{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_68722/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_68722","id":"gutenberg_68722","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68722","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian fiction","Journalists -- Fiction","London (England) -- History -- 20th century -- Fiction","Rapture (Christian eschatology) -- Fiction","Second Advent -- Fiction"],"text":"\u201cIN THE\n                                TWINKLING\n                                OF AN EYE\u201d\n\n                             By Sydney Watson\n\n                               _Author of_\n\n                         \u201cThe Mark of the Beast\u201d\n                   \u201cLife\u2019s Lookout\u201d, \u201cWops, the Waif\u201d,\n                                   Etc.\n\n                              Copyright 1918\n\n                           THE BIOLA BOOK ROOM\n                      BIBLE INSTITUTE OF LOS ANGELES\n                        536-558 South Hope Street\n                            Los Angeles, Cal.\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR\u2019S FOREWORD\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nSome years ago, I received from an important Southern town, a letter\nfrom a Ladies\u2019 Temperance Committee, to this effect:\u2014\u201cSir, We, the\nundersigned, are a committee of Ladies, who, for many years, have\npurchased your \u201cStories for the People\u201d in very large numbers, for free\ndistribution and loan; always assuming that you were to be thoroughly\nrelied upon as an upholder of strict Total-abstinence principles. But\nyour latest story has sadly undeceived us, as regards your usefulness as\na worker in the great cause we are pledged to uphold and further. On _pp_\n\u2014\u2014 of your last story, you make your hero, returning from a day\u2019s run\nwith the hounds, come upon a woman lying in a lonely place, who has been\ninjured in a trap accident. You say, speaking of your hero\u2019s prompt help\nto the woman, that \u201ctaking his hunting flask from his pocket, he forced\na few drops of the brandy between the woman\u2019s lips, etc.\u201d Now, sir, we\ncontend that had you had the cause of Total-abstinence fully at heart,\nyou would have made that huntsman\u2019s flask to have contained _water_.\u201d\n\nSo much for the letter. The moral of it lies on the surface. There are\nsome persons who seem unable to see anything from the side of _real,\nactual_ life\u2014that Ladies\u2019 committee could not\u2014whose vision is narrowed\ndown to the tiny slit of their own cramped, cabined life and thought,\nthey have no true _out_look upon life, as a whole.\n\nI preface this foreword with the above incident, because I am perfectly\ncertain that the standpoint from which I have written this book will be\nutterly, absolutely misunderstood by many earnest, loving-hearted people,\nwhose eyes, with my own, have caught the _up_ward gaze \u201cfrom whence we\nlook for the return of the Lord Jesus Christ.\u201d\n\nI would at once acknowledge that the inceptive idea of writing such a\nbook as this was born within me from reading \u201cLong Odds,\u201d that wondrous\nlittle half-penny booklet written by the late General Robertson, I\nbelieve, a booklet that has been so marvellously \u201cowned and blessed.\u201d\n\nFor five or six years the idea for this present volume has been simmering\nand seething in my mind. The first and only real problem I had to face in\nthe matter was that of the _principle_ involved in using the fictional\nform to clothe so sacred a subject (for, to me, the near Return of our\nLord is the _most_ sacred of all subjects.) But the problem of the\n_principle_ was speedily settled, as I remembered how wondrously God had\nowned and blessed \u201cLong Odds,\u201d in which the fictional is the vehicle of\nthe teaching.\n\nThen, too, there are, I know, myriads of people into whose hands \u201cLong\nOdds,\u201d could never, by any chance, fall\u2014for there are multitudes who\nwill not so much as glance at, or touch a tract, while a volume will\neasily win its way among all classes. There is an enormous percentage of\nattendants at our churches and chapels, and many otherwise very earnest\nChristian workers, to whom the whole subject of the Lord\u2019s Second Coming\nis an absolutely unknown realm of Truth\u2014and these I would fain reach and\narouse with the message of this book.