. I would not come to you at\nonce. I told Joseph, and he blessed me and seemed happier than I had\never seen him before. 'Go to her at once, Thomas,' he said to me. Tell\nher that Jesus has come to you, that your great earthly love is\nirradiated and made perfect by your love for Him Who was present at the\nmarriage feast of Cana.'\n\n\"But I wouldn't go at once. I distrusted myself. I wanted to wait and\nsee if my new belief would stand the test of time, if it was more than a\nmere passing emotion of the brain. Yet, every day since then it has\ngrown stronger and more strong. I have beaten through the waves of\ndoubt. I have overcome the assaults of the powers and principalities of\nthe air, who would obscure the light for me. I am a Christian, with all\nthe splendor which that word confers. I have reached the Rock of Ages,\nand the tempest is over, the winds are stilled.\n\n\"To-day Joseph said this to me: 'Delay no longer. You are a new man in\nChrist Jesus. It has been given to me to know that the hour has come. Go\nto my dear sister in Christ, that gentle, lovely lady, and tell her of\nyour love. She will be ready and waiting for you. This, also, I know,\nfor it has been told me by the Holy Ghost.'\n\n\"That is the message which I said in my letter to you that I was to\nbring you from Joseph. And now, and now, dearest, most beautiful and\nbest, you have heard all my story.\"\n\nWith these words he suddenly rose and stood above her, looking down at a\nhead which was now bowed, at white hands that were clasped together upon\nher knees.\n\nThere was a momentary silence, and then a single deep sob of happiness\nand realization came from the girl upon the sofa.\n\nThe sound dispelled all his hesitation. It brought him back from the\nmystical realms of thought and spiritual memory to pure human emotion\nand love.\n\nHe stooped down quickly and caught her by the arms, raising her up to\nhim with a strong grasp that would not be denied.\n\nThen two words rang out like a bell in the quiet room--\"At last!\"\n\nShe was in his arms now, close--ah, close! to the heart that beat for\nher alone. The freshness of her pure lips was pressed to his.\n\nThe moment was of heaven, and from heaven. Two pure and noble natures\nwere united by God in their love for each other. And now they are\nsitting side by side and hand in hand.\n\nThe world is changed for them. Never again will it be the same, for they\nhave tasted of the fruits of Paradise, have heard music which echoes\nfrom the shining pavements of the blest ...\n\n\"Darling, there are no words at all in which to tell you how I love you.\nI have not a thought in the world which is not bound up in you, not a\nwish that is not centred in you.\"\n\n\"And I in you. Oh, Tom, I did not know it was possible to be so happy.\"\n\nHow long they sat thus in the quiet, dainty room neither of them could\nhave said. Time, so slow moving and leaden-footed in the hours of hope,\nflies with swiftest wings when hope has blossomed into fruition.\n\nThere was so much to say and tell! All their thoughts and hopes about\neach other from the very first must be mutually related, all the hidden\nsecrets laid bare.\n\n\"Did you really think that of me, sweetheart? Oh, if I'd only known!...\"\n\n\"But I wasn't different to other girls, really, darling. It was only\nbecause you, you loved me!\"\n\nHappy, roseate moments! Perhaps they are the best and finest which life\nhas to give, that God bestows upon his servants here below.\n\nThe door opened, and a little group of people entered the room--Lady\nKirwan, Sir Augustus, Marjorie, and with them Joseph himself.\n\nNo one spoke for a moment. The new-comers all saw that the lovers were\nsitting hand in hand, that a declaration had been made.\n\nThen pretty Marjorie, regardless of form or ceremony or the presence of\nthe rest, ran to her cousin, put her arms round her neck, and kissed\nher.\n\n\"Oh, you dear darling!\" she said; \"I am so glad--oh, so, so happy!\"\n\nIt was most prettily and spontaneously done. Nothing could have been\nmore natural, charming or welcome.\n\nThere were tears in Sir Augustus' eyes, as that genial, kind-hearted\nworldling held out his hand to Sir Thomas Ducaine.\n\n\"I congratulate you, my dear boy,\" he said heartily. \"I see how it is\nwith my dear niece and you. I love Mary like a daughter, and there are\nfew people to whom I would rather trust her than to you. God bless you\nboth! Mary, love, come and kiss your uncle.\"\n\nThere was a hum of excited, happy talk, and then Sir Augustus, a man who\nhad had always a great sense of \"celebrating\" events by some\ntime-honored ceremony, suddenly said:\n\n\"Now we'll have a drink out of the loving-cup to Mary and Sir Thomas.\"\n\nNobody there wanted wine, but no one liked to baulk the genial and\nexcited old gentleman. But, just as he was about to press the bell and\ngive the order, Sir Augustus suddenly paused. He looked at Joseph, for\nwhom, by this time, he had acquired considerable regard, not unmixed\nwith fear, though quite destitute of any real understanding of him.\n\n\"Oh--er--Mr. Joseph,\" he said, \"I hope you won't mind----\"\n\nSir Augustus had an idea that religion and teetotalism were the same\nthing and were inseparable. He was quite unable to differentiate between\nthe two, no doubt because he knew absolutely nothing of either.\n\n\"Mind, Sir Augustus!\" Joseph said, in surprise. \"Why should I mind, and\nfor what reason?\"\n\nThe baronet did not quite know what to answer. \"Oh, well, you know,\" he\nsaid at length. \"I had an idea that you might object. Never mind.\"\n\nJoseph laughed. The grave and beautiful face seemed singularly happy.\nCare had passed from it for a time; he looked with eyes of love at Mary\nand Sir Thomas, with eyes of blessing and of love. The stern denunciator\nof evil, the prophet and evangelist of God, who warned the world of its\nwickedness, had disappeared. In his stead was the kindly friend\nrejoicing in the joy of those who were dear to him.\n\nA servant brought a great two-handled gold cup, which had been filled\nwith wine.\n\nSir Augustus handed it to Lady Kirwan. The dame lifted the heavy\nchalice, jewelled with great amethysts, which had been presented to her\nhusband by the Corporation of the City of London.\n\n\"My dear, dear niece,\" she said, while the tears gathered in her eyes;\n\"I drink to your continual happiness, and to the name I bore, and which\nyou bear now, the noble name of Lys!\"\n\nThen Sir Augustus took the cup. \"To my pretty Mary, whom I love as if\nshe were a child of mine!\" said the good man; \"and to you, Tom Ducaine,\nwho will make her a true husband, and are a gallant lover.\"\n\nHe passed the cup to his daughter Marjorie. The girl lifted it, looked\nstraight at Mary Lys with a curious meaning and intentness in her eyes,\nand then said, \"With my love of your true love on this happiest of all\nhappy hours.\"\n\nShe handed back the golden cup to her father, who was about to set it\ndown upon a side table, when the Teacher spoke.\n\n\"Are you going to leave me out of your ceremony?\" Joseph said.\n\n\"Very sorry, very sorry,\" the baronet replied, in confusion. \"I wasn't\nquite sure.\" He handed the cup to Joseph, but the Teacher only lifted it\non high. \"May God bless your union, my dear brother and sister,\" he said\nsimply, and placed it on a table nearby.\n\nThe deep music of the voice, the love in it, the deep sincerity, came to\nthem all like a benison.\n\n\"You have given me everything in this world and hopes of everything in\nthe next, Joseph,\" said Sir Thomas Ducaine.\n\n\"You were Lluellyn's friend,\" Mary whispered.\n\n\"And you're a jolly good fellow, Mr. Joseph,\" said Sir Augustus, \"in\nspite of all your critics, and I shall be glad to say so always.\"\n\nAt that, for the first time during their knowledge of him, Joseph began\nto laugh. His merriment was full-throated and deep, came from real\namusement and pleasure, was mirth unalloyed.\n\nJoseph finished his laughter. \"May this hour,\" he said gravely, \"be the\nbeginning of a long, joyous and God-fearing life for you, Mary and\nThomas. Hand in hand and heart to heart may you do the work of the\nLord.\"\n\nThen, with a bow to all of the company assembled there, he went away.\n\nWhen he had left the great house and walked for a few minutes, he came\nupon a huge public-house--a glittering structure at the corner of two\nstreets.\n\nHe stopped in front of the great gaudy place, looked at it for a moment,\nsighed heavily, and went in.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n\"AS A BRAND FROM THE BURNING\"\n\n\nJoseph pushed open the swing-doors of the big public-house and entered\nbeneath a lamp marked \"Saloon Bar.\"\n\nHis face was quite changed.\n\nIn the short time which had elapsed since he left Sir Augustus Kirwan's\nhouse he seemed another person. The great eyes which had looked upon the\nlovers with such kindly beneficence had now the strange fixity and\ninward light that always came to them when he was about his Master's\nbusiness. The face was pale, and the whole attitude of the Teacher was\nas that of a man who is undergoing a great nervous strain.\n\nHe walked down a passage. To his left were the doors of mahogany and\ncut-glass which led into those boxes which are known as \"private bars\"\nin the smart drinking-shops of London. To his right was a wall of\nbrightly glazed tiles, and in front of him, at the passage end, was the\ndoor which led into the saloon bar itself. Pushing this open, he\nentered.\n\nHe found himself in a largish room, brilliantly lit by the electric\nlight, and triangular in shape.\n\nAlong two of the walls ran padded leather lounges, before the third was\nthe shining semicircular bar, gleaming with mahogany, highly polished\nbrass, and huge cut-glass urns of amber spirit.\n\nIn one corner of the room, seated at a marble topped table, a man was\ntalking to an overdressed woman with a rouged face and pencilled\neyebrows.\n\nIn front of the counter, seated upon a high cane stool, was a young man.\nHe wore a long brown over-coat of a semi-fashionable cut and a bowler\nhat pushed back on his head. His fair hair was a little ruffled, and his\nweak, youthful, though as yet hardly vicious face, was flushed high up\non the cheek-bones. He was smoking a cigarette of the ten-for-threepence\ntype, and chattering with a somewhat futile arrogation of merriment and\nknowingness to the barmaid, who had just set a glass of whisky-and-water\nbefore him.\n\nFor a minute or two, hidden from view by an imitation palm in a pot of\nterra-cotta which stood upon the counter, Joseph escaped notice. He\ncould hear part of the conversation from where he was--any one might\nhave heard it.\n\nIt was the usual thing, vapid, meaningless, inane. A narrow intellect,\ndestitute alike of experience and ideals, with one gift only, youth,\nimagined that it was seeing \"life.\"\n\nTwo fools! Two weak, silly, unconsidered members of the rank and file,\nwithout knowledge, manners or charm.\n\nYet for these two Christ had died upon the Cross no less surely than He\nhad died for prince or pope or potentate. It was thus Joseph thought.\n\nThe Teacher's eyes were wet with tears, a beautiful compassion dawned\nupon his face. He went up to the young man and touched him upon the\nshoulder.\n\nAt the touch the young fellow started and turned suddenly with a\nconvulsive movement. His face was yellow with fear, his jaw dropped, his\nhands trembled; he was a repulsive picture of weak, nerveless, and\nuncontrollable terror.\n\nThe barmaid looked on in amazement. She marked the fear in her admirer's\nface, and with swift intuition knew from what cause it proceeded.\n\nIt was not the first time in her poor, stunted life, with its evil\nsurroundings, that she had seen a gay young spark touched upon the\nshoulder; seen the acquaintance of a month vanish for ever, never to\ncome within her ken again save only in a few brief paragraphs in the\nnewspaper reports of the Central Criminal Court.\n\n\"Who's your friend, Charlie?\" the girl said, with a sickly and\ninadequate attempt at merriment.\n\nJoseph looked at her.\n\n\"My friend,\" he said, in his grave and beautiful voice, \"I come to him\nwith authority.\"\n\nThe girl gasped, then she turned and walked hurriedly to the other end\nof the bar, taking a newspaper from a drawer and holding it up with\nshaking fingers. She didn't want to be mixed up in the thing, at any\ncost she must pretend that she was unconcerned.\n\nThe great law of self-preservation--the animal law--had its way with her\nnow. She was alone in the world; she had her living to get; she could\nnot afford to be mixed up with any scandal. She acted after her kind,\nand fled as far as she could. Who shall blame her?\n\nJoseph took the young man by the arm and led him to the farthest corner\nof the room. The man and woman who had been there when Joseph entered\nhad gone by now; the place was quite empty.\n\n\"Charlie\" found himself sitting side by side with the stranger who had\nled him so easily from the counter. In the shrewd, mean brain of the\nyoung man one emotion had been succeeded by another. He had realized\nafter the first moment of terror that Joseph was not what he supposed.\nThe enormous relief of this certainty was succeeded by resentment and\npuerile anger. He feared that he had given himself away in \"Belle's\"\neyes.\n\n\"Now, look here,\" he said suddenly, \"you startled me for a moment, and I\nwon't deny you did. But a gentleman doesn't come and interrupt another\ngentleman when he's talking to a lady. Who on earth are you, anyhow?\"\n\nThe high, piping voice, the silly expression, the uncertain, childish\nrage were unspeakably pitiable.\n\nFor answer Joseph put his hand into an inside pocket of his coat and\nproduced a little leather bag.\n\nIt was full of sovereigns. While the young clerk stared at him with\nwondering, fascinated eyes, the Teacher took fourteen pounds from the\nbag and then returned it to his pocket.\n\nHe placed the money in the young man's hand.\n\n\"God sent me here to give you this,\" he said quietly. \"It is the exact\nsum you have stolen from your firm. Replace it, and sin no more. God\nsends you this last opportunity.\"\n\nThe young fellow's face grew suddenly wet. He took the money with a hand\nthat had lost all nervous force. He could hardly hold the coins.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he said, in a faint whisper. \"How did you know that I had\nsto--took the money?\"\n\n\"The Holy Spirit brought me to you,\" Joseph answered very simply. \"A\nshort time ago I was leaving the house of some friends. A dear sister\nand brother of mine--I speak in the Christian, and not in the family\nsense--had just plighted their troth. They are to be united in happy and\nhonorable wedlock. I was coming away with my thoughts full of them, and\nfeeling very happy in their happiness. For, you must know, that I love\nthose two people very dearly. Well, as I passed by this place, I was\ntold that there was some one within it who was very miserable. I knew\nthat I must come in and comfort you, and take you out of the net which\nhad enmeshed your young life. Your mother sits at home in Balham, and\nlongs for you. The small pittance that your father's insurance money has\nsecured for her is just enough to support her; but it is not enough to\nbring any comfort or brightness into her life. But you never go home in\nthe evenings until very late. She sits waiting for you, yearning over\nher only son, and praying to God for his reformation. But you never\ncome. And when at last you go down home by the last available train,\nyou are often more or less intoxicated, and your mind is always filled\nwith debased images and ideals, disordered longings and evil hopes. And\nfor that reason your mother can never get very near you in spirit. What\nyou are becoming repels her and wounds her motherhood. And now you have\nbegun to steal from your employers, and you walk in deadly fear. In the\nback of your mind you know that discovery is inevitable before very\nlong. Yet you put the thought away, and try and persuade yourself that\neverything will come right somehow, though you have no idea how. And\nduring the last fortnight the process of deterioration has been more and\nmore rapid. You have been drinking heavily to deaden your conscience and\nalleviate your alarm. You have known the end is near. Is not all this\nthe truth?\"\n\nThe tears were rolling down the weak, young face. The flaccid mouth\nquivered; the neck was bowed.\n\n\"All this, sir,\" said the young man--\"all this is true.\"\n\n\"A broken and contrite heart,\" the Teacher answered, \"are not despised\nof God. By his great mercy I have been sent to you to save you. Restore\nthe money you have stolen, but do far more. Turn from darkness; seek\nlight. Come to Jesus Christ. Boy, you have heard of what is known as the\n'Great Refusal'; you know how the young man with great possessions could\nnot, and would not, give them up to follow the Son of God? But you deny\nJesus for a pot of beer! You give up your hope of eternal life to come\nand the peace of God in this wicked world for nothing--nothing at all?\nNow come with me to my house in Bloomsbury, my house of godly men. There\nyou shall pray and repent, and from there you shall go home cleansed and\npurged of your sin, filled with the Holy Spirit, ready and anxious to\nlead a new life, walking from henceforth in Christ Jesus.\"\n\nThey went out of the place together. The boy never cast a backward\nglance at his inamorata of a few minutes ago. He followed the Teacher in\nblind obedience. He was as one stunned. They came into the big\nold-fashioned square where was the house which Sir Thomas Ducaine had\ngiven to Joseph and his brethren. The windows were all lighted up, and\nthere was a small crowd lingering in front of the door.\n\n\"They are all praying within,\" Joseph said. \"To-morrow we are to go down\ninto the worst places of the East End. A party of great people are\ncoming with us. We have persuaded them to come, in order that they may\nsee for themselves what these parts of London really are like.