\n\nTo those Christians who are looking for the Return of the Lord, to\nwhom the subject is the most tenderly sacred of all subjects, who will\nat first sight condemn the use of the fictional element, the dramatic\ncolour in this book\u2014and many good people will, I am assured\u2014I would\nsay, first, that the book is not written for them, and second, that,\nour Lord Himself, speaking of His own Return, used two very remarkable\nillustrations from life\u2019s strangest dramas. First, \u201c_As it was in the\ndays of Noah, even so shall it be also in the days of the Son of Man.\nThey ate, they drank, they married, they were given in marriage, until\nTHE DAY_, etc.\u201d Now, think what a myriad _dramas_ were being enacted\nwhen the flood came. And had the disciples asked their Lord, privately,\nafter His utterance, to explain more fully what He meant, what thrilling\nstories He _could_, He _doubtless WOULD have sketched_. If any Christian\ncavils at the dramatic in this book, I would refer him or her to Christ\u2019s\nown pointing in the picture of Noah\u2019s time, then bid them fill out, by\nhelp of the feeblest, simplest imagination, the picture of the myriad\ndramas that were being enacted when that flood came, of old time. Then,\nif the objector is honest, and is _capable_ of the least imagination, he\nwill say \u201cI see! and, now that I see this fact, my wonder is _not_ that\nthere is a certain dramatic freedom in this book, but that the writer has\nkept so powerful a restraint upon his pen.\u201d\n\nAgain, Christ said:\u2014\u201c_As it was in the days of LOT_,\u201d etc. Now think over\n_this_ saying of our Lord\u2019s, and remembering what is actually recorded\nin Genesis, of the _vice_ and _crime_ of Sodom, (and how, alas! even\nwhen saved from the doomed city, Lot and his daughters brought away much\nof the vicious, criminal essence of the place with them,) think how the\nReturn of our Lord, presently, will mean the snatching away of many of\nHis own out of scenes infinitely more awful than anything I have used\nherein, or ever hinted at. A book written on the subject here chosen,\nand written in the vein our Lord Himself suggests in the two passages\nreferred to above, could not have been written in any other way\u2014to be\ntrue to life, and to the subject.\n\nShould any reader object to the expository lectures of Major H\u2014\u2014, as\nthe chief vehicle for the doctrinal teaching, I would say that personal\nexperience has proved the style to be infinitely more acceptable to\nreaders than that of the dialogue mode.\n\nI have purposely placed special emphasis on the Jewish side of the\nsubject, since the Jewish question is infinitely more closely enwrapped\nwith the fact of our Lord\u2019s near return, than many speakers and writers\ngive prominence to.\n\n                                                            SYDNEY WATSON.\n\n\u201cTHE FIRE,\u201d VERNHAM DEAN, HUNGERFORD, BERKS.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n    Chapter                                   Page\n\n         I.\u2014TAKEN AT THE FLOOD                  11\n\n        II.\u2014\u201cTHE COURIER\u201d                       20\n\n       III.\u2014FLOTSAM                             26\n\n        IV.\u2014\u201cI ONLY REAPED WHAT I SOWED\u201d        33\n\n         V.\u2014\u201cLILY WORK\u201d                         38\n\n        VI.\u2014AN INTERESTING TALK                 44\n\n       VII.\u2014\u201cCOMING\u201d                            55\n\n      VIII.\u2014REVERIE                             64\n\n        IX.\u2014A THREAT                            75\n\n         X.\u2014IN THE NICK OF TIME                 82\n\n        XI.\u2014\u201cLONG ODDS\u201d                         93\n\n       XII.\u2014THE CENTER OF THE EARTH            101\n\n      XIII.\u2014A DEMON                            110\n\n       XIV.\u2014MAJOR H\u2014\u2014 ON \u201cTHE COMING!\u201d         118\n\n        XV.\u2014THE ADDRESS                        124\n\n       XVI.\u2014HER CABIN COMPANION                136\n\n      XVII.\u2014CASTING A SHOE                     142\n\n     XVIII.\u2014TOLD IN A CAB                      154\n\n       XIX.\u2014TOM HAMMOND REVIEWING              164\n\n      XIXa.\u2014\u201cMY MENTOR\u201d                        176\n\n        XX.\u2014THE PLACARD                        185\n\n       XXI.\u2014WAS HE MAD                         189\n\n      XXII.\u2014FROM THE PROPHET\u2019S CHAMBER         195\n\n     XXIII.\u2014PASSOVER!                          200\n\n      XXIV.\u2014\u201cTHIS SAYING SHALL COME TO PASS\u201d   209\n\n       XXV.\u2014FOILED!                            218\n\n      XXVI.\u2014A CASTAWAY                         221\n\n     XXVII.\u2014A STRICKEN CITY                    226\n\n    XXVIII.\u2014\u201cHALLELUJAH LASS\u201d                  232\n\n      XXIX.\u2014IN ST. PAUL\u2019S                      238\n\n       XXX.\u2014CONCLUSION                         246\n\n\n\n\n\u201cIN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTAKEN AT THE FLOOD.\n\n\nThe man walked aimlessly amid the thronging press. He was moody and\nstern. His eyes showed his disappointment and perplexity. At times, about\nhis mouth there lurked an almost savage expression. As a rule he stood\nand walked erect. Only the day before this incident one of a knot of\nflower-girls in Drury Lane had drawn the attention of her companions to\nhim as he strode briskly along the pavement, and in a rollicking spirit\nhad sung, as he passed her:\n\n    \u201cStiff, starch, straight as a larch,\n    Every inch a soldier;\n    Fond o\u2019 his country, fond o\u2019 his queen,\n    An\u2019 hawfully fond o\u2019 me.\u201d\n\nBut to-day there is nothing of the soldier in the pose or gait of Tom\nHammond.\n\nYet the time and place ought to have held his attention sufficiently to\nhave kept him alert to outward appearance. It was eleven in the forenoon.\nThe place was Piccadilly. He came abreast of Swan and Edgar\u2019s. The\npavement was thronged with women on shopping bent. More than one of them\nshot an admiring glance at him, for he had the face, the head, of a king\namong men. But he had no eyes for these chance admirers.\n\nTom Hammond was thirty years of age, a journalist, and an exceptionally\nclever one, at the time we make his acquaintance. He was a keen, shrewd\nman, was gifted with a foresight and general prescience that were almost\nremarkable, and hence was commonly regarded by his journalistic friends\nas \u201ca coming man.\u201d He had strongly-fixed ideas of what a great daily\npaper should be, but never having seen any attempt that came within\nleagues of his ideal, he longed\u2014lusted would not be too strong a term\u2014for\nthe time and opportunity when, with practically unlimited capital behind\nhim, and with a perfectly free hand to use it, he could issue his ideal\njournal.\n\nThis morning he seems farther from the goal of his hopes than ever. For\ntwo years he had been sub-editor of a London daily that had made for\nitself a great name\u2014of a sort. There were certain reasons which had\nprompted him to hope, to expect, the actual editorship before long. But\nnow his house of cards had suddenly tumbled about his ears.\n\nA change had recently taken place in the composition of the syndicate\nthat financed the journal. There were wheels within wheels, the existence\nof some of which he had never once guessed, and which in their whirling\nhad suddenly produced unexpected results. The editor-in-chief had\nresigned, and the newly elected editor proved to be a man who had, years\nbefore, done him, Tom Hammond, the foulest wrong one journalist can do to\nanother.\n\nUnder the present circumstances there had been no honourable course open\nfor Hammond but to resign. That morning he had found his resignation not\nonly accepted, but he found himself practically dismissed.\n\nEnclosed in the letter of acceptance of his resignation was a cheque\ncovering the term of his notice, together with the intimation that his\nservices would cease from the time of his receipt of the cheque.