\"\n\nHe spoke quietly, and in a purely conversational tone, as if to an\nequal. He knew well what the poor lad who walked so humbly by his side\nwas suffering. He knew of the remorse and shame, but also of the hope,\nwhich were pouring into the young man's heart. And he knew also that all\nthis was but a preparation for what was to come--that there must,\nindeed, be a final agony of surrender, an absolute and utter \"giving-in\"\nto Jesus.\n\nSo, as they walked across the square, he tried to calm his captive's\nnerves by a quiet recital of the great and hopeful things that they were\nto do on the morrow.\n\nYet even to Joseph it was not then given to know what things the morrow\nwould bring forth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nMURDER AND SUDDEN DEATH\n\n\nThe big house was very plainly furnished. What was absolutely necessary\nhad been put into it, but that was all. Sir Thomas Ducaine had been\nastounded at the simplicity of the arrangements. The wealthy young man,\naccustomed as he was to every luxury and amenity of life that riches\nbring, was most anxious to make the place more comfortable.\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" he said to Joseph, \"you can't possibly live like this.\nWhy, it's barer than a work-house! You must really let me send you some\nthings in.\"\n\nBut the baronet had not in the least succeeded in altering the Teacher's\ndetermination.\n\n\"The Lord's work is to be done,\" Joseph had answered. \"We are here to do\nit, and our thoughts are set on other matters. We have no need of these\nthings.\"\n\n\"But you don't think comfort or luxury, I suppose you would call it,\nwrong?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, if a man has earned it, is robbing nobody in acquiring\nit, and finds personal enjoyment in it. Christ sat at the rich man's\nfeast. He took the gift of the precious ointment. But for us such things\nare unnecessary.\"\n\nSo the house, now more famous than perhaps any house in London, was a\nveritable hermit's cell in its appointments. There, however, the\nresemblance ceased entirely. The place hummed with varied activities. It\nwas the centre of the many organizations that were springing into being\nunder Joseph's direction; activities made possible by Sir Thomas\nDucaine's magnificent gifts and the stream of outside donations that had\nfollowed in their wake.\n\nJoseph and his young companion passed through the little crowd of\nloiterers and curious people that nearly always stood before the door of\nthe mysterious house where the Teacher was now known to reside. There\nwas a stir and movement as he came among them, nudgings of elbows, a\nuniversal pressure forward, whispers and remarks below the voice:\n\"That's him!\" \"There's Joseph himself!\"\n\nJoseph passed through the crowd without taking any notice of it. On the\ndoorstep he paused and turned as if to speak. The people--there may have\nbeen thirty or forty of them--pressed forward in a circle of eager\nfaces. On the outskirts of the group there was a woman, dressed in black\nand past the middle-age. She seemed to hang back, as if reluctant, or\ntoo timid, to approach.\n\nJoseph's eye fell upon her. Then he took a latchkey from his pocket and\ngave it to the young man.\n\n\"Open the door,\" he said, \"and go into the house. Go into the room on\nthe right-hand side of the hall, and I will meet you there.\"\n\nThe young man did as he was bidden, and disappeared.\n\nThen Joseph spoke.\n\n\"Among you all,\" he said, \"there is but one here that needs me. You have\ncome to see a show, not to seek God and help to lead you to Him. Get you\ngone from this place, for there is no health in you!\"\n\nThe voice rang out in stern command--a command which it seemed\nimpossible to disobey. Without a word, the people turned and slunk away,\nmelting like ghosts into the darkness of the square.\n\nOnly the woman in black remained, and she now came timidly up to the\nTeacher.\n\n\"Sir,\" she said, in a thin but clear and educated voice--\"sir, I should\nlike to speak with you, if I may.\"\n\n\"My friend,\" he answered. \"I was waiting for you. Come within the\nhouse.\"\n\nHe led the woman into a small room on the left-hand side of the hall--an\nuncarpeted room, with nothing but a few chairs, a big table covered with\npapers, and a purring gas-stove upon the hearth.\n\nAt the Teacher's invitation the woman sat down, and revealed a thin,\nanxious face and eyes that seemed perpetually trembling upon the brink\nof tears.\n\n\"It is very kind of you to see me, sir,\" she said, \"I never expected\nthat I should have such good fortune. But I have read about you in the\npapers--that you go about doing good, just as our dear Lord did, and\nsomething within me moved me to seek you out, even if it were only just\nto look at you. For I am very unhappy, sir, and I have no one to confide\nin, no one whom I can ask about my trouble or obtain advice from.\"\n\n\"Tell me all about it,\" Joseph said gently. \"When I stood at the door\nand looked at the people I felt in my heart that they were there out of\nidle curiosity. God in His wisdom has given me power to know these\nthings. But something came straight from you to me that made me aware\nthat you needed me. Tell me everything.\"\n\n\"It's about my son, sir,\" the woman said, not noticing the slight start\nthat Joseph gave and the new light that came into his eyes. \"I am a\nwidow with one son. He is just twenty, and is employed as a clerk in a\nCity House. But he is going wrong, sir. I can read the signs easily. He\nstays out late at night, he seems to be losing his love for me, and is\nimpatient of anything I say to him. And more than once he has come home\nintoxicated lately. And in his room I have found programmes of the\nperformances at music-halls and such places.\n\n\"I do not pry about, sir, nor am I foolishly severe and hard. Young men\nmust have their amusements, and they must have their secrets, I suppose.\nI do not expect Charlie to tell me everything. And he only earns thirty\nshillings a week, part of which he gives to me for his board and\nlodging. He cannot possibly afford these amusements.\n\n\"I have a terrible fear that never leaves me that he has not been\nhonest, that he must have been taking other people's money, and that he\nwill be ruined. I have prayed and prayed, sir, but it really seems as if\nprayer is of no use, though, of course, I keep on.\"\n\n\"Don't say that,\" Joseph answered. \"Prayer is still the greatest force\nin the world, however despondent we may become at times. But your\nprayers have been answered. Charlie is saved!\"\n\nThe weeping mother gave a sudden cry, half of joy, half of incredulity.\n\n\"But, sir,\" she stammered, \"how can you know that? Oh, if only it could\nbe true!\"\n\n\"It is true, my dear sister,\" he answered. \"The Lord led me to a place\nwhere I found your son, not an hour ago. The Holy Ghost told my mind\nthat there was a widow's son whom I could save. All you have been\nconjecturing is only too true. Charlie has done the things you say. He\nhas taken money from his employers, but I have given him the sum that he\nmay return it to them. He is here, in this house now, and I know that\nthe leaven of repentance is working within him, and that he feels that\nhe is rescued from both material and spiritual ruin. We are going to\npray together. Come with me, and add your prayers to ours.\"\n\nBut when they crossed the hall and entered the room opposite, they found\nthat the young man was already on his knees.\n\nDay by day some such episode as this occurred. Joseph's power seemed\nmore and more sure and wonderful. When he had sent away the widow and\nher son, tearful and happy, with something in the face of the young man\nthat had never been there before, the Teacher went up the wide Georgian\nstairs to a large room on the first floor.\n\nNo one was there but old David Owen. All the other friends and\ncompanions of Joseph were out upon various efforts of compassion and\nsalvation; only the old man remained, for he had a cold, and could not\nface the night air. A grey, knitted comforter was round his neck, and he\nwas slowly eating his supper--a bowl of bread-and-milk. Before him, on\nthe table, was a large Bible, and he was reading eagerly as he ate,\nreading with the avidity and concentrated interest that more ordinary\npeople give to an engrossing romance.\n\nHe looked up as Joseph entered, and smiled at him.\n\n\"It's wonderful, Master!\" he said. \"It grows more and more wonderful\nevery time I opens it. I've spent my life reading in the Holy Book, and\nI'm an old man now. But ten lives would be all too short!\"\n\nHe pointed to the volume with gnarled, wrinkled fingers that trembled\nwith emotion.\n\n\"Ah! 'Twas a bitter nailing!\" he went on. \"A bitter, bitter torture He\nbore for us. And remember, Joseph, He bore the sins of the whole world,\ntoo. I'm no scholar, and I can't see things like you can. All the time\nI'm reading an' yet I know I can only see a little bit of it. But even\nthat's rending and tearing, Master. It's dreadful what He suffered for\nus! I can't understand why every one doesn't love Him. It's easy to\nunderstand folk doing wrong things. The flesh is very strong--man is\nfull of wickedness. Satan, he goes about tempting the heart, with his\ndreadful cunning. But, whatever a man does, and is sorry for afterwards,\nI can't understand his not loving Jesus. And so few folk love Jesus in\nthis wicked town!\"\n\n\"The clouds are very dark, David,\" Joseph answered. \"But they will\nbreak. The dawn of the Lord is at hand, and deliverance is sure. But I,\ntoo, at this moment, am full of gloom and sorrow. You know my bad hours,\nold friend. One of them is with me now. I fear some calamity, though I\npray against it. But it is coming. Something tells me it is coming. It\nis as if I heard slow footsteps drawing nearer and nearer----\"\n\nDavid looked anxiously at his chief.\n\n\"I doubt but you've been doing something that's taken power from you,\nMaster,\" he said. \"It has ever been thus with you. Have you not told us\nof the night when we went to the theatre-house, the home of the ungodly,\nwhen you walked the streets of Babylon, and were full of doubt, though\nyou had struck a blow for God that rang through England? And what\nhappened then? Did you not meet the young man who is great in the eyes\nof the world--the young man who has given a fortune for our work--the\nyoung man who has come to Jesus at last?\"\n\nJoseph bowed his head.\n\n\"Yes, David,\" he replied; \"it was even so, blessed be God. But to-night\nI feel differently. Then I was trembling upon the verge of doubt. My old\ndisbelief had appeared again within me. It was as if a serpent slept in\nmy brain and suddenly raised its head in coiled hate and enmity to the\nLight. But now it is not the same. I love and believe. The tortures of\na martyrdom, of which I am not worthy, could not alter that. But I have\na terrible apprehension--a fear of what to-morrow may bring forth. I\ncannot explain it; I do not understand it. But nevertheless it is there,\nand very real.\"\n\nThere was a silence in the big room.\n\nThe gas-jets shone upon the walls covered in faded crimson paper, the\nlong table of deal where the brethren ate their simple meals, the single\npicture which hung over the fireplace--a reproduction of Christ knocking\nat the door of the human heart, by Holman Hunt.\n\nThere was no sound but that of a falling coal in the glowing fire.\n\nThen old David spoke.\n\n\"Master,\" he said, \"I think you've no call to be afraid or to fear the\nfuture. It's in God's hands, and there it is. But as far as a poor man\ncan look into the matter, I think 'tis this way with you. We all know\nhow blessed you have been. We all know--every one in Britain knows--that\nyou are a special channel for the operations of the Holy Ghost in our\nland. Out of all men you have been mysteriously chosen to hear the\nheavenly voices and carry out their warnings. But all men are soul and\nbody, too. You can't divide one from t'other while men live. Therefore\nit's bound to be that if your soul has been working hard on God's\nbusiness, it has drained your body of its strength, and so you have\nthese fearful thoughts. Eat and drink, and get back courage!\"\n\nJoseph smiled.\n\n\"You are right, David, I believe. I will have a bowl of milk-and-bread\nalso. I must be strong for to-morrow. With God's blessing, it will be a\ngreat day for London. There has never been such a chance of doing good\nbefore. Yes, I must save myself for that!\"\n\n\"Is it all arranged, Master?\" the old man asked. \"Are all the great\npeople really coming?\"\n\n\"Yes, David. And, please God, on the day after to-morrow the kingdom\nshall be thrilled. Sir Thomas Ducaine is coming to inspect his own\nproperty in the East End for the first time. Sir Augustus Kirwan is\ncoming--a powerful and influential man. And the Duke of Dover is coming\nalso. Then the Bishop of East London, though he knows very well--saint\nthat he is--will be with us also. Our dear brother Hampson will be of\nthe party, and also that very valiant soldier of Christ, that new\nrecruit, Eric Black. Black and Hampson--God bless them!--will give the\nresult of our pilgrimage to the world. It should wake all London to a\nstorm of anger and indignation.\n\n\"These things have been discovered and published before, but only in\nisolated instances and at fugitive times, and the voice has always been\nstifled and obscured. The vested interests have been too strong. But now\nthere is a real spiritual fervor in London. The Holy Spirit has\ndescended on the city. There is a quickening on all sides, the air is\nfull of the Redeemer's name. Therefore, I trust and pray that the\nresults of our visit to-morrow will be far-reaching. Several other\nfriends and well-wishers will accompany us in addition to the names of\nthose I have mentioned.\"\n\n\"It is a fine thing to get these great people to go,\" said the old man\nsimply. \"Then how can you be downcast, Joseph? Surely here is yet\nanother evidence of the favor and protection of God?\"\n\n\"I do not know why this assails me,\" the Teacher answered; \"but it does,\nand it is there. I cannot help it.\"\n\nDavid Owen shut the Bible on the table in front of him, and rose to his\nfeet.\n\n\"Dear Master,\" he said, \"the Son of God was also troubled, in the Desert\nand in the Garden. But it is well--all is well. All is part of the\nbeneficent ordering of the Father. There is but one medicine for your\nblack thoughts, dear Master, and after you've taken it you'll let come\nwhat may.\"\n\n\"And that is, old friend?\"\n\n\"The Lord's Prayer,\" answered the old gentleman, taking off his horn\nspectacles and placing them upon the table.\n\nAnd, kneeling down, they said it together.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was the middle of the morning and a dull, leaden day. There was no\nfog down in the breathing areas of town, but high above a leaden pall\nhung over the City of Dreadful Night, shutting out the clear light of\nthe sun, livid, sinister and hopeless.\n\nIn the big room of the house in Bloomsbury a dozen people were gathered\ntogether. Sir Augustus Kirwan was talking to The Duke, a thick-set,\nclean-shaven man with a strong watchful face. Sir Thomas Ducaine and\nEric Black the journalist stood together.\n\nSeveral other notabilities stood in the big, bare room, and there were\nalso three unobtrusive men with pointed beards, who stood together a\nlittle apart from the others. Detective-inspectors Alpha, Beta and\nGamma, the real satraps and rulers of the lawless districts of\nWhitechapel and its environs.\n\nAll the men wore hard felt hats and dark overcoats, peer and policeman\nalike. It does not do to venture where these were going in anything but\na very simple and unobtrusive dress.\n\nJoseph and Hampson were talking earnestly together in one corner of the\nroom. They were mapping out the terrible itinerary that should be taken,\nreadjusting and remembering their own sad knowledge of the East, when\nthey had walked starving down the Commercial Road.\n\n\"And now, my friends,\" Joseph said at length, in his deep, organ voice,\n\"I think that all is prepared, and that we may start. Sir Thomas has\nsome carriages waiting for us below.\"\n\nSir Augustus Kirwan answered the evangelist.\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" he said--\"my dear Joseph, we shall all be delighted to\ncome as soon as may be. But has it occurred to you that while we have\nall, doubtless, breakfasted, none of us have as yet lunched? It is lunch\ntime now, you know; and though a piece of bread and cheese would do\nexcellently for me, and no doubt for the rest of us, you can hardly\nexpect the present company to penetrate into Whitechapel fasting!\"\n\nThe Teacher looked at Sir Augustus with a startled face. Then he flushed\nslightly. It had never occurred to him that his guests must necessarily\nneed refreshment. On his own part he had put away material needs as\nthings of no moment for himself. He was sustained, even in body, by\nspiritual food. But he realized now how remiss he had been, and that all\nmen were not as he was.\n\n\"Sir Augustus,\" he said, in a voice full of pain and contrition, \"I have\nbeen absolutely stupid. It is quite abominable of me not to have thought\nof it, but there is, I am dreadfully afraid, no lunch at all!\"\n\nSir Thomas Ducaine joined in the conversation.\n\n\"My dear Joseph,\" he said, \"don't make yourself unhappy. There is\nplenty. Some of my people have brought lunch. Mary and I foresaw this\nlittle _contretemps_, and we made arrangements accordingly. In your\nburning eagerness to get us all down to see what you have to show us you\nforgot that we are but mortal, and that the body must be nourished if\nthe eye is to see and the brain observe.\"\n\nJoseph's face had cleared, but it wore a somewhat rueful expression.