\n\nHis dejection, at that moment when we meet him, was caused not so much at\nfinding himself out of employment as from the consciousness that the new\neditor-elect had accomplished this move with a view to his degradation in\nthe eyes of his profession\u2014in fact, out of sheer spite.\n\nTo escape the crowd that almost blocked the pavement in front of Swan and\nEdgar\u2019s windows, he turned sharply into the road, and literally ran into\nthe arms of a young man.\n\n\u201cTom Hammond!\u201d\n\n\u201cGeorge Carlyon!\u201d\n\nThe greeting flew simultaneously from the lips of the two men. They\ngripped hands.\n\n\u201cBy all that\u2019s wonderful!\u201d cried Carlyon, still wringing his friend\u2019s\nhand. \u201cDo you know, Tom, I am actually up here in town for one purpose\nonly\u2014to hunt you up.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo hunt me up!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, let\u2019s get out of this crush, old man,\u201d interrupted Carlyon.\n\nThe pair steered their way through the traffic, crossed the Circus,\nstopped for a moment at the beautiful Shaftesbury Fountain, then struck\nacross to the Avenue. In the comparative lull of that walk Carlyon went\non:\n\n\u201cYes, I\u2019ve run up to town this morning to find you out and ask you one\nquestion: Are you so fixed up\u2014excuse the Americanism, old boy. I\u2019ve a\ndashing little girl cousin, from the States, staying with my mother,\nand\u2014well, you know, old fellow, how it is. Man\u2019s an imitative creature,\nand all that, and absorbs dialect quicker than anything else under the\nsun. But what I was going to say was this: are you too fixed up with your\npresent newspaper to forbid your entertaining the thought of a real plum\nin the journalistic market?\u201d\n\nHammond\u2019s customary alert look returned to his face. He was now \u201cevery\ninch a soldier,\u201d as he cried, excitedly, \u201cDon\u2019t keep me in suspense,\nCarlyon; tell me quickly what you mean.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s jump into a gondola, Tom. I can talk better as we ride.\u201d\n\nCarlyon had caught the eye of a cab-driver, and the next moment the two\nfriends were being driven along riverwards.\n\n\u201cSomeone, some Johnnie or other,\u201d began Carlyon, as the two men settled\nthemselves back in the cab, \u201conce called the hansom cab the gondola of\nLondon\u2019s streets\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe caught the quick, impatient movement of Hammond\u2019s face, and with a\nlight laugh went on:\n\n\u201cBut you\u2019re on thorns, old boy, to hear about the journalistic plum.\nWell, here goes. You once met my uncle, Sir Archibald Carlyon?\u201d\n\nHammond nodded.\n\n\u201cHe is crazy to start a daily,\u201d said Carlyon. \u201cIt is no new craze with\nhim; he has been itching to do it for years. And now that gold has been\ndiscovered on that land of his in Western Australia, and he is likely to\nbe a multi-millionaire\u2014the concessions he has already sold have given\nhim a clear million,\u2014now that he is rich beyond all his dreams, he won\u2019t\nwait another day; he will be a newspaper proprietor. It\u2019s a case of that\nkiddie in the bath, Tom, doncher-know, that\u2019s grabbing for the soap\u2014\u2018he\nwon\u2019t be happy till he gets it.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cHe wants to find at once a good journalist, who is also a keen business\nman; one who will take hold of the whole thing. To the right man he will\ngive a perfectly free hand, will interfere with nothing, but be content\nsimply to finance the affair.\u201d\n\nAn almost fierce light was burning in the eyes of the eager, listening\nHammond. A thousand thoughts rioted through his brain, but he uttered no\nword; he would not interrupt his friend.\n\n\u201cI told Nunkums last night, when he was bubbling and boiling over with\nhis project, that I had heard you say it was easier to drop a hundred or\ntwo hundred thousand pounds over the starting of a new paper than perhaps\nover any other venture in the world.\n\n\u201cNunkums just smiled as I spoke, dropped a walnut into his port glass,\nand said quietly, \u2018Then I\u2019ll drop them.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe hooked that walnut out of his wine with the miniature silver\nboathook\u2014he had the thing made for him for the purpose,\u2014devoured the\nwine-saturated nut, then smiled back into my face, as he said: \u2018Yes,\nGeorgie, I am quite prepared to drop my hundred, two hundred, three\nhundred thousand, if needs be, as I did my walnut. But I am equally\nhopeful\u2014if I can secure the right man to edit and manage my paper,\u2014that I\nshall eventually hook out an excellent dividend for my outlay. I want a\nman who not only knows how to do his own work well, as an editor, but one\nwho has the true instinct in choosing his staff.\u2019\n\n\u201cOf course, Tom, I trotted you out before him. He remembered you, of\ncourse, and jumped at the idea of getting you, if you were to be got.\nThe upshot of it is, nothing would satisfy him but that I should come\nup by an early train this morning\u2014early bird catches the worm, and all\nthat kind of business, you know,\u2014and now, in spite of the fact that my\nparticular worm had wriggled and squirmed miles from his usual habitat,\nI\u2019ve caught him. Now, tell me, are you open to treat with Sir Archibald?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and can begin business this very day!\u201d Hammond laughed with the\nabandon of a boy, as he told, in a few sentences, the story of his\ndismissal.\n\n\u201cGood!\u201d Carlyon, in his own exuberant glee, slapped his friend\u2019s knee.\n\n\u201cSir Archibald,\u201d he went on, \u201cwas to come up by the 10:05 from our place,\ndue at Waterloo at 11:49. He\u2019ll be fixed up\u2014\u201cHail Columbia!\u201d again\u2014at the\nhotel by this time. That\u2019s where we are driving to now, and\u2014ah! here we\nare!\u201d\n\nA moment later the two men were mounting the hotel steps. One of the\nservants standing in the vestibule recognized Carlyon, and saluted him.\n\n\u201cMy uncle arrived, Bates?\u201d Carlyon asked.\n\n\u201cYes, sir, and a young lady with him!\u201d\n\nCarlyon turned quickly to Hammond.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s Madge, my American cousin, Tom. I\u2019m awfully glad she has come; I\nshould like you to know her.\u201d\n\nTurning to the servant, he asked, \u201cSame old rooms, Bates?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\nThree steps at a time, laughing and talking all the while, Carlyon,\nignoring the lift, raced up the staircase, followed more slowly by his\nfriend.\n\nHammond never wholly forgot the picture of the sitting-room and\nits occupant, as he entered with Carlyon. The room was a large one,\nexquisitely furnished, and flooded with a warm, mellow light. A small but\ncheerful-looking wood fire burned upon the tiled hearth, the atmosphere\nof the room fragrant with a soft, subtle odour, as though the burning\nwood were scented. From a couch, as the two men entered, a girl rose\nbriskly, and faced them. She made a picture which Tom never forgot. The\nwarm, mellow light that filled the room seemed to clothe her as she stood\nto meet them. \u201cAmerica\u201d was stamped upon her and her dress, upon the\narrangement of her hair, upon the very droop of her figure. She was tall,\nfair, with that exquisite colouring and smoothness of complexion that is\nthe product of an unartificial, hygienic life.\n\nHer face could not be pronounced wholly beautiful, but it was a face that\nwas full of life and charm, her eyes being especially arrestive.\n\n\u201cAwfully glad you came up, Madge!\u201d cried Carlyon. \u201cI\u2019ve run my quarry\ndown, and this is my own particular, Tom Hammond.\u201d\n\nHe made a couple of mockingly-funny elaborate bows, saying: \u201cMiss Madge\nFinisterre, of Duchess County, New York. Mr. Tom Hammond, of\u2014oh, shades\nof Cosmopolitanism!\u2014of everywhere, of London just at present.\u201d\u2014Tom bowed\nto the girl.\u2014She returned his salute, and then held forth her hand in a\nfrank, pleasant way, as she laughingly said, \u201cI have heard so much of\nTom Hammond during the last few days, that I guess you seem like an old\nacquaintance.