\n\n\"I can't thank you enough,\" he said, \"for thinking of this. It is a\nfault in me that I did not do so myself. One is too apt to forget that\nwe are all body and spirit also. Forgive me!\"\n\nThey all fell to at the sandwiches and so forth which two of Sir Thomas\nDucaine's servants brought into the room.\n\nOnly Joseph took nothing at all. He stood by himself, tall, beautiful,\nlost in a reverie that no one disturbed.\n\nHe was musing and dreaming still as the carriages took the party to the\nEast End of London.\n\nBut when Bishopsgate was passed at last, he threw his thoughts from him\nwith a great effort, and became once more the keen and eager leader of\nthose people whom he had brought to see the ultimate horror of the\nModern Babylon.\n\nThey sent the carriages away at a certain turning in the Whitechapel\nRoad. Then they plunged into the dark.\n\nAnd how dark that darkness is! Fiction can hardly tell--fiction must not\ntell, fearing to infringe upon the bitterness and the agony of the\ntruth. For we who write of things as they are must always consider our\naudience. Ask General Booth, G. R. Sims, or Mr. Holmes, the police-court\nmissionary, what is the measure of this darkness. Ask the modern martyrs\nof our day, of all sects and creeds, who labor in these hell-ridden\nplaces.\n\nAsk, and you shall hear nothing but the tolling of a great bell, the\ndeep and awful sound of immedicable misery, the iron p\u00e6an of the\nblackness of sin, the deep and ringing wail of the mighty bell--the iron\nbell--which tolls of hopelessness, and voices the cry of the\ndowntrodden, the oppressed, the lost!\n\nThe slaves of the Modern Babylon! But with one difference. In the walled\ncity of wickedness between the two great rivers, hope had not come. They\ncould not know that our Lord was to be born of a pure Virgin to save\nthem----\n\nThoughts akin to these were in the minds of all of them as they went in\nand out of the foul slums of the East.\n\nSir Thomas Ducaine was covered with shame as he saw the horrors all\naround--horrors existing upon his own property, long unregarded and\nunknown. But the young man was not the only one among them who\nregistered a mental vow to do all that he could for the wretched beings\nthey had come amongst.\n\nSir Augustus Kirwan, though he had taken the chair at many philanthropic\nmeetings, and though his name often headed important subscription lists,\nhad never really been brought in contact, in actual personal contact,\nwith the great open wound of London.\n\nThe party had come to the mouth of a particularly evil-looking alley.\nThere is character in brick and stone, and this place--\"Wilson's Rents\"\nby name--had a sinister cut-throat aspect in every line of it.\n\n\"What is in there?\" Sir Augustus asked one of the police inspectors.\n\n\"It's a particularly bad street, Sir Augustus,\" the man answered. \"A\nsort of great human rabbit-warren or rat's run, as you may say. The\nhouses nearly all communicate through cellars and subterranean\npassages.\"\n\n\"Shall we go down here?\" Sir Augustus asked Joseph.\n\n\"I should not advise it, sir,\" said the policeman. \"The people are so\ndirty and degraded and disgusting in their habits that they hardly\nresemble human beings at all.\"\n\n\"Never mind that,\" Sir Augustus answered. \"Now we have come I wish to\nsee everything, however personally distasteful it may be. I am ashamed\ngentlemen, to think that I have shirked so obvious a duty as this for so\nlong! I am sorry and ashamed of myself!\"\n\nWith eyes that were not quite dry the great financier took Joseph by the\narm and marched down the alley, followed by the others.\n\nThey walked cautiously down the place, which seemed strangely deserted.\nSir Augustus was talking eagerly to Joseph, opening his heart in a way\nto which he had long been a stranger, when there was a sudden loud\nreport in the air above them.\n\nLooking upwards with startled eyes, they saw that a little coil of blue\nsmoke was floating out of an open window high above them.\n\nA second afterwards Sir Augustus Kirwan sighed twice and fell forward\nupon his face, dead, shot through the heart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nWAITING!\n\n\nMr. Andrew Levison lived in Jermyn Street. His establishment was\ncomfortable, but modest. A sitting-room, a small dining-room, a bedroom\nfor himself, and one for his man--these, together with the bath-room,\ncompleted his suite.\n\nIt was a bright morning as he opened his _Daily Wire_ and sat down\nbefore the kedjeree and kidneys that his servant had just brought him\nfor breakfast. It was rather late; the Jew had been at a theatrical\nsupper-party the night before until long after midnight. During the\nparty, at which a great many of the stars of the lighter stage had been\npresent, the conversation had turned almost entirely upon the marked\nslump in theatrical business during Joseph's ministry in London.\n\nOne and all of their company were united in their hatred and alarm of\nthis evangelist who bade fair to ruin them.\n\nThe whole situation was, moreover, aggravated because of the immense\npublic support Joseph was receiving from some of the most wealthy and\ninfluential people in society. There was no getting over this fact. And\nyet no one had any remedy to suggest.\n\nLord Ballina and Mimi Addington had also been of the party, and a keen\nobserver might possibly have detected a certain furtive look which\npassed between the actress, the peer, and the theatrical manager. All\nthree, however, held their peace, and contributed little or nothing to\nthe problem of how the situation was to be dealt with.\n\nAnd now Mr. Levison, as he sat at table, smiled quietly to himself,\nreflecting that he could very considerably astonish many of his\ncolleagues if it had been possible to do so.\n\nThe sitting-room--for Levison did not breakfast in the dining-room--was\nfull of sunshine. A great bowl of sulphur-colored hothouse roses stood\non the writing-table. The white panelled walls, hung with rare old\nJapanese color prints, caught and reflected the apricot light of the\nsun, which poured in through the windows.\n\nThe room was carpeted with a fabric from Persia--the veritable peacock\nblue and dark red of Teheran. The armchairs were upholstered in\nvermilion leather. Everything harmonized and was in taste, and it was\nwith complacency that Levison looked round him and picked up the paper.\n\nAlmost the first thing that struck his eye was a paragraph headed\n\"Movements of Joseph.\"\n\nMr. Levison started, and read with great attention. The paragraph ran as\nfollows:--\n\n\"We are able to give our readers exclusive information as to the next\nmove in the vast campaign for the reformation of London which is being\nundertaken by the teacher known as Joseph, in company with his\ndistinguished colleagues and helpers. One of the most crying evils of\nthe day is undoubtedly the fact that, while one section of the\npopulation lives in a splendor and luxury perhaps unparalleled in the\nhistory of civilization, another section, and this by far the larger,\nlives under conditions of squalor so great that it becomes a horror,\nconditions that can only be hinted at in polite society or in the public\nprints. The state of the East End of London has long engaged the\nattention of philanthropists, but very little has been done to\nameliorate it in comparison with its crying needs. Sociologists have\nlong since recognized that under present conditions very little can be\ndone until the rich property owners combine and agree to sacrifice a\nportion of their emoluments in order to improve the condition of the\npoor. The teacher Joseph has recognized this fact, and is beginning a\nmovement which may be very far-reaching in its consequences. To-day, we\nunderstand, a party of wealthy and distinguished gentlemen will be taken\nby the evangelist to some of the worst parts of the East End there to\nsee for themselves the true condition of affairs. The remarkable\npersonality which is at present the talk of London will indeed have\naccomplished a greater miracle than any of those strange and unexplained\noccurrences attributed to him if he can cleanse and purify one half-mile\nof Stepney or Whitechapel. For our part, we wish Joseph and his helpers\nevery possible success in their endeavors.\"\n\nMr. Levison laid down the paper, and got up from his seat. He walked up\nand down the room twice, looked at his breakfast, shook his head, and\nthen, going to a sideboard, poured some brandy from a tantalus into a\nglass, added a little water with a hand that shook slightly, and drank\nthe mixture off.\n\nSo it was to be to-day, then? Mr. Levison had not realized the imminence\nof his plot. It was one thing to reflect complacently that one had\narranged to remove a troublesome intruder from one's path on some\nunspecified date; it was, as Levison realized now, quite another thing\nto sit down and wait for the event to happen in an hour or two.\n\nLevison looked at his watch. It was eleven o'clock. He supposed, though\nhe did not know with any certainty, that the party to the East End would\nhardly start before midday.\n\n\"They can't leave much before twelve, I should think, from wherever they\nmeet,\" he muttered to himself. \"Give them an hour to get down to the\nEast End, another hour or more, perhaps, for the people\"--another and\nfar less pleasing word almost escaped Mr. Levison's lips--\"for the\npeople I have employed to do what has to be done. Roughly, I suppose\nthere ought to be some news in the paper between four and five.\"\n\nThe man's face had grown quite white, and his hands began to tremble\nmore and more. No one had ever seen the self-possessed, genial-mannered\n_entrepreneur_ like this. And when he stopped in front of the glass\nwhich hung over the mantel-shelf, he started at the sight of his own\nguilty and terrified countenance.\n\nSupposing that something should go wrong! Supposing the man was caught,\nand confessed! A thousand horrid apprehensions began to crowd into his\nmind, and the sweat came out cold and damp upon his forehead.\n\nThere were hours to wait. How should he employ them? The theatre was\nclosed; there was no particular business claiming his attention at the\nmoment. And he felt less and less inclined to sit alone in his chambers\nwaiting. Exercise, he came to the conclusion, a long, brisk walk, was\nthe only thing that could restore his mental tone.\n\nHe rang for his coat and hat, took a stick from the stand in the hall,\nand went out into Jermyn Street. For a moment he was undecided as to his\ndirection. The thought of the Park crossed his mind, but it was\nsuperseded by another and more welcome one. He would walk up to St.\nJohn's Wood--that was a good distance--and he would call on Mimi\nAddington, and tell her the news that he had read in the paper. He\nsmiled maliciously at the idea. Perhaps Lord Ballina might be there,\ntoo; if so, well and good. His fellow conspirators should share his\nuneasiness. They were in the thing as much as he was, and he saw no\nreason why he should be the only one to suffer. The idea appealed to his\nOriental imagination, and in picturing to himself the probable fears of\nhis companions when they knew that this was the actual day on which the\nassassination was to be attempted, Levison forgot his own, and it was\nquite with a jaunty step that he turned into St. James' Street.\n\nEven at the moment when he had realized that the dark deed which he had\ninstigated was to be attempted on that very day, Levison had felt not\nthe slightest remorse or compunction. Fear he had felt, the fear of\ndiscovery, but that was all. A criminal is nothing more or less than a\nsupreme egotist. Levison saw everything in its relation to himself, and\nhimself alone; never in relation to other people, or to God. Joseph was\nruining his business, therefore he had plotted Joseph's death. He had no\nbitter feeling against Joseph whatever, even though the Teacher's advent\nand appearance in the theatre had done him such serious harm. Levison\nwas a philosophic scoundrel, and took things as they came, and wasted no\nbrain power or mental force in the exercise of personal dislikes.\n\nHe arrived at Mimi Addington's house in St. John's Wood a little before\ntwo, not having hurried at all. The actress was at home, and he was at\nonce shown into the drawing-room, where she was sitting with Lord\nBallina and a friend of his, who was introduced to Levison as Mr. Errol\nSmith. Fortunately for Levison's plans, Lord Ballina's friend was on the\npoint of departure, and shortly went away, leaving the three\nconspirators together.\n\n\"Well, Andrew, how goes it?\" Ballina said, with his vacuous dissipated\nlittle simper. \"When are you going to open the theatre again?\"\n\n\"Well, that depends,\" Levison answered, with a meaning look. \"You know\nvery well what that depends on!\"\n\nHe was watching the effect of his words upon Mimi Addington as he spoke,\nand saw the hard, cruel eyes glisten with hate at his reference, and the\nbeautifully shaped mouth harden into a thin line of crimson.\n\n\"It's some time now since we had that little talk, Andrew,\" the woman\nsaid, in a voice that she strove to keep well under control, though\nevery now and then the hysteria of her hate crept into it and suggested\nthat which lay, lava-hot, deep down in her heart.\n\n\"Well, d'you know, my dear,\" Levison said, taking out a cigar and\nlighting it with great deliberation--\"well, d'you know that it's the\nlittle matter that we discussed that I've come up about this afternoon.\"\n\n\"How much longer is that Joseph to be allowed to cumber London?\" she\nsaid, with a hissing intake of the breath.\n\n\"Well, that all depends,\" Levison answered, amused with the skill with\nwhich he could play upon her passion. The Jew loved power and the\nexercise of it. He gratified himself now by playing on her as if she\nwere an instrument and noticing how swiftly she responded to his touch.\n\n\"Oh, hang it all, Andrew,\" Lord Ballina said, \"don't tease Mimi. If\nyou've got any news about this business let's have it.\"\n\nLevison thought he had gone far enough, and took the _Daily Wire_ which\nhe had brought with him from his pocket.\n\n\"Read that,\" he said, handing it to the young peer.\n\nBallina read out the paragraph in a monotonous sing-song, with now and\nthen such observations as suggested themselves to his limited and\nvicious intelligence.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"for the matter of that, Andrew, the papers are full of\nthe fellow every day, and his goings on. I don't see what news there is\nin that, it's only just another of his games. Was that all you came up\nto tell us?\"\n\nLevison saw the look of scorn that Mimi Addington flashed at the young\nman. Her own intelligence was infinitely keener; and though Levison had\nnot gone into any details about the arrangements he had made, she saw\nthe significance of the fact in the newspaper immediately.\n\n\"What a duffer you are, Bally,\" she said contemptuously. \"Why, it's\nperfectly clear of course. What better place could you have for knocking\na Johnny on the head than an East End slum? That's what Andrew means,\nand that's what he's come to tell us, isn't it, Andrew?\"\n\n\"Your brilliant intellect, assisted by your personal dislike, has at\nonce divined the truth, Mimi,\" said Levison, leaning back upon the divan\nand blowing a blue cloud of smoke up towards the hanging Moorish lamp.\n\n\"Why, then,\" Lord Ballina broke in suddenly--\"why, then, it's this\nafternoon!\" His voice had grown high and thin with excitement, and\nLevison saw once more a face from which all the color had ebbed, and\nhands that twitched with sudden realization.\n\nMimi Addington suddenly rose up from her seat with a curiously sinuous\nand panther-like movement.\n\n\"This afternoon!\" she said. \"Then I shall sleep happy this night!\"\n\n\"Oh, come, Mimi,\" Lord Ballina said, \"you needn't go quite so far as\nthat. As a matter of fact, I--er--confound it, I wish we'd let the chap\nalone!\"\n\nThe woman had sunk back upon the divan. She stretched out one slender,\nwhite hand, covered with flashing rings, and patted Levison upon the\narm.\n\nHe shuddered at her touch, scoundrel as he was, but she did not see it.\n\nBallina was walking up and down the room, his feet making no sound upon\nthe thick pile of the carpet. He snapped his fingers in an odd,\nconvulsive fashion.\n\n\"I say, you know,\" he said at length, \"I really don't like it. I wish to\nHeaven I'd never been mixed up in the affair. Supposing anything gets\nout?\"\n\n\"Well, that's supposing me to be rather a bigger fool than I am,\"\nLevison answered, though the fear of the other had in some subtle way\naffected him, and all his own tremors of the morning were beginning to\nrevive.\n\nThen there was silence in the room for a time.\n\nAlthough the morning had been bright and cheerful, the sun had become\nobscured shortly after midday, and a heavy gloom of fog above which\nthunder had muttered now and then had spread itself high up in the sky.\n\nThe oppression in the air had become much more marked during the last\nhour, and now, as the three people sat together, they were all\nexperiencing it to the full.\n\nFor a long time nobody spoke at all, and when at length Mimi Addington\nmade some casual observation, both the men started involuntarily. The\nwoman's voice also was changed now. It was like the voices of her\ncompanions, loaded with sinister apprehension.\n\n\"When do you suppose,\" Lord Ballina said, in a shaking voice--\"when do\nyou suppose that we shall know if anything has happened, Andrew? Have\nyou made arrangements with your--er--er--friends to report to you about\nit?\"\n\n\"I'm not mad!\" Levison answered shortly. \"Hear! Why, if there's anything\nto hear you'll hear soon enough----What's that?\"\n\nHe had started violently, and the perspiration was beginning to run down\nhis face. A distant rumble of thunder breaking suddenly in upon the\nquiet of the room had startled him and betrayed more than anything else\nin what a state his nerves were.\n\n\"It's only thunder,\" Mimi replied. \"Good Heavens, Andrew, you are enough\nto give one the jumps yourself! But if we're to know, how shall we\nknow?\"\n\n\"Why, it's very simple,\" Levison answered. \"Don't you see that if\nanything has--er--happened, it'll be in the evening papers and in the\nstreets within three-quarters of an hour from the time it's occurred.\nThere will be journalists with this man Joseph, of course, there always\nare wherever he goes. Well, the papers will be up here by the motors in\nhalf-an-hour after they're issued, and we shall hear the newsboys\nshouting it out all over the place.\"\n\n\"There's an old man who sells papers at the corner of Florence Street,\nonly a few yards away,\" Mimi Addington broke in quickly. \"The boys on\nthe bicycles come up and supply him with all the new editions as they\ncome out. I often hear them shouting.\"\n\n\"Then all we've got to do,\" said Andrew Levison, \"is to wait until we\nhear that shouting.\"\n\nThey sat waiting--three murderers--and as they sat there a presence\nstole into the room, unseen, but very real. The grisly phantom Fear was\namong them. Waiting!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE HOUSE DESOLATE\n\n\nThe echo of the shot which had struck down Sir Augustus Kirwan had\nhardly died away when two of the police inspectors, accompanied by Eric\nBlack, rushed into one of the open doorways of the court. Their feet\ncould be heard thundering up the rickety, wooden stairs of the old\nhouse, as Joseph and Sir Thomas Ducaine knelt, horror-struck, by the\nside of the dead man, while the others crowded round in uncontrollable\ndismay.\n\nJoseph himself seemed absolutely stunned for a moment. And it was Sir\nThomas's firm and capable hands which were moving rapidly over Sir\nAugustus' chest, endeavoring to test the movement of the heart.\n\nThe young Duke of Dover was talking rapidly and in an undertone with the\npolice inspector, and pointing upwards to the black, unglazed\nwindow-hole from which the smoke of the shot was still eddying out.\n\nThe whole series of events had occurred in a mere flash of time, with an\nastonishing swiftness which seemed to outstrip or to numb the lightning\noperations of thought itself.\n\nThere they stood in a group, stiffened and frozen into momentary\nimmobility. The tall figure of Joseph bent over the empty shell which\nlay upon the ground; the others clustered round, with wan faces of\nhorror. The peer had his right hand upon the shoulder of the inspector\nand his left extended to the black and silent orifice above. And still\nthe thunder of the feet of Eric Black and his companions could be heard\nas they raced upwards towards the room of the assassin.\n\nThen suddenly, as if the noise of the shot, which now must have been\nfired for at least thirty-five or forty seconds, had awakened a sleeping\npopulation, a murmur arose like the murmur of a hive of bees suddenly\ndisturbed.\n\nIt arose, grew louder and louder, resolved itself into tumultuous and\ndivided voices, and then, from every doorway, the foul, mocking, and\nunclean denizens of the worst slum in London came pouring, trotting, and\nslouching out of their lairs.\n\nThe air was immediately filled with a horrid clamor, and to the keen,\nattentive ears of, at any rate, the Duke and the policeman, there seemed\nsomething ungenuine in the sound--that is to say, it was not the\ninstinctive product of real surprise, but as though the people who had\nsuddenly appeared out of what had seemed silence and desolation were\nwell aware that this was going to happen.\n\nOf this Joseph and Sir Thomas Ducaine, who were lifting the portly body\nof the great financier, saw and understood nothing at all.\n\nJust as Joseph and Sir Thomas, assisted by the others, were supporting\nthe limp figure in their arms, the remaining inspector lifted his\nwhistle to his lips and blew a loud and piercing call.\n\nAt the sound, the horrid crowd which surrounded the little group of\ndeath suddenly grew silent. They knew that ominous summons very well; it\nwas in their blood to know it, for to many of them it had been a note of\ndoom.\n\nThe silence continued for a very short time, and was only broken in one\nsignificant and instinctive way.\n\nA tall, thin man, with a face which was a sheer wedge of sin and bestial\nimpulse, suddenly pressed to the front of the crowd, where his eyes fell\nupon Joseph.\n\nThe inspector heard him say, in a quick, vibrating voice to some one at\nhis side whom the inspector could not see--\n\n\"The wrong bloke!\"\n\nThe whistle had its effect, and in a space of time which would have\nsuggested to any one who had thought of it that the police arrangements\nfor guarding the distinguished company which had ventured into these\ndark places were more complete than that company itself had any idea of,\nseveral uniformed constables came hurrying into the court.\n\nThe crowd of slum-dwellers melted away as a small piece of ice in the\nsun, and, save that the doors and low windows of the surrounding houses\nwere now thronged with interested faces, the group in the middle of the\nplace was free of interruption.\n\nThree stalwart constables lifted up the body and bore it away. Joseph\nand the rest of his friends filed in a horror-struck procession.\n\nThe Teacher's head was bowed. His thin, white hands were clasped in\nfront of him, and the tears were rolling down his cheeks.\n\nHampson was at his side, and as he looked up at his old comrade once\nmore he was thrilled to the very marrow, even as he had been thrilled on\nthat strange eventful afternoon when the two great beams of wood had\nfallen from on high and struck down Joseph Bethune in the form of a\ncross.\n\nFor what Hampson now saw in his quick, imaginative brain, accustomed as\nit was to constant artistic images of the past, when Jesus walked in\nJerusalem, was now the tall, bowed figure of the Saviour with wrists\nbound in front of Him, moving towards the shameful death which was to\nsave and regenerate mankind.\n\nAnother scene in the Via Dolorosa!\n\nIt was now the middle of the afternoon. With magic celerity, even in\nthat poverty-stricken district, carriages were found, and an ambulance\nbrought from an adjacent police-station.\n\nThen, through the crowded streets of the East, the long and busy\nthoroughfares of Fleet Street and the Strand, into the wide and spacious\ndistrict where the rich dwell, the sad procession took its way.\n\nAnd of all the crowds of busy humans that moved and ran about their\nbusiness, no one suspected what these vehicles might mean. They passed\nthrough the busiest centres of the Modern Babylon without an indication\nor word of the true import of their passage.\n\nOnly Eric Black, who had come back disheartened with the two\npolice-officers from a hurried yet interminable search among the huge\nand fetid warrens of the murder-hole, was speeding towards the office of\nthe _Evening Wire_--the afternoon edition of the great daily--his heart\nfull of pity and terror, while yet his keen journalistic brain was\nweaving burning words and sentences with which to announce what had\nhappened to London.\n\nThe _cort\u00e8ge_ arrived at last at the great house in Berkeley Square.\n\nThe day, which had begun brightly enough, was as if the elements in\nLondon were sympathetic to the tragedy in which one of her foremost\ncitizens had perished. They were now beginning to throw a heavy and\nthunderous gloom over the City.\n\nSwiftly, while the frightened and white-faced servants stood speechless\nin the hall, the body of Sir Augustus Kirwan was borne into the library,\nand the family physician sent for at once. One of the police inspectors\nremained in the house; the other hurried off to Scotland Yard to give\nhis version of the affair, though by now all the district in which the\nmurder had occurred was being thoroughly searched, and guarded on all\nsides by special police, who had been summoned by telephone from various\nparts of the metropolis.\n\nMarjorie Kirwan was away upon a short visit to some friends. Lady Kirwan\nwas, fortunately, out when the body of her husband was brought into the\nhouse.\n\nIn a very few minutes the doctor arrived, and after a brief\nexamination, announced what all present knew only too well--that the\nbaronet had been shot through the heart, and that the death had been\npainless and instantaneous.\n\nThe blinds in front of the house were all pulled down, and the butler\nwas interrogated as to the whereabouts of Lady Kirwan by The Duke and\nSir Thomas Ducaine.\n\n\"I'm sure I have no idea, my lord and Sir Thomas,\" said the faithful old\nfellow, with the tears rolling down his cheeks, \"where my lady has gone.\nI know that she went out shortly after lunch, on foot. She said that she\ndid not wish for the motor-brougham or a carriage. Sometimes of an\nafternoon my lady likes to go out on foot, for the sake of a little\nexercise; and the day being fine, it must have tempted her.\"\n\n\"Her maid will know, perhaps,\" Sir Thomas replied.\n\n\"I'm afraid not, sir,\" the butler answered, \"for I know that Mrs.\nSummers has my lady's permission to visit her relatives at Camberwell\nthis afternoon.\"\n\n\"Then,\" Sir Thomas replied, \"where is Miss Lys?\"\n\n\"I can answer that,\" Joseph replied sadly. \"She is working up in\nBloomsbury, at the house of the Brotherhood.\"\n\n\"She must be sent for at once,\" Sir Thomas answered. \"Indeed, in a few\nminutes, I will go for Mary myself, and break this terrible news to her.\nIt will be a frightful blow to my poor girl; but she is so strong and\nself-reliant that she will be invaluable to receive Lady Kirwan when\nshe returns, and to break this awful news, as only a woman, and such a\nwoman as Mary is, could possibly do.\"\n\nFor a moment the young man's face lit up with love and tenderness, even\nin the presence of death, as he thought of the sweet and noble lady who\nhad already given some of the best years of her life to the healing of\nsorrow, and who alone, in this great crisis, cost her what it might,\ncould be depended upon to help the widow through the dark hours that lay\nbefore.\n\nNow it happened that Lady Kirwan had indeed not gone very far. A few\nstreets away from Berkeley Square there was a quiet little shop which\nwas kept by a society of ladies who had interested themselves in the\nrevival of fine lace manufacture in England. Girls were being taught all\nover the country to produce gossamer fabrics as beautiful as anything\nmade in the hamlets around Ghent and Brussels or in the Beguinage at\nBruges. Lady Kirwan was a patroness of the movement, and on this\nafternoon she had walked round to discuss the question of profit-sharing\nwith the lady who was in charge of the establishment.\n\nLady Kirwan liked to carry her own latchkey when she went out on little\nexcursions of this sort, when there was no groom to run up the steps and\nopen the front door. She had taken her key with her on this afternoon,\nand after doing the business for which she had set out, returned\nhomewards in a peculiarly happy state of mind, which even the heavy\natmosphere and lowering approach of thunder failed to disturb.\n\nThe lace business was going well, and the poor girls all over the\ncountry would have a substantial bonus added to their earnings. And\nother more important things contributed to the kindly woman's sense of\ngoodwill. Mary's engagement to Sir Thomas Ducaine was in itself a cause\nfor immense congratulation. Despite all Mary's stupid ways--as Lady\nKirwan was accustomed to call them--in spite of all the wasted years in\nthe hospital, the girl had, nevertheless, captured one of the most\neligible young men in London, and her wedding would be one of the\ngreatest events in the modern history of the family of Lys. Marjorie\nalso seemed to be more than a little attracted by the young Duke of\nDover. He was a peer of very ancient lineage, upright, an honorable\ngentleman, and very well liked in society. That he was not rich made no\ndifference whatever. The Kirwans' own enormous wealth would be lavished\nat the disposal of the young couple. And, finally, at a great political\nreception a few nights ago, the Prime Minister had taken Lady Kirwan\ninto supper, and had told her, without any possibility of mistake, that\nin a week or two more the great services of Sir Augustus to the\nGovernment, and the financial weight exerted at a critical moment, which\nhad forced a foreign Power to modify its demands, were to receive high\nrecognition, and that the baronetcy was to be exchanged for the rank of\nviscount.\n\nAs Lady Kirwan, smiling and stately, ascended the steps of her house in\nBerkeley Square, and took from her reticule the tiny Bramah key which\nunlocked the massive portal, she felt she had not a care in the world,\nand was a woman blessed indeed.\n\n\"We must get rid of this Joseph fellow now,\" she thought, as she\ninserted the key. \"He has played his part well enough in bringing Mary\nand Thomas together; but I don't think it will be advisable, even though\nhe is a fashionable pet at present, to have very much to do with him. I\nnever cared very much for the man, and it is awkward to have him about\nthe house. One can always send him a cheque now and then for his good\nworks!\"\n\nThe door swung open, and she entered the hall. At the moment there was\nnobody there--a fact which she noted for a future word of remonstrance,\nas a footman was always supposed to sit there at all times. But from the\nfarther end of the hall, from the library, the door of which was a\nlittle ajar, her quick ear detected a murmur of voices in the silence.\n\nShe took a step or two forward, when suddenly Sir Thomas Ducaine came\nstriding quickly and softly out of the library, the door closing quietly\nbehind him.\n\n\"Ah, Tom, my dear boy!\" Lady Kirwan said. \"So you are all back, then? I\ndo hope you're not fatigued by those terrible places that you've all\nbeen to see. Horrible it must have been? Don't forget that you are\ndining with us to-night. Mary has promised to leave her nonsense up at\nBloomsbury and be home in time, so we shall have a pleasant family\ndinner. Where is Augustus? Is he in the library?\"\n\nThen Lady Kirwan noticed something strange in the young man's face. The\ncolor had all ebbed from it; it was white with a horrid, ghastly\nwhiteness, that absolutely colorless white one sees on the under side of\na turbot or a sole.\n\n\"Good gracious!\" she said, with slightly faltering voice. \"Are you ill,\nTom? Why, what is the matter? Has anything happened?\"\n\nThe young man's brain was whirling. Lady Kirwan's sudden and unexpected\nappearance had driven all his plans and self-control to the winds. He\nshook with fear and agitation. He tried to speak twice, but the words\nrattled in his mouth with a hollow sound.\n\nThe current of fear ran from him to the tall and gracious dame who stood\nbefore him, and flashed backwards and forwards between the two like a\nshuttle--in the loom of Fate.\n\n\"What is it?\" she said, in a high-pitched voice. \"Tell me at once!\"\n\nAs she spoke the hall suddenly became filled with silent\nservants--servants whose faces were covered with tears, and who stood\ntrembling around the vast, luxurious place.\n\nThe dame's eyes swept round in one swift survey. Then, suddenly, she\ndrew herself to her full height.\n\n\"Where is Augustus?\" she said in a low, vibrating voice that thrilled\nthe heart of every person there with pain. \"Where is my husband?\"\n\n\"Sir Augustus, my dear Lady Kirwan,\" Sir Thomas began to gasp, with\ntears running down his cheeks--\"Sir Augustus is very ill; but----\"\n\nHe got no further, Lady Kirwan began to move quickly, as if some dread\ninstinct had told her the truth, towards the library door.\n\n\"No, no, dear Lady Kirwan,\" Sir Thomas said--\"don't go!\"\n\nShe brushed him aside as if he had been a straw in her path, and the\nterrified group of people saw her burst upon the great white-painted\ndoor which led to the chamber of death.\n\nThere was a silence, an agonized silence of several seconds, and then\nwhat all expected and waited for came.\n\nA terrible cry of anguish pealed out into the house, a cry so wild and\ndespairing that the very walls seemed to shudder in fearful sympathy.\n\nA cry, repeated thrice, and then a choking gurgle, which in its turn\ngave way to a deep contralto voice of menace.\n\nInside the library Lady Kirwan reeled by the long table upon which the\nstill form of the man she loved lay hushed for ever in death. One arm\nwas thrown around the rigid, waxen face, the left was outstretched with\naccusing finger, and pointing at Joseph the evangelist.\n\n\"It is you!\" the terrible voice pealed out. \"It is you, false prophet,\nliar, murderer, who have brought a good man to his end! It was you who\nkilled my dear, dear nephew Lluellyn upon the hills of our race! It is\nyou--who have come into a happy household with lying wiles and sneers\nand signs and tokens of your master Satan, whom you serve--who have\nmurdered my beloved! May the curse of God rest upon you! May you wither\nand die and go to your own place and your own master--you, who have\nkilled my dear one!\"\n\nThen there was a momentary silence, once more the high despairing wail\nof a mind distraught, a low, shuddering sigh, and a heavy thud, as Lady\nKirwan fell upon the floor in a deep and merciful swoon.\n\nAs Sir Thomas, who had hitherto stood motionless in the middle of the\nhall, turned and went swiftly back into the library, the Teacher came\nout with bowed head, and passed silently to the front door. No one\nassisted him as he opened it and disappeared.\n\nHow he arrived at the old house in Bloomsbury, Joseph never knew.\nWhether on foot, or whether in some vehicle, he was unable to say, on\nthinking over the events afterwards. Nor did any one see him enter the\nhouse. The mystery was never solved.\n\nWith bowed head, he mounted the stairs towards the long common-room\nwhere his friends and disciples were wont to gather together.