\u201d\n\nTom shook hands with the maiden, and for a moment or two they chatted as\nfreely and merrily as though they were old acquaintances.\n\nThe voice of Carlyon broke into their chat, asking: \u201cWhere\u2019s Nunkums,\nMadge?\u201d\n\nBefore the girl could reply, the door opened and Sir Archibald entered\nthe room.\n\nOne glance into his face would have been sufficient to have told Tom the\ntype of man he had to deal with, even if he had not seen him before.\nA warm-hearted, unconventional, impulsive man, a perfect gentleman in\nappearance, but a merry, hail-fellow-well-met man in his dealings with\nhis fellows.\n\nWith a bit of mock drama in the gesture, Madge Finisterre flourished her\nhand towards the newcomer, crying,\n\n\u201cSir Archibald, George? Lo, he is here!\u201d She flashed a quick glance to\nthe piano as she added, \u201cIf only I had known you were about to enter,\nuncle, I would have treated you to a few crashing bars of stage-life\nentree-music.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo away with your nonsense!\u201d laughed the old man.\n\n\u201cNonsense, indeed!\u201d the girl laughed as merrily as the old man. Then,\nwith a sudden, swift movement, she crossed to the piano, struck one sharp\nnote upon it, and whispered in well-feigned hoarseness, \u201cSlow music for\nthe three conspirators as they retire to plot the destruction of London\u2019s\npress, and the accumulation of untold millions by their own special\njournalistic production!\u201d\n\nHer fingers moved over the ivory keys, and low, weird, creepy music\nfilled the room with its eerie notes.\n\nSir Archibald and George Carlyon fell in with the girl\u2019s mood, and crept\ndoorwards on tiptoe.\n\n\u201cNumber three,\u201d hissed the girl.\n\nAnd Tom Hammond laughingly followed with the two other men.\n\n\u201cShe is a treat, is Madge!\u201d laughed George Carlyon, as the three men\npassed through the doorway and made for the study-like room of Sir\nArchibald.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\u201cTHE COURIER.\u201d\n\n\nFor two hours the three men held close conference together. At the end\nof that time all the preliminaries of the new venture were settled. Tom\nHammond had explained his long-cherished views of what the ideal daily\npaper should be. Sir Archibald was delighted with the scheme, and, in\nclosing with Hammond, gave him a perfectly free hand.\n\n\u201cYou were on the point of saying something about a striking poster to\nannounce the coming paper, Mr. Hammond,\u201d said the old baronet.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d Tom replied; \u201cI think a great deal may be done by arresting\nthe attention of the people\u2014those in London especially. My idea for\na poster is this: the name of the paper is to be \u2018The Courier.\u2019 Very\nwell, let us have an immense sheet poster, first-class drawing, striking\nbut harmonious colouring, and bold, arrestive title of the paper and\nannouncement of its issue. Following the title, I would have in the\nextreme left a massive sign-post, a prominent arm of the structure\nbearing the legend \u2018To-morrow.\u2019 On the extreme right of the picture I\nwould put another sign-post, the arm of which should bear the words \u2018The\nDay After To-morrow.\u2019 I would have a splendidly-drawn mounted courier,\nthe horse galloping towards the right-hand post, having left \u2018To-morrow\u2019\nwell in the rear.\u201d\n\nThe old baronet exclaimed, \u201cRush the thing on! Flood the hoardings of\nLondon, Edinburgh, Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, Cardiff\u2014all the\nlarge towns, and the smaller ones as well, if you can get hoardings big\nenough. Don\u2019t study the expense, either in the get-up or in the issue of\nthe picture. Don\u2019t let the pill-sellers or cocoa or mustard people beat\nus.\u201d\n\nThe old man sprang to his feet and paced the floor, rubbing his hands,\ncrying continually,\n\n\u201cGood! good! We\u2019ll wake old England up. We\u2019ll\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cToddle into lunch,\u201d interrupted George Carlyon. \u201cThat\u2019s the third\nsummons we\u2019ve had!