\n\nOpening the door, he entered. By a dying fire, with a white, strained\nface, stood Hampson, who had only accompanied the funeral carriage up to\na certain point in its progress towards Berkeley Square, and, urged by\nsome inexplicable impulse, had descended from his carriage during a\nblock in the traffic, and made straight for the headquarters of the\nBrotherhood.\n\nAs Joseph entered, the little journalist gave a great sigh of relief.\n\"At last,\" he said--\"at last!\"\n\n\"My friend, and my more than brother,\" the Teacher answered, in a voice\nbroken with emotion, \"where is our dear sister--where is Mary?\"\n\n\"The Lord came to Mary,\" Hampson answered in a deep and awe-stricken\nvoice, \"and she has obeyed His command. I came here, knowing that the\nbrethren were all out upon their business, save only our dear Mary, who\nwas waiting for two poor women who were to come and be relieved. As I\nentered the square I saw the women coming away with glad, bright\nfaces--they were women I had known in the past, and whom I myself had\nrecommended to Mary. I entered the house, and I found our sister in the\nroom upon the right-hand side of the hall. I was about to greet her, and\nhoped to be able to break the terrible news to her, when I saw that her\nface was raised, her eyes were closed, her hands were clasped before\nher, as if in prayer. She seemed to be listening, and I waited. Suddenly\nher eyes opened, her hands fell, and she came back to the world, seeing\nme standing before her.\"\n\n\"Brother,\" she said, and her face was like the face of an angel,\n\"brother, there is one who needs me, needs my help and comfort in the\nhour of tribulation and sorrow. God has sent a message to me, and I go\nto her.\"\n\n\"With that she left the room and went swiftly away.\"\n\n\"Without doubt,\" Joseph answered, \"God has summoned her to bring\nconsolation to the widow.\"\n\nHampson began a series of eager inquiries as to what had occurred in\nBerkeley Square, as to what would happen, and what action would be\ntaken--a string of excited questions running one into the other, which\nshowed how terribly the good fellow was unstrung.\n\nThe Teacher checked the rapid flow of words with a single gesture.\n\n\"Brother,\" he said, \"do you stay here and rest, and say no word to any\nman of what has happened. For me, there yet remains something to be\ndone. I know not what; but this I do know--once more the message of the\nHoly Spirit is about to come to me, and I am to receive directions from\non High.\"\n\nHampson watched the Teacher as he slowly left the room. At the door\nJoseph turned and smiled faintly at his old and valued friend; and as he\ndid so, the journalist saw, with the old inexpressible thrill that light\nupon the countenance which only came at the supreme moments when\nHeavenly direction was vouchsafed to Joseph.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nUpon her wrist Mimi Addington wore a little jewelled watch set in a thin\nbracelet of aluminium studded with rubies.\n\nShe lifted her wrist almost to her eyes to mark the time. It was as\nthough the power of eyesight was obscured.\n\nLord Ballina was walking, almost trotting, rapidly up and down the\nroom--one has seen a captive wolf thus in its cage.\n\nAndrew Levison sat upon the couch, his head supported upon his hands,\none foot stretched a little in front of him, and the boot tapping with\nceaseless, regular movement upon the heavy Persian rug.\n\n\"William is waiting at the garden gate to bring in the paper directly it\narrives,\" Mimi Addington said.\n\nNo one answered her. Lord Ballina went up and down the room. Andrew\nLevison's foot, in its polished boot, went tap, tap, tap, as if it were\npart of a machine.\n\nThen they heard it--the hoarse, raucous cry--\"Evenin' Special! Slum\nTragedy! 'Orrid Murder!\" The words penetrated with a singular\ndistinctness into the tent-like Eastern room, with all its warmth and\nperfume.\n\nThree sharp cries of relief and excitement were simultaneously uttered\nas the three people stood up in a horrid _tableau vivant_ of fear and\nexpectation.\n\nTen, twenty, thirty, forty seconds. \"Oh, why does he not come?\" And then\nthe door opens quietly, and a discreet manservant brings in a folded\npink paper upon a silver tray.\n\nMimi tears it open as the man withdraws, with a low and almost animal\nsnarl of triumph. Her eyes blaze out like emeralds. The beautiful red\nlips are parted; hot breath pants out between them. Then she turns\nsuddenly white as linen. The paper falls from her hands, the life fades\nfrom her face and eyes, the strength of movement from her limbs, and she\ngiggles feebly, as one bereft of reason.\n\nLord Ballina snatches up the paper, scans it with rapid eyes, and then\nturns to Levison.\n\n\"They have killed the wrong man!\" he says, with a terrible oath.\n\"They've murdered Sir Augustus Kirwan, and Joseph has gone free!\"\n\nLevison staggered towards him, leant on him, and read the shocking news\nfor himself.\n\nLord Ballina began to weep noisily, like a frightened girl.\n\n\"It's all up with us,\" he said; \"it's all up with us! This is the end of\nall of it, the hand of God is in it; we're done--lost, lost! There is no\nforgiveness!\"\n\nEven as he said this the hangings which covered the noiseless outside\ndoor were parted suddenly. Joseph himself stood there with one hand\nraised above his head, and said unto them--\n\n\"Peace be unto you all in this household! Peace be unto you!\"\n\nThe words, spoken in the Teacher's deep and musical voice, rang out in\nthe tented room like a trumpet.\n\nThe three conspirators were struck by them as if by some terrible\ncrushing physical force.\n\nWith dilated eyes and faces, which were scarcely human in their terror,\nthey crouched before the terrible apparition.\n\nIn that moment all remembrance of what they had just learnt from the\nnewspaper was blotted from their minds; they only thought that here was\none veritably risen from the dead, or come in spirit to denounce them.\n\nThe woman was the first to succumb. With a low, whimpering moan she\nfell in a tumbled heap upon the floor. Neither the Jew nor the younger\nman moved a finger to help her. They crouched trembling against the\nopposite wall, and stared at the tall figure of the man they had tried\nto murder.\n\nJoseph stood looking upon them. His face was no index whatever to his\nthoughts. In whatever spirit he had come they could define nothing of it\nfrom his face, though the words which he had uttered as he appeared from\nbehind the hangings rang in their ears with a deep and ironical mockery\nas if the bell of doom was tolling for them.\n\nOnce more Joseph raised his hands.\n\n\"Peace be unto you,\" he said again, as if blessing them. And then he\nasked very gravely and calmly: \"Why are you afraid of me?\"\n\nAgain there was silence, until at last Levison, the Jew, with a\ntremendous and heroic effort of self-control, pulled himself a little\ntogether and essayed to speak.\n\n\"Do not prolong this scene, sir,\" he said, in a cracked, dry voice,\nwhich seemed to come from a vast distance. \"Have your men in at once and\ntake us away. It will be better so. You have won the game, and we must\npay the penalty. I suppose you have captured the men who made the\nattempt upon your life, and\"--here Levison remembered, with an added\nthrob of horror, how another had suffered in place of his intended\nvictim--\"and who, unfortunately, killed another person in mistake for\nyou. So be it. We are ready to go.\"\n\nThe sound of the Jew's voice speaking thus, and calm with all the\nhideous calmness of defeat and utter despair, had roused Lord Ballina's\nsinking consciousness. As Levison concluded, the young man fell upon his\nknees and almost crawled to the feet of the Master.\n\n\"It's all lies,\" he gasped--\"it's all lies, sir! I don't know what he is\ntalking about, with his murders and things. I know nothing whatever\nabout it all. I wasn't in it. I assure you I'd nothing whatever to do\nwith it. It was he who did it all.\"\n\nThe livid young wretch extended a shaking hand of cowardly accusation,\nand pointed it at his whilom friend.\n\nJoseph looked down to the creature at his feet with a blazing scorn in\nhis eyes, and as he did so the Jew, who was still leaning upon the\nopposite wall, as if too physically weak to move, broke in upon the end\nof Lord Ballina's quavering exculpation.\n\n\"It's quite true, sir,\" he said to Joseph, though even in the hour of\nhis own agony the man's bitter contempt for the coward crept into his\nvoice and chilled it. \"It is perfectly true, this young--er--gentleman,\nLord Ballina, knew nothing of the matters of which you speak. Nor can he\nbe connected with them in any way.\"\n\n\"Friend,\" said Joseph, very calmly, lifting his eyes from the thing that\ncrouched upon the floor below him--\"friend, of what matters have I\nspoken?\"\n\nLevison looked steadily at him. A puzzled expression crossed his\nterror-stricken face for a moment, and then left it as before.\n\n\"Why quibble about words,\" he said, \"at such a time as this? I beg you,\nsir, to call in your detectives, and have me taken away at once. I, and\nI only, am responsible for the attempt upon your life.\"\n\nHere there came a sudden and even more dramatic interruption than\nbefore. From the heap of shimmering draperies upon the floor by the\ncouch, which covered the swooning body of the actress, a head suddenly\nprotruded. It was like the head of a serpent coming slowly into view,\nwith flashing eyes of enmity and hate.\n\nMimi Addington rose with a slow and sinuous movement, a movement which,\nif she could have reproduced it in ordinary life, and showed it upon the\nstage, would, perhaps, have lifted her to the rank of the greatest\ntragedy actress of this or any other era.\n\nThe movement was irresistible, like the slow, gliding erection of a\nserpent. The head oscillated a little in front of the body, with a\ncuriously reptilian movement. The eyes were fixed in their steady and\nunflinching glare of hate.\n\nLevison stared, trembling, at the sudden and hideous apparition. All the\nbeauty had faded from the face. It was as the face of one lost and\ndoomed, the face of some malignant spirit from the very depths of\ndespair.\n\nThen a hollow, hissing voice filled the place.\n\n\"They are both wrong,\" said the voice; \"they are both wrong. It was I\nwho did this thing. I myself and no other. Whatever you may be, man or\nspirit, I care not. It was I who set the men on to kill you, and the\ndeath that you were to die was all too easy for you. I hate you with a\nhatred for which there are no words. I would that I could inflict upon\nyou a death lasting many days of torture, and do it with my hands. And\nthen I would dance upon your grave. I hate you as woman never hated man\nbefore. Before all the world you spurned me and showed me as I am. You\nmade me a laughing-stock to London, and a shame in the eyes of all men.\"\n\nHer lifted hand was extended towards the Teacher.\n\nSpellbound, unable to move or think, Levison saw that the silken feet,\nfrom which the little bronze shoes had fallen, were gradually and\nimperceptibly moving with the apparent immobility of the trained dancer\ntowards the tall figure by the door.\n\nThe awful voice went on, and into it, even in that moment of horrid\ntragedy which at the beginning had given it some dignity, a note of\nindescribable coarseness and vulgarity began to creep.\n\nAnd all the time the Jew saw the little feet, in their stockings of pale\nblue silk, were moving nearer and nearer. Then, suddenly, she leapt at\nJoseph with a swift bound, like the bound of a panther, and without a\nsingle sound.\n\nShe struck once, twice, thrice; but as the Jew watched he saw with an\nawe and wonder more heart-stirring, more terrible than even the first\nagony of terror, that she struck at least a foot away from the figure of\nthe Teacher--that is to say, her blows did not reach within more than a\nfoot of the grave, bearded man who stood regarding her. It was as though\nJoseph was surrounded by some invisible aura, some unseen protection,\nwhich rendered him invulnerable to all material attack. At the third\nstroke the woman's arm fell to her side. She looked in a puzzled,\nchildlike way at the figure before her. The hate seemed to have suddenly\nbeen wiped from her face, as a sponge wipes a chalk mark from a slate.\nThe light in her eyes was extinguished, they became dull and glassy; and\nin a feeble, childlike fashion she brushed past the Teacher, now\nunimpeded by any obstacle, and passed through the draperies into the\ncorridor beyond. They heard her laughing, in a mad and meaningless\nmerriment--the laughter of one whose brain is finally dissolved and\ngone, and who will never more take part in the strife and councils of\nmen and women.\n\nThe laughter grew quieter as the mad woman wandered away down the\ncorridor.\n\nJoseph stooped down to where Lord Ballina still crouched upon the floor.\nHe placed both hands beneath the young man's arms and lifted him to his\nfeet. He held him in front of him for a moment or two, and looked\nsteadily into his eyes. Then, bending forward, he kissed him on the\nforehead.\n\n\"Brother,\" he said, \"go, and sin no more.\"\n\nThe Jew heard the uncertain footsteps of the young viscount as he also\nleft the tented room--heard them tap, tap as they crossed those spaces\nof the tiled floor of the hall which were not covered with rugs, and\nthen a moment afterwards the clang of the hall door.\n\nJoseph and Andrew Levison were left alone.\n\nThe Jew exercised his self-control in a still greater measure than\nbefore.\n\n\"And now, sir,\" he said, \"since those two others have gone, and you have\nbefore you the real criminal, do with me as you will. I should like to\nask you one thing, however, and that is this: I should like it to be\nthoroughly understood at the trial that I, and I only, am responsible\nfor what has occurred. I am the murderer of Sir Augustus Kirwan, and\nshould have been your murderer far more really and truly than the\nassassin whom I bribed to actually commit the deed. I was the\ncontrolling brain and the instigator of the whole thing. Therefore I\nhope that, guilty as my instrument may be, it will be recognized by\neverybody concerned that he is not guilty to such an extent as I am\nguilty. It would be an additional misery to me, though I don't put it\nonly on those grounds, if my creature also were to suffer the extreme\npenalty of the law. And now I am quite ready.\"\n\nJoseph turned, as Levison thought, to summon the police officers whom he\nsupposed had accompanied him.\n\nInstead of doing that, Joseph closed the door and pulled the hangings\nover it.\n\n\"Why did you seek to murder me?\" he asked, in calm and gentle tones.\n\nLevison began to tremble.\n\n\"It will seem incredible to you, sir,\" he said, in a low voice, \"but you\nstood in my way. You were destroying my business as a theatrical\nmanager, and you had very greatly angered my leading lady, the woman who\ntried to kill you again just now.\"\n\nThen, suddenly, the whirling brain of the theatrical manager remembered\nthe significance of what he had seen when Mimi Addington had dashed at\nthe Teacher with hate and murder in her eye.\n\n\"Who are you!\" he said, terror mastering him once more. \"Who are you\nthat Mimi could not reach you? Who are you? And how, now I come to think\nof it, how could you be here so soon? What can it all mean? Who are\nyou?\"\n\n\"Like you,\" the Teacher answered, \"I am a son of God. For me as for you,\nChrist Jesus died upon the Cross. You ask me questions, I will answer\nthem. There is no reason why I should not answer them. When I came to\nthis house I had no idea whom I should see, save only that here I should\nfind those who had plotted against my life. I was brought here by a\nPower stronger than any human power. I was brought here by the hand of\nGod Who--blessed be His name!--orders my way and directs my path. And as\nfor your accomplice, the poor man who would have struck me down, and who\nhas slain one of the great ones of this earth, and one who might have\nbeen a witness to the truth of God and the love of mankind, I know that\nhe will not be found. He has not been discovered, nor will he ever be by\nhuman agency. He will pay the penalty for what he has done, as all must\npay the penalty for evil deeds, in sorrow and remorse. It may be that he\nwill not repent, and will not be forgiven. Of that I cannot speak,\nbecause no knowledge has been vouchsafed to me. It may be, and I pray to\nthe Holy Trinity that it shall be so--that he will repent and be\nforgiven, because he knew not what he did.\"\n\n\"But you know, sir,\" Levison answered--\"you know who has been behind it\nall. Take me swiftly, and do what has to be done. I beg and implore you\nto delay no longer. I can make no defence, nor shall I try to do so. Who\nyou are, and what power is given to you, I don't know, nor can I\nunderstand. But this one thing I know--that I am guilty, and am prepared\nto pay the penalty for what I have done. I will go with you from this\nsin-stricken house!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Joseph answered, \"my brother, you will go with me, but not as you\nthink, to the hands of human law. It is not God's will that you should\nsuffer for what you have done at the hands of human justice. His will\ntowards you is very different, and I am come to be the humble instrument\nof it. You will come with me, as you say; but you will come with me to\nmy own house, there to make your repentance before Almighty God, meekly\nkneeling upon your knees, and asking for forgiveness for your great sin\nand for grace to live a new life in the future, henceforth serving Him\nand bearing the weight of the Cross which He bore for you so long ago,\nuntil at last, in His good will and time, you may be gathered up and\njoin the blessed company of those saved by Christ's precious blood.\"\n\nThe deep, grave words roused the long dormant religious instinct in the\nheart of the worldly financier who stood broken and abject before him.\nThe Jew remembered the days of his youth, when he also had prayed to the\nLord of Hosts and the God of Israel in the synagogue of his parents. In\none swift burst of remembrance the times came back to him when he had\nbound the phylacteries upon his forehead, and heard the priests of\nIsrael reading from the Holy Book of the Law. He saw in a sudden riot of\nmemory the solemn hours of Passover, tasted the forgotten savor of days\nof fasting, performed the holy ablutions of his faith. And now he heard\nfrom the lips of the man whom he had tried to murder, news of that other\nreligion which he had scorned and derided all his life, and yet which\nwas but the fulfilment of the prophecies of his own. One had come to him\npreaching the Messiah Whom he had spurned--the Jew Who was both God and\nMan, and Whose Agony had saved the world.\n\nLevison bowed his head in his hands and wept.\n\n\"And you,\" he said, between his sobs, \"if indeed God can forgive me for\nthe evil that I have done, how can you forgive me? I have never spoken\nto you, yet I hated you because you had come into my theatre and\ndisturbed my life and taken the profits of my business away from me. But\nyou have not done to me a tithe of the evil I would have done to you.\nYou came to me, knowing well my evil life and that I pandered to the\npassions of the low and the debased. You did what I now see the Lord\ncommanded you to do. But I----How can you forgive me, Master?\"\n\n\"Brother,\" Joseph answered, \"it is a very little thing for me to\nforgive you. It is nothing, and is no merit in me. I have no anger\ntowards you in my heart. What you did you did, and it was a sin for\nwhich you must answer to the Almighty. But I am well aware that you\nwalked in darkness, and had not seen the Light. If our beloved Master\nJesus could forgive the men who nailed Him to the Cross, should not His\nhumble and unworthy follower forgive what you have done? Brother, I\nforgive you with all my heart. Accept my forgiveness and my love, and\ncome with me, that you may learn more of Him who is above the thrones\nand principalities and powers of this earth; of Him who is not only\njustice, but mercy and tenderness inexpressible; of Him to Whom all men\nare equal, Who loveth all men.\"\n\nThey passed out of the scented room and into the silent hall, where no\nservants or others were about. Together they left that house, to which\nneither were ever to return; that house in which so many and strange\nthings had been done, and which now seemed as a house of the dead.\n\nA carriage was waiting at the garden gate. The two men entered it and it\nrolled swiftly away down the hill towards London.\n\nIt was now quite dark.\n\nThe oppression of the thunder seemed to have passed away, and the air\nwas fresh and cool as they drove through the roaring, lighted streets of\nthe great Babylon towards the Brothers' house in Bloomsbury. Once or\ntwice, as the carriage halted in a block of traffic, Levison saw the\nnewspaper boys holding the startling contents sheets before them, and\nthe tragic headlines met his eye. At such times he shuddered like a leaf\nin the wind, and the tears of remorse and agony rolled down his cheeks\nunregarded, splashing upon his ringed hands.\n\nThen Joseph would lean towards him and speak quietly in his ear.\n\"Because he hath set his love upon Me, therefore will I deliver him; I\nwill set him up because he hath known My name. He shall call upon Me,\nand I will hear him; yea, I am with him in trouble; I will deliver him\nand bring him to honor. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him\nMy salvation.\"\n\nThey came at last to the house of the Brothers, but as the carriage\nturned into the square, there was a sudden roar from many hundreds of\nvoices. An enormous crowd had collected before the house, stirred to the\ndepths by the news of the terrible tragedy which had occurred in the\nafternoon.\n\nAlmost immediately that the carriage began to move among the crowd, some\nelectric wave of feeling seemed to pass over every one, and they all\nknew that the Teacher was among them.\n\nThen, from every voice rose up a great chorus of joy and thanksgiving. A\ncrashing harmony of praise rent the very air, and caused the people in\nfar distant squares and thoroughfares to turn their heads and listen in\namaze.\n\nThe Master had returned, safe and unharmed--the Master whose name and\npower were already thrilling the metropolis as it was never thrilled\nbefore; the God-guided Teacher who was bringing new light into the\nlives of thousands, building a great dam against the threatening tides\nof sin, evil and death.\n\nWith great difficulty the carriage made its way to the spacious door,\nwhich was immediately flung open, showing the lighted hall and the\nBrothers, with Hampson, the journalist, among them, standing there to\nwelcome the man that they revered and loved.\n\nTogether Levison and the Master entered. But ere the door was closed\nJoseph turned and raised his hand. In a moment a dead silence fell over\nthe crowd.\n\n\"Brethren,\" the deep voice thrilled, \"I will be with you in a moment,\nfor I have somewhat to say to you.\"\n\nThen the door closed.\n\nJoseph took the trembling creature by his side into a little warm and\nlighted room.\n\n\"Brother,\" he said, \"the hour of your repentance is at hand. Kneel and\npray to the Man of Sorrows, and if no words come to you, call upon Him\nby name, and He will come--Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!\"\n\nThen, turning, he went out to the crowd.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nCONSOLIDATION\n\n\nA month had passed by.\n\nFor a fortnight after the death of Sir Augustus Kirwan the Press had\nbeen full of surmise and conjecture. New theories as to the identity of\nthe murderer were advanced every day. Every now and again some\nenterprising journal would appear with a column of exclusive news, which\npointed to the fact that the criminal was discovered through the acumen\nof the journal's own private detectives, and was certain to be arrested\nin two days at least. He never was arrested, and two days afterwards\nsome new sensation drew a red herring across the old trail, while the\npublic read on and were perfectly content, provided that they were\nthrilled.\n\nIt was generally agreed, however, by Press and public alike, that Sir\nAugustus Kirwan had not been the real object of attack, but that the\nshot had been aimed at Joseph, the evangelist. This general certainty\nhad marked a definite effect upon the way in which the Teacher was\nregarded. The hostility of the unthinking mob was disarmed by it. It\nbecame known to the great mass of the common people that whatever Joseph\nmight be, whatever impossible doctrines he might preach, his one idea\nwas to alleviate the miseries and sorrows of the poor, not only in a\nspiritual, but also in a solid, concrete, and material fashion.\n\nOpposition still continued, of course, but the tragedy in the East End\nhad broken it up into separate camps, and there was no longer a steady\ntide of enmity, such as there had been at the commencement of the\nevangelist's stupendous mission to London.\n\nOn the night of the murder itself an event had occurred which was very\nfar-reaching in its consequences, though at the moment none of those who\nwere present quite realized the significance of what they heard. The\nTeacher had appeared upon the steps of his house in Bloomsbury, and had\naddressed the enormous crowd during the early part of the night. This\ncrowd had been attracted to the square by the news published in the\nevening papers of Sir Augustus' murder and Joseph's escape. They had\ncongregated there out of curiosity, in the first instance; but when\nJoseph had appeared in a carriage, together with a stranger, there had\nbeen a spontaneous outburst of genuine affection from the many-throated\nmultitude.\n\nIt was as though every person there, whether he had seen the evangelist\nbefore or not, was genuinely glad at his escape, felt that sense of\npersonal brotherhood and love, that ungrudging recognition of a high and\nnoble nature whose aims were purely unselfish, which now and then is\nvouchsafed to an assembly to feel, and which, in the psychology of\ncrowds, is the very highest manifestation of cumulative feeling.\n\nThen had come a short but enormously powerful and heart-searching\naddress.\n\nThere was a note of great sadness in it, so some of the most sensitive\nmembers of the crowd imagined, a note heralding a farewell, though, on\nafter reflection, it was supposed that the terrible events of the\nafternoon had naturally disturbed and unstrung the Teacher in a very\ngreat degree.\n\nThe peculiar note which the address had struck was that which made it a\nvery special occasion in the history of Joseph's mission to London. It\nwas not only an exhortation to the people there to repent and seek\nforgiveness at the foot of the Cross, it was not only an exhortation to\neach member of the crowd to live a holy life and walk in the ways of the\nLord--it was all this, but there was something more, and something new.\n\nJoseph had, as if with the certainty of most absolute confidence, bidden\nevery person there from that moment to go out into the world as a\ndefinite minister of the Gospel. It was as though addressing a\ncongregation of known and tried disciples, whom he knew would obey his\nbehests and carry out his wishes. So some great captain might have\nspoken to his officers, delivering them a special mission.\n\n\"Go out, my dear brothers, this very night, as ministers of the Word of\nGod, to spread the knowledge of Him in London. Repent and be baptized,\nevery one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ, for the remission of\nsins, and you shall receive the Holy Ghost.\"\n\nWith fiery words he called upon them to deny themselves all things, to\nbreak off all associations with evil and worldly things which warred\nagainst the soul; to do their work, whatever it might be, to the glory\nof God, and to spend every moment of their spare time in a definite,\nindividual campaign against the hosts of evil.\n\nThe burning eloquence of his words, short as was the time during which\nhe spoke to them, made a deep impression upon many hundreds there. The\ndark square, with its tall lamp-posts around, and the glow of yellow\nlight which poured from the door of the great house, the deep organ-note\nof London's traffic all around, the whole strangeness and mystery of the\nscene, could never be forgotten by any one that witnessed it. And in the\nresult it had actually happened that in that single evening the power of\nthe Teacher's words had keyed up lives that were faltering between good\nand evil, had sown the seed of righteousness in barren and empty hearts,\nhad sent out a veritable company far and wide over London, who, each in\nhis own way, and with the measure of his powers and capacity, became a\nminister of Jesus.\n\n\"Was it not, indeed, true?\" many righteous men and women asked\nthemselves during the ensuing month, when the leaven was working in\nstrange and unexpected directions. \"Was it not, indeed, true, that down\nupon that crowd of Londoners some portion of the Holy Spirit had\ndescended, some sacred fire which, even as the fires of Pentecost\nthemselves, had again repeated the miracle which was prophesied by the\nprophet Joel?\"\n\nAll over London, among thinking Christians, there came an added\nconviction that it was indeed true that one specially guided and gifted\nof God was among them. A man was in their midst to whom the Holy Spirit\nwas given in abounding and overflowing measure, and who, like Enoch,\nwalked with God. And many lovers of Jesus felt that perhaps now, indeed,\nthe time was come when once more the Almighty Father would pour out His\nSpirit upon all flesh--the time when their sons and their daughters\nshould prophesy, the young men see visions, and the old men dream\ndreams.\n\nWas it not true now, as it ever had been, that \"whosoever shall call\nupon the name of the Lord shall be saved?\"\n\nAnd so, during the month which had gone by since the tragedy in\nWhitechapel, the fame of the Master had grown and grown, until it had\nbecome less of the breathless sensation which it had appeared at first,\nand had settled down into a definite and concrete thing.\n\nIt was at this juncture that two articles appeared in two newspapers.\nOne was an article signed \"Eric Black\" in the _Daily Wire_, another one\nwritten by Hampson, the editor of the _Sunday Friend_.\n\nThe _Daily Wire_ was, of course, the leading popular daily paper of\nEngland. The _Sunday Friend_, under Hampson's editorship, and especially\nsince the advent of the evangelist, had become an enormous power among\nall definitely Christian people.\n\nThe article of Eric Black in the _Daily Wire_ was far less enthusiastic\nin tone than that written by Hampson, Joseph's old and trusted friend.\nIt was very judicial in manner, and from this very circumstance it\ngained an additional weight, and had, perhaps, even a greater influence\nthan the other.\n\nEric Black, the brilliant young journalist, had never faltered in his\nresolve to follow the banner of Christ since the night when, with his\nown eyes, he saw the man of God raise up the sufferer from his sick bed.\nAt the same time, Black, far more than Hampson, was a man of the world,\na young, brilliant, modern man of the world. He realized that in order\nto make the Kingdom of Heaven intelligible it was most certainly\nnecessary to understand the kingdom of this world as well. To plant the\ngood seed in the waiting ground one must not only know all about the\nseed itself, but must be acquainted with the properties of the ground in\nwhich it is destined to fructify.\n\nIn thoroughly understanding this, the journalist, in his great\nsumming-up article of the work of Joseph the evangelist, had refrained\nfrom enthusiastic comment, and had merely stated and made a record of\nindubitable, incontrovertible fact.\n\nNever before, during the time of the Teacher's ministry, had there been\na concise epitome of its events, its progress, and its results.\n\nLondon, and all England, indeed, was supplied with such a document now,\nand even the most thoughtless were compelled to pause and wonder what\nthese things might mean.\n\nEvery instance of the supernormal happening--Eric Black refused the word\nsupernatural, and substituted for it the wiser and more comprehensive\nword--was tabulated, set forth in detail, and attested by the affidavits\nof witnesses whose bona fides could not be doubted.\n\nThe enormous charities which had begun to be active under the \u00e6gis of\nthe Teacher were explained and discussed, and in one day London was\namazed to learn of great fortunes which were being deflected from their\nold paths and were pouring their benefits to relieve the necessities of\nthe downtrodden and oppressed. Names and sums were given, and the man in\nthe street gasped as he realized the tremendous force of a personality\nwhich had already captured millions of money for the work and service of\nGod.\n\nIf some of the wealthiest and most celebrated men in England had gladly\ngiven up a great part of that which they possessed for the benefit of\nothers, was there not, indeed, something beyond all ordinary explanation\nin this stupendous fact?\n\nPerhaps, indeed, such occurrences as these impressed the great mass of\nthe public more even than the supernormal occurrences to which Black's\nfamous article bore witness. To the mind of the ordinary self-seeking\nman there is something far more wonderful in the fact of a man with a\nhundred pounds giving seventy-five of it away to other people, without\nhope of earthly reward or wish for earthly praise and recognition, than\neven the appearance of an angel in the sky heralding the second coming\nof Our Lord would probably be.\n\nThe brain of each single unit of the human race is exactly what he has\nmade it by a long series of habits and thoughts directed to one object.\nIt is not more wonderful that the sot and low-minded man cannot\nappreciate beautiful music or perfect scenery than it is that the\nself-centred intellect is unable to accept the evidence for the unseen\nor realize that this life is but a phantom that will pass away.\n\nBoth the article of Eric Black and that written by the editor of the\n_Sunday Friend_ finally summed up the difference that the arrival of\nJoseph in the Modern Babylon had made to existing conditions.\n\nThe theatres of the bad sort, which pandered to the lower instincts of\nthose who patronized them, were almost empty. Several of them were\nclosed, \"for the production of a new play.\" A strong agitation was going\non in Parliament to make it prohibitive for women to be employed in the\ndrinking saloons and bars of London. In vast areas the preachers of the\nBrotherhood had reduced the gambling evil among the poorer classes to a\nmost appreciable extent.\n\nThe working man was being taught by the direct agency of the Holy\nSpirit, as manifested in Joseph's followers, and by the inexorable law\nof quiet logic and common-sense, to turn his attention from the things\nof to-day and the immediate amusement of the moment, to the future of\nhis soul. The greatest work of all was, perhaps, accomplished in this\ndirection, and it was found that once the ordinary intelligence was\nconvinced of the existence of a future state, the ordinary intelligence\nsaw immediately the necessity for preparing for eternity during this\nshort and finite life.\n\nLondon, day by day, hour by hour almost, was growing more serious. The\nchurches were filling once more, especially and markedly those in which\nthere was a daily celebration of the Eucharist. A great wave of\nreligious feeling was sweeping over the metropolis. And on all sides the\ncry of the ignorant and the desirous was heard--\n\n\"What shall we do to be saved?\"\n\nSome two days after the month which had elapsed since the murder of Sir\nAugustus, Sir Thomas Ducaine sat in his library, talking earnestly to\nHampson the journalist.