\u201d\n\nTom Hammond sat next to Madge at luncheon, and was charmed with her easy,\nunconventional manners. But his mind was too full of the new paper, of\nthe great opportunity that had come to him so unexpectedly, to be as\nwholly absorbed with the charm of her personality as he might otherwise\nhave been.\n\nHe did not linger over the luncheon table.\n\n\u201cThere are one or two fellows, Sir Archibald,\u201d he explained, \u201cwhom I\nshould like to secure on my staff at once. I don\u2019t want to lose even an\nhour.\u201d\n\nAs he bade Madge Finisterre good-bye, he expressed the hope that he might\nsee her again soon, and the girl in reply allowed her eyes unconsciously\nto express more than her words.\n\n\u201cShe is the most charming woman I ever met,\u201d he told himself, as he\nfollowed Sir Archibald into his room for the final word for which the\nbaronet had asked. George Carlyon had remained behind with Madge.\n\n\u201cIt was about the first working expenses I wanted to speak to you, Mr.\nHammond,\u201d the baronet began. They were seated in the baronet\u2019s room.\n\n\u201cI will have fifty thousand pounds\u2014or shall we say a hundred\nthousand?\u2014deposited, at once, in your name at\u2014what bank?\u201d\n\n\u201cAny good bank you please, Sir Archibald, so long as the particular\nbranch is fairly central.\u201d\n\n\u201cCapital and Counties\u2014how will that do?\u201d the baronet asked, adding, \u201cI\nalways bank with them myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will do, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow about the Ludgate Hill branch, Mr. Hammond?\u201d\n\n\u201cCould not be better, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cSettled, then, Mr. Hammond!\u201d There were a few more words exchanged\nbetween master and man, and then they parted.\n\nAs Tom Hammond strode along the Embankment towards Waterloo Bridge, his\nheart was the heart of a boy again.\n\n\u201cIs life worth living!\u201d he cried inwardly, answering his own question\nwith the rapturous words: \u201cIn this hour I know nothing else that earth\ncould give me to make life more joyous!\u201d\n\nPeople passing him saw his face radiant with a wondrous joy. It\u2019s rare\nto see peace, even, in faces in our great cities. It is rarer still to\nsee joy\u2019s gleam. He allowed his glance to flash all around him, as he\nmurmured, \u201cI am glad, too, that I am in London. Who dare say that London\nis dull, or grim, or sordid? Who was it that wrote, \u201cNo man curses the\ntown more heartily than I, but after travelling by mountains, plain,\ndesert, forest, and on the deep sea, one comes back to London and finds\nit the most wonderful place of them all!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! It was Roger Pocock, I believe, wrote that sentiment. Roger Pocock,\n\u2018I looks towards yer, sir. Them\u2019s my senterments!\u2019\u201d\n\nHe laughed low and gleefully at his own merry mood. Then as his eyes took\nin the river, the moving panorama of the Embankment, and caught the throb\nof the mighty pulsing of life all about him, Le Gallienne\u2019s lines came to\nhim, and, while he moved onward, he murmured:\n\n    \u201cLondon, whose loveliness is everywhere.\n    London so beautiful at morning light,\n    One half forgets how fair she is at night.\n\n    \u201cLondon as beautiful at set of sun\n    As though her beauty had just begun!\n    London, that mighty sob, that splendid tear,\n    That jewel hanging in the great world\u2019s ear.\n\n    \u201cAh! of your beauty change no single grace,\n    My London with your sad mysterious face.\u201d\n\nHe moved forward in a strange rapture of spirit. He forgot even\n\u201cbeautiful London\u201d; he was momentarily unconscious how he travelled\nor whither. He might have been blind or deaf for all that he now saw\nor heard. The drone of a blind beggar\u2019s voice reading the Scriptures,\nhowever, presently had power to break his trance. He paused a moment\nbefore the man.\n\n\u201cThis same Jesus,\u201d droned the blind man\u2019s voice, \u201cwho is taken up from\nyou into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen Him go.