\n\nEver since the first night when the two strangely opposite natures had\nmet at the Frivolity Theatre the friendship between the millionaire\nbaronet and the humble journalist had grown and strengthened. Then had\ncome Sir Thomas' conversion to the truth, his public confession of\nChrist, which had welded the bond of friendship between the two men into\nsomething that only death itself could end in this world, but to renew\nit in the next.\n\nLady Kirwan had retired to the great family country-house in\nHertfordshire, a broken and unhappy woman. She had refused to see Joseph\nor even Sir Thomas Ducaine again, persisting in her attitude of absolute\nhostility to the Teacher and all his friends. Marjorie Kirwan had become\nquietly engaged to the Duke of Dover.\n\nLady Kirwan--and this was the worst of all--had turned against her\nniece, Mary Lys. The will of Sir Augustus had come as an enormous\nsurprise to the world. No one had realized how wealthy the financier\nwas, and his testamentary dispositions had startled everybody. Trustees\nwere placed in the possession of a million of money, which was to be\nhanded over to his daughter upon her marriage. Lady Kirwan had a life\ninterest in almost an equal sum. When she died this vast property was to\ngo to her niece, Mary Lys, without any conditions whatever. Two hundred\nthousand pounds had been left to the influential committee of trustees\nwhich now administered the great sums of money which had been given or\nleft to Joseph and his brethren.\n\nThe position of Mary was, therefore, a very strange one. She had become\none of the greatest heiresses in England, she was engaged to Sir Thomas\nDucaine, but nothing would induce her aunt to see her or hold any\ncommunication with her. At first the poor girl had thought of returning\nto the hospital in the East End for a time, but another way had been\nfound out of the difficulty.\n\nLady Susan Wells, an elderly spinster, a daughter of the Earl of\nFakenham, and aunt to Sir Thomas Ducaine, had asked Mary to live with\nher at her house in Belgrave Square. The plan had been adopted, and Mary\nwas still able, owing to this arrangement, to actively assist in\nJoseph's work, and carry on her life of sweet self-sacrifice and help.\n\nSir Thomas and Hampson sat on each side of the library fire.\n\n\"Joseph ought to be here now,\" Hampson remarked.\n\nSir Thomas nodded and said:\n\n\"I feel to-night as if something very important were going to happen.\nNeither of us have seen Joseph for four days now. Nobody, in fact, has\nseen him, and nobody knows what he has been doing. One of his strange\ndisappearances and withdrawals from the rush of life has taken place\nagain. When that occurs we always know something is going to happen.\"\n\n\"He has been communing with God,\" Hampson answered gravely, and even as\nhe spoke the butler opened the door, and the tall figure of the Master\nentered.\n\nJoseph looked very thin and pale. He seemed a man who had but lately\ncome through days of deep suffering.\n\nSir Thomas rose.\n\n\"Ah, my friend,\" he said, \"we were speaking of you at this moment, and\nwondering what you had to tell us. We got your letter, of course, and we\nknew that you had some very important thing to say. Come and tell us\nwhat it is.\"\n\n\"My brothers,\" Joseph answered, his face beaming with love and sadness\nas he looked upon them both, \"I come to tell you of the end!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nSUPREME MOMENTS\n\n\nThe dawn came.\n\nThe sun rose over the still, grey sea, and the first rays which flashed\nout over the brim of the world shone in through the open window of the\nlittle bedroom.\n\nIt was a simple cottage room. The walls were whitewashed, the\nappointments were primitive, and the fresh light of morning fell upon\nthe little truckle-bed in which a young man lay sleeping.\n\nOne arm rested behind his head, another was flung carelessly over the\ncounterpane. The sun touched a strong, clean-shaven face, a face\nclear-cut as a cameo, with resolution in every line, and with a curious\nhappiness lying upon it, even as the sunlight touched it.\n\nThomas Ducaine was sleeping in the little cottage room of the Welsh\nvillage, where he had come for the great day of his life.\n\nAs the sun touched the young and noble face, the head moved a little,\nand the firm mouth parted in a happy smile. As they will in dreams,\ntowards the end of both sleep and dreaming, the events of the last day\nor two were summing themselves up in the sub-conscious brain, just\nbefore consciousness itself was about to return, and the eyes open upon\nthe happy day.\n\nOver the sea the sun rose, the sea-birds winged above the smooth water\nwith shrill, joyous voices, the little ozone-laden breeze eddied upon\nthe fore-shore, and found its way into the room of the sleeping man.\n\nThen, as day began to move and stir, and all the happy world of Wales\nprepared to greet it, Sir Thomas Ducaine opened his eyes and awoke.\n\nFor a moment or two he lay looking round him with eyes which still held\npart of the deep mystery of sleep, and then at last everything came back\nto him. He sat up in the bed, the color mounted to his cheeks, and as he\nturned his face towards the window and saw the brilliant but still\nsleeping glory of the early-rising sun and quiet sea, he buried his face\nin his hands and prayed.\n\nFor this was the morning of his life, the morning of all mornings; there\nwould never be another morning like this.\n\nA week ago Joseph had come to him in the night. Pale, wan, and wearied,\nyet still with the inextinguishable fires of the Spirit shining through\nhis eyes, informing all his movements and words, Joseph had come to him\nwith a solemn message.\n\nThe Master had told him that, despite all that had happened, although to\nthe world of society and convention he and Mary were still in the depths\nof mourning, it was necessary that they should put all these material\nand social considerations on one side, and that their love should be\nsealed and signed by the blessing of the Church--that the time of the\nsinging of the birds had come, that wedlock awaited them.\n\nAnd so, without further questioning, Thomas and Mary obeyed the voice of\nthe man who had had so stupendous an influence upon their lives, and\ngave the direction of their actions into his keeping. Both of them were\ncertain that what their beloved Teacher ordained for them was just and\nright. Nay, more than that, they knew that the words of Joseph, which\nordered their doings, were more than the words of a mere man; that, as\nalways, the Holy Spirit informed them.\n\nThe sun poured into the humble room, filling it with amber light and the\nfresh breeze of the dawn.\n\nThomas Ducaine leapt from his bed, and went to the low window. Leaning\nhis arms upon the sill, he breathed in the gracious, welcoming air, and\nlooked out over the ocean to the far horizon, with eyes that were dim\nwith happy gratitude and gracious tears.\n\nYes, this, indeed, was the day of days. The morning of all mornings had\ncome!\n\nLeaning out of the window, he saw the curve of little whitewashed houses\nwhich fringed the bay. The fishers' boats rocked at anchor beyond the\ngranite mole, and far at the end of the village his eyes fell upon\nanother whitewashed cottage. As he saw it once more, he placed his hands\nbefore his face and sent up a deep and fervent petition to the Almighty\nthat he might indeed be worthy of the precious and saintly maiden whom\nhe knew was sleeping there in her sweet innocence.\n\nThis was the morning of mornings!\n\nWhen the sun had risen higher in the heavens, he would walk to the\nlittle granite-walled, slate-roofed church. Mary would meet him there,\nand Joseph and the brethren who had accompanied the Teacher from London\nback to their old beloved home. And there, without pomp or ceremony,\nnoise of publicity, or the rout and stir of a great company, he would\nplace his hand in the hand of the girl he loved, and the old village\npriest would make them one for ever in this world and the next, and\nafterwards give them the Body and Blood of Our Lord.\n\nBehind the cottages the great mountains towered up into the sky. One\npurple peak, still covered at the summit by a white curtain of cloud,\nwas the mountain where Lluellyn Lys, the brother of Mary, lay in sleep.\n\nThomas could see the mountain from the cottage, and as his eyes traveled\nup the green and purple sides to the mysterious cap which hid the top,\nhe remembered all that he had heard about it, and looked upward with an\nadded interest and awe.\n\nFor this was the mountain upon which Joseph had first met the mysterious\nrecluse of the hills who had changed him from what he had been to what\nhe was. This was the modern Sinai, where the Master had communed with\nGod. Here he had gathered together his disciples, had preached to them\nwith the voice which the Holy Spirit had given him, and blessed them,\nand led them to the conquest of London, to the Cross.\n\nYes, it was there, on those seemingly inaccessible heights, that the\ngreat drama of Joseph's life had begun, and it was there that the drama\nof his life--the life of Thomas Ducaine--was to receive its seal and\nsetting.\n\nAfter the marriage and the simple feast, which was to be held in the\nvillage, they were all to climb the heights, and there, up in the\nclouds, Joseph was to bless them and give them, so it was said,\nwhispered, and understood, a special message.\n\nThe bridegroom left the window, knelt down at his bedside, and prayed.\nThis complex, young, modern gentleman--a product of every influence\nwhich makes for subtlety and decadence of brain and body--knelt down and\nsaid his prayers with the simplicity of a child. Despite his vast\nwealth, his upbringing as a young prince of modern England, Thomas\nDucaine had lived a life far more pure and unspotted than almost any of\nhis contemporaries. It was that fact, so patent in his face and manner,\nwhich had first attracted Hampson to him, when the two had met in the\nFrivolity Theatre--how long ago that seemed now!\n\nSo the young man with great possessions said the Lord's Prayer in the\nfresh morning light, and then prayed most earnestly that he might be\nworthy of the gift that God had given him--the love of the sweetest,\npurest, and loveliest lady in the land.\n\nHe prayed that God would be pleased to bless their union at the supreme\nmoment which was now so imminent, and for ever afterwards. His whole\nheart and soul went up to the throne of the Most High in supplication\nfor himself and the girl who was to be his wife. That they might live\ntogether in godly and righteous wedlock; that they might spend their\nlives, and the wealth which had been given them, for the good of others\nand for the welfare of the world; that at the last they might be\ngathered up in the company of the elect, might tread the shining\npavements of Heaven, and see the face of God--these were the prayers of\nthe young man as, like a knight of old, he kept the vigil before the\nSacrament which was to come.\n\nHe went down to the little sleeping cove and bathed in the fresh, clear\nwater of the sea. The right arm rose and fell forcefully, conquering an\nelement, as rejoicing in his strength, rejoicing in the glory of the\nmorning, rejoicing in the sense that God was with him, and that His\nblessing was upon his doings, he swam out into the sea, laughing aloud\nwith holy rapture at what was, what was to come, and what would be.\n\nThen, once more, he re-entered the little cottage, and found the old\nWelsh woman who was his hostess preparing the simple breakfast meal. She\nput the griddle cakes, fresh eggs and milk before him, but he stood,\nlooking down upon the board, and, turning to her, refused to eat.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I will go fasting to my wedding. I will eat no earthly\nfood until I take the Body and Blood of Jesus from the priest's hand.\nIt will be afterwards that the feast comes.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear,\" she answered, in her broken English--\"my dear, that's\nright of ye, though indeed and indeed I should wish you would take\nsomething. But you are right--my dear, go to your love fasting, and you\nwill never fast more.\"\n\nAnother door, opening into the little raftered kitchen, was pushed\naside, and Hampson entered.\n\nHis face was white and pinched. All night long the little man had been\nwrestling with the last remnants of the old Adam which remained within\nhim. From the moment when the gracious lady who was about to become the\nbride of his dear friend had saved him from death, the journalist had\nloved Mary with a dog-like fidelity and adoration. He knew, as he had\nknown at that moment when he had been with her upon the roof of\nEngland's great cathedral, and seen the white cross hanging over London,\nthat she could never, under any possible circumstances, have been his.\n\nHe had known this and realized it always, but upon this last night of\nher maidenhood, when she was about to finally and irrevocably join her\nlife to another's, there had been mad hours of revolt, of natural, human\nrevolt, in his brain.\n\nNow it was all over. He had passed through the Valley of the Shadow, and\nthe morning was come.\n\nFor Mr. Hampson also the morning of all mornings was come, the morning\nwhen he had finally and utterly laid down his own desires at the foot of\nthe Cross, had bowed to the will of the Almighty, and found himself\nfilled with sacred joy in the joy of the two people he loved better than\nany one else in the world, save only his dear Master, Joseph.\n\nIn his hand the little man held a book bound in crimson leather. It was\nthe Revised Version of the New Testament, the latest product of the\nUniversity Press, and a very beautiful specimen of typography and\nbinding.\n\nHe came up to his friend and shook him warmly by the hand. Then he gave\nhim the book.\n\n\"Thomas,\" he said, \"there is nothing that I can give you that you have\nnot got. And, of course, it would be silly of me to give you anything of\nmaterial value, because all those things you have had from your youth\nup. But here is my little offering. It is only the New Testament. I have\nwritten something upon the fly-leaf, and if you will use it constantly\ninstead of any other copy that you may have, it will be a great joy to\nme. Indeed, my dear fellow,\" he continued with a smile, \"I can give you\nnothing more valuable than this.\"\n\nThere was a moment of tense emotion, which was broken, and fortunately\nbroken, by the voice of the old Welsh woman.\n\n\"Now then, my dear,\" she said, \"you are not going to be married this\nmorning, so you will take your breakfast--indeed, you must an' all. The\nbells will be ringing soon, but not for you, and so you must keep your\nbody warm with food.\"\n\nHampson sat down to the simple meal.\n\nThomas Ducaine, carrying the crimson volume in his hand, went out into\nthe sunlight, which was now becoming brilliant and strong. He walked\ndown the silent village street, his feet stirring up the white dust as\nhe went, for it had been long since rain had fallen in the Welsh\nvillage, and strolled to the end of the mole which stretched out into\nthe blue sea. Standing there, he breathed in the marvellous invigorating\nair of the morning, and his whole young, fresh body responded to the\nappeal which nature made.\n\nThis was the morning of mornings!\n\nIn a few short hours--how short, how blissfully short!--Mary would come\nto him.... There were no words in which to clothe his thoughts or in\nwhich to voice his thankfulness and joy. He surveyed his past life\nrapidly and swiftly. It passed before him in a panoramic vista, full of\ncolor, but blurred and unimportant until the wonderful night when, as he\nstood at the door of his house in Piccadilly with Hampson, the tall\nfigure of the Teacher had suddenly appeared out of the night, and had\nentered into his house with blessing and salvation.\n\nFrom that time onwards, the vista of happenings was more detailed, more\ndefinitely clear. He realized that he owed, not only his present\nmaterial felicity--the fact that all his hopes and desires were to be\nconsummated in the little village church before the sun had reached his\nmidday height--but also all the new spiritual awakening, the certainty\nof another life, the hope of eternal blessedness, to one cause, to one\npersonality.\n\nIt was at this moment to Joseph that his thoughts went, to that strange\nforce and power--more force and power, indeed, than that of mere human\nman--which, or who, had changed his life from a dull and hopeless\nroutine--how he realized that now!--to this beatitude of morning light,\nof love to the world, and thankfulness to God.\n\nJoseph was somewhere in the neighborhood, that he knew. Where exactly\nthe Teacher was he could not say. Mary was staying at the little cottage\nwhich he could see as he sent his eyes roving round the semicircle of\nwhite houses which fringed the bay, with her aunt, Lady Susan Wells.\nHampson was to be \"best man.\" Bridesmaids there were none. It was to be\nthe simplest of all ceremonies.\n\nThis prince of modern London was to be married to one of the greatest\nheiresses in England, and a member of one of the oldest families in the\nUnited Kingdom, as Colin might marry Audrey--happily, quietly, and far\nfrom the view of the world.\n\nWhether Joseph himself would be present at the ceremony even Ducaine\nhimself was not quite certain. That after the wedding-feast--the simple\nwedding-feast--they were all to meet Joseph upon the mountain-top, he\nwas well aware. It had been arranged, and he thrilled with anticipation\nof some further and more wonderful revelation of the designs of the\nAlmighty than had ever been vouchsafed to him before. But at the\nchurch--he hoped the Teacher would be present in the little village\nchurch when he and Mary were made one.\n\nHe turned to walk back to the cottage, when down the granite pier he saw\nthat a little flaxen-haired girl was walking. In all the sleeping\nsemicircle of the village Thomas and the little girl seemed alone to be\nawake.\n\nThe blue wood-smoke was rising from the chimneys of the cottages, but as\nyet no one was stirring in the outside air.\n\nThe little girl came tripping and laughing along the granite isthmus\nbetween the waters, and in her hand she held a folded piece of paper.\n\nWith the confiding innocence of childhood, she came straight up to the\ntall young man, and stretching out her tiny arm, looked into his face.\n\n\"You are Thomas, aren't you?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered, \"I am Thomas.\"\n\n\"Then this is for you, Thomas,\" she replied. \"This letter an' all. Dadda\nwas up in the mountain this morning, and William Rees, whateffer, met\ndadda, and gave him this letter, which Mr. Joseph had given him. The\nTeacher is staying up in the little house in the mountain-top where\nLluellyn Lys used to live, and he gave this to William Rees, and William\nRees gave it to dadda, and dadda told me to find you and give it to you,\nThomas.\"\n\nDucaine opened the letter. These were the words\n\n\"I shall not be with you in body when you and Mary are made one. But I\nshall be with you in the spirit, my dear friend. When you have made your\ncommunion and kept the feast come up with the Brethren to the\nmountain-top. There I will bless you. And now, farewell!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully\nbe joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold\nhis peace.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"... I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the\nFather, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.... God the Father,\nGod the Son, God the Holy Ghost, bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord\nmercifully look upon you, and so fill you with all spiritual benediction\nand grace, that ye may so live together in this life, that in the world\nto come ye may have life everlasting.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nArm in arm they went out from the little church, joined together, man\nand wife, for ever and a day--the goodly young man and the girl with the\nface of an angel.\n\nThe fiddlers who were waiting set up a merry tune, as, surrounded by\ntheir humble friends, they walked to the tithe-barn in which the\nmarriage feast was to be.\n\nAs they all stood waiting till the signal to fall-to should be given,\nThomas Ducaine took his wife's hand in his, bowed over it, and kissed it\nin gracious chivalry.\n\nThen he drew her to him and kissed her on the lips.\n\nThe music broke out once more as all the company sat down. It was a\nshort and merry feast, yet not untainted with the Celtic sadness which\nall the Welsh folk feel at happy moments.\n\nOne and all, from bride and bridegroom down to the humblest worker\nthere, knew that there were more stirring and awful things to come; that\na trumpet was sounding on the mountain summit; that they were to climb\nas if into the presence of the Almighty.\n\nOld David Owen, Joseph's trusted lieutenant, lifted on high a great\ngoblet of the pure mountain water, in which he pledged the newly married\npair.\n\n\"I pledge you,\" he said, \"Mary and Thomas, brother and sister in the\nLord, followers of our dear Teacher--I pledge you and call upon all that\nare present here to join me in the toast. May your life together be one\nlong song of happiness! May you, with all the opportunities that God has\ngiven you, always remain true to the trust reposed in you, and follow\nthe banner of Jesus, and once more plunge into the battle for the\nwinning over of Babylon to the Lord!\"\n\nThen the old man paused, and, setting down his glass, placed his hands\nupon the table, and leaning forward, spoke very earnestly and quietly,\nrather to the assembled company than to the married pair.\n\n\"The Master,\" he said, \"is not with us now; but we are going to meet\nhim, and I doubt not we are all to receive another signal proof of the\nLord's favor. To some of us it has been a grief that Joseph was not in\nthe church when the marriage was made of the two we love. But Joseph's\nways are not our ways, and he is led as we are not led. But I would say\nthis to you, dear brethren and sisters. I see around me those who a long\ntime ago--it seems a very long time ago--accompanied the Master from\nthese hills to the great Modern Babylon of our time. There is no one\nhere who does not remember the saint of the mountain, Lluellyn Lys.\nThere is no one here who has not known the circumstances under which our\ndear Teacher first came down to these parts. I mind well that I was one\nof those who carried him up to the mountain, ill and crippled as he was.\nAnd it was through that strange fellowship of Joseph and Lluellyn that\nthe things have come to pass. We all assembled on the mountain-top,\nwhere we are going soon, to bury Lluellyn, and we all heard our Master\nas he took on the mantle of Elijah and called us to rally round the\nstandard of Jesus with him as leader. And now we are all going once more\nto that sacred spot on the top of Pendrydos, and God grant that we may\nhear inspiring and edifying things there. I have just pledged Thomas and\nMary as our brother and our sister in the fight we are waging, and have\nstill to wage, against the sins of the great city so far away from here.\nI pledge them in the name of you all, and as our brother and our sister.\nBut it would ill become me not to say a word upon another part of the\nquestion. We must remember that Thomas, our brother, is also Sir Thomas\nDucaine, a man of great fortune and of high lineage. We must also\nremember that Mary, our sister, was Miss Mary Lys, the sister of\nLluellyn Lys, and the descendant of the old kings of Wales who ruled\nthese parts. Just as they are leaders of our band in Christ, so also are\nthey leaders in the great things of this world, and we owe them a double\nloyalty.\"\n\nHe stopped for a moment, and the old face worked as he thought deeply.\nThen with a wild, free Celtic gesture, he threw out one hand.\n\n\"I can say no more,\" he said; \"but you all know what they are, and who\nthey are. God bless them for our natural leaders and our friends in the\nLord! And now, what think you, shall we not climb the mountain?\"\n\nIt is a steep road from the little village through the pine plantations,\nuntil one comes out upon the mountain-side itself. At that point a green\ngorge stretches up between two spurs of the hill above, a green gorge\ncovered with soft, pneumatic turf cropped like a lawn by the innumerable\nsheep which range over those high pastures. And then on and up, through\nthe pleasant, slanting valley, until the heather-covered plateau is\nreached.\n\nThere one surveys a vast expanse of wild and lonely moor, all purple,\ngreen, and brown. At huge distances great peaks rise up--the peaks of\nthe Snowdon range--and on clear moments the white and glistening cap of\nthe emperor mountain of Wales shines in its distant majesty.\n\nSo they went out into the sunshine, and wound their way through the\nlower slopes of the pines quietly and gravely, without many words, but\nwith the quickening sense of hope and anticipation strong in each rugged\nand faithful heart.\n\nUpon the great green gorge they made their way, a skein of black\nfigures. Before them all Sir Thomas and Lady Ducaine walked together.\nThe bridegroom was dressed in a simple suit of tweed, and with a soft\ngrey hat upon his head. The bride wore an ordinary coat and skirt, like\nany mountaineering lady who has essayed the heights upon a brilliant\nday.\n\nAs they went together, a little in advance of the main company, they\nspoke hardly a word to each other. But their faces were eloquent. In the\nman's eyes there was a thankfulness so supreme and perfect that the\ngirl's filled with tears when she looked at that serene and radiant\nface. With no word said, they knew that they were now each other's for\never and ever. All toil, all trouble, all heart-burnings,\nheart-searchings and sorrow were over. Nothing could ever alter the\ngreat central fact: they were married, they were one, one spirit, one\nbody, one for ever in the sight of earth and Heaven, one in the high\nendeavor of good which was to be the purpose and completion of their\nlives.\n\n\"Are you happy, dear?\" he said to her once, turning his radiant face\nupon her.\n\nShe looked at him for a moment without speaking, and he knew that he had\nnever seen her more beautiful, and perhaps never would see her more\nbeautiful again, than she was at that moment.\n\n\"Oh, my life and my love,\" she answered, \"I did not know that God could\ngive such happiness in this world!\"\n\nAnd as she finished, fifty yards below them upon the mountain-side they\nheard that the Brethren who accompanied them were bursting into sudden\nsong, into spontaneous chords of music, a wedding anthem for them.\n\n    \"O Lord of life and love,\n      Come Thou again to-day;\n    And bring a blessing from above\n      That ne'er shall pass away.\n\n    O bless, as erst of old,\n      The bridegroom and the bride;\n    Bless with the holier stream that flow'd\n      Forth from Thy pierc\u00e8d side.\n\n    Before Thine altar-throne\n      This mercy we implore;\n    As Thou dost knit them, Lord, in one,\n      So bless them evermore.\"\n\nAs the crashing, rolling chords ceased and echoed far away among the\npurple mountains, they found that they had come into the higher lands\nand were upon the last mountain moorland, from which before them the\ngranite peak of their final endeavor rose stark and awful, its head\nstill hidden by the clouds.\n\nAnd then, as they moved towards the steep path among the boulders and\nthe slate terraces, a change came over the spirits of all of them. It\nwas not a chill of depression, but rather a sense of awe and the\nimminence of awful things. The immediate occasion was forgotten. Out of\nthe minds of all of them, save only those of the man and maid who had\nbeen made one upon that happy morning, the remembrance of the marriage\nfeast passed and dissolved.\n\nThey were going up the last part of their journey to meet the Teacher\nwho was up there in the clouds by the tomb of Lluellyn Lys, waiting for\nthem with a message from God.\n\nSilently, and almost without effort, they wound up the huge, steep rock.\n\nThe bracken ceased, the heather was no more, and only the vast granite\nboulders, painted a thousand fantastic colors--ash-green, crimson,\norange, and vivid grey--by the lichens which covered them, reminded them\nthat they were still in a world where herbs grew and the kindly nature\nof the vales yet held a divided sway with the mysterious and untrodden\nplaces of the sky.\n\nNow the light, which had become fainter and more faint as the first\nfleecy heralds of the great cloud-cap into which they were entering\nenveloped them, began to fail utterly. They walked and climbed upwards,\nupwards and for ever up, in a white world of ghostly vapor, until at\nlast, without a sound, and with profound expectation and reverence in\nevery heart, they knew by the change in the contour of the ground that\nthey were near upon the mountain-top, and close to the cairn of stones\nwhere their old leader, Lluellyn Lys, lay in his long sleep, and where\ntheir living guide and Master, Joseph, was awaiting them.\n\nOn the very top of the mountain itself the air was bitter chill, and the\nghostly cloud-wreaths circled round them, while their quiet,\nquestioning voices sounded muffled and forlorn.\n\nThey waited there, not knowing whether to advance or to call to the man\nwhom they had come to seek. At the head of the little group Thomas and\nMary stood hand in hand, looking at each other with questioning eyes and\nwaiting.\n\nThen, through the swaying whiteness, they saw a grey shadow advancing\ntowards them. It grew from a shadow into a blackness, from a blackness\ninto the form of a tall man, and in a second more the Teacher had come\nto them.\n\nNone of them there ever forgot, none of all who were there ever will be\nable to forget, that sudden, silent advent of the man who led them, and\nwhom they loved.\n\nHe came upon them without noise, came upon them through the gloom. But\nas he came he seemed to bring with him a radiance which was not of this\nearth. Many of them said that round the noble head which so poignantly\nresembled and so wonderfully reminded them of the face of the Man of\nSorrows, a yellow nimbus hung, a bright radiance which illuminated that\ngrave countenance, and shone in the gloom like a star of hope.\n\nHe came up to Thomas and kissed him upon the cheek, and, turning to the\nyoung man's wife, he kissed her also in holy greeting. Then, standing a\nlittle way back from them, his face alight with a supreme joy and\nhappiness, he raised his hands and blessed them all.\n\n\"The blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,\nbe among you and remain with you always.\".\n\nThe happy voice rang through the mist with an organ harmony. And it\nseemed as if it was answered and echoed in its lovely music by a faint\nburst of song and melody high up in the air and all around.\n\nIt was as though the angels of Heaven were rejoicing in the mating of a\npure man and maiden.\n\nThen Joseph spoke again.\n\n\"Come, beloved brother and sister, and my dear brethren,\" he said, \"come\nto the tomb of Lluellyn Lys, whose body lies here until the glorious\nResurrection Day, and whose soul is in Paradise, walking with the blest.\nCome and stand round that tomb, and pray for London, which you are sworn\nto conquer for the Lord. Come and pray for Thomas and Mary, that their\nlives may be a song of triumph over evil, and that they may lead you\nworthily until your lives end.\"\n\nWith that he turned, and then all followed him until in a few steps the\nlong pile of granite stones rose up above them, and they stood by the\nburial-place of the dead prophet of Wales. They stood round in silence,\nand then old David Owen stepped out from among them and put his gnarled\nold hand upon the Teacher's arm.\n\n\"Master,\" he said, in a voice which quivered with emotion too deep for\ntears--\"Master, what words are these?\"\n\nJoseph looked upon him with a smile of love.\n\n\"Old friend,\" he answered--\"old tried and trusted friend, old captain in\nthe army of God, you have come here with all of us to listen to my last\nmessage.\"\n\nThere was a stir and movement among them all, and through the dark each\nlooked at each with apprehension and fear in their hearts.\n\nA chill descended upon all of them, that chill which comes to one who\nloves when he fears that the loved one is departing or going upon a long\njourney.\n\nOnce more Mary's hand stole into her husband's, and the cold hands that\nsought each other, and clasped, were trembling.\n\nThey heard the Master's voice above them, for he had mounted to the top\nof the great cairn of piled stones, and stood spectral up there in the\nmist.\n\n\"This, beloved, is what I have to say to you,\" he began. \"It is here and\nupon this spot, that the Spirit of the Lord came to me and led me to the\nwork which we have carried out together. It was here that I and you knew\nthat it was our special mission, ordained of the Almighty and led by the\nHoly Spirit, to bring London to a knowledge of God, and to do what we\ncould, under God's ordinance, to lead it towards the salvation of the\nCross. And it is here that I say what will be my last words to you, for\nthe hand of the Lord is upon me, and I think that I may not be with you\nmore. One and all go back to the great, dark city, and fight for its\nsalvation until you fall in the battle, and are caught up to the joy\nwhich the Redeemer has promised you. One and all devote your lives,\nyour energies, your strength, your every power of body, mind and spirit,\nto that great end. Remember always that to this special war you have\nbeen called and summoned, and that it is your lifework and your\nspiritual duty until the end. With you here to-day are our dear brother\nand sister, Thomas and Mary. It is to them that I delegate my\nleadership. It is to them that the guidance of the Holy Spirit which has\nbeen so vouchsafed to me, will come. They will be your leaders in the\ngreat battle, and it is to them that you must look for help and succor\nin the material fight, as ambassadors and regents in the battle of the\nMost High.\n\n\"And now, farewell! I am going a long way, whither I know not. But it\nhas come to me that this is the concluding moment of my ministry, and I\nbow my head humbly to the Divine Will, and pray that wherever I may be\ntaken I may yet be permitted to labor for the Lord until the glorious\nResurrection Day, when the supreme spirit of love will rule all things\nthroughout all eternity.\n\n\"Love! That is the last word of one who loves you, and one who lives as\nyou all do, in the supreme love of the God of Heaven. Feed the\nfatherless, comfort and succor the oppressed, give up all that you have\nof goods, of energy, of power, to the poor. There is no other word but\nlove. Farewell!\"\n\nThe ringing voice ceased, and they stood as figures of stone, like the\ngreat Druid circle of old heathen tombs which still remains upon the\nmountain slope.\n\nLOVE!\n\nThat was the last word they heard, and then the Master seemed to falter\nfor a moment, seemed to sway and move. There was a sound of a wind\ncoming nearer and nearer, as though it was rushing over the\nmountain-tops from the summit of distant Snowdon itself.\n\nThe sound of a great wind, and then a soft and sudden radiance showed\nthem the Christ-like figure of their Friend with the arms again upraised\nin blessing, with love shining from his eyes. The sound of the wind\ngrowing louder and louder and louder, a rushing, mighty wind, a wind\nwhich enveloped them with wild, tempestuous force, which blew the\nghostly mists away--away and far away, until the sun shone upon the\ntall, long tomb of Lluellyn Lys, and there was no more any man there.\n\nTHE END","title":"The Angel","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":86556}