\u201d\n\nHammond dropped a sixpence into the beggar\u2019s box, and moved away, the\nwonder of the words he had just heard read arresting all his previous\nthoughts of his glad success.\n\n\u201cShall so come in like manner!\u201d he murmured. \u201cI wonder what it means?\u201d\n\nThe next instant a woman\u2019s pitiful voice filled his ear, crying:\n\n\u201cFor the love of God, good sir, give me the price of a piece of bread.\u201d\n\nHe turned sharply towards her. Her face was haggard and hunger-filled;\nher eyes were wells of despair. He slipped his finger and thumb into the\nfob of his coat. The first coin that came to his touch was a shilling. He\ndropped it into the emaciated, outstretched palm.\n\nThe wretched creature gazed at the coin, then at him. Her lips moved, but\nno words came from them. Her eyes filled with a rush of tears. He passed\non. But the incident moved him strangely.\n\n\u201cIf Christ,\u201d he mused, \u201cever comes back to earth again, surely, surely He\nwill deliver it from such want and misery as that!\u201d\n\nHe paused and looked back at the woman. Her face was buried in her hands.\nHer form was shaking with sobs. Curiosity tempted him to go back.\n\nAs he came abreast of her, a child, a girl about nine, barefooted and\ntired-looking, was saying to the woman, \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter, missis?\nWouldn\u2019t that swell giv\u2019 yer nuffink w\u2019en yer arst \u2019im?\u201d\n\n\u201cGive me nothing?\u201d The woman glanced down at the child. \u201cWhy, he is\nkinder than Gawd, fur he give me a shilling!\u201d\n\nAt this Tom Hammond hurried away.\n\n\u201cKinder than God!\u201d he murmured. \u201cOh, God, that we should have it in our\npower to buy such happiness for so small a sum!\u201d\n\n\u201cKinder than God\u201d he repeated to himself. He was now mounting the granite\nsteps to the bridge. \u201cOf course, one knows better; yet how difficult of\nproof it would become, if one had to explain it to that poor soul, and\nto the thousands like her in this great city!\u201d\n\nFor the first time since leaving Sir Archibald his own joy was forgotten.\nThe awful problem of London\u2019s destitution had supplanted London\u2019s beauty\nin his thoughts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nFLOTSAM.\n\n\n\u201cOnly nine hours!\u201d\n\nTom Hammond laughed amusedly at his own murmured thought. It seemed\nridiculous almost to try to believe that only nine hours before he had\nbeen a discharged journalist, while now he was at the head of what he\nknew would be the greatest journalistic venture London\u2014yea, the world\u2014had\never seen.\n\nHe had just dined. He felt that he wanted some kind of movement, some\ndistraction, to relieve the tension. He was in that frame of mind when\nsome kind of adventure was necessary, although he did not tell himself\nthis, being hardly conscious of his own need. He knew that the haunts of\nhis fellows\u2014club, theatre, music-hall\u2014would only serve to irritate him.\nSome instinct turned his feet riverwards.\n\nIt was now a quarter past seven o\u2019clock. Night had fallen upon London.\nTom Hammond crossed the great Holborn thoroughfare. The heavier traffic\nof London\u2019s commercial life had almost ceased. The omnibuses going west\nwere filled with theatregoers, and other pleasure-seekers. Hansoms\nflitted swiftly either way, each holding a man and a woman in evening\ndress.\n\nHaving crossed the roadway, he paused for a moment at the corner of\nChancery Lane, and let his eye take in all the scene. And again Le\nGallienne came to his mind, and he softly murmured:\n\n    \u201cAh! London! London! our delight,\n    Great flower that opens but at night,\n    Great city of the midnight sun,\n    Whose day begins when day is done.\n\n    \u201cLamp after lamp against the sky\n    Opens a sudden beaming eye,\n    Leaping alight on every hand,\n    The iron lilies of the Strand,\n\n    \u201cLike dragonflies the hansoms hover\n    With jewelled eyes to catch the lover;\n    The streets are full of lights and loves,\n    Soft gowns and flutter of soiled doves.\u201d\n\nHe turned with a faint sigh, and began to pass on down Chancery Lane.\n\n\u201cOh, London!\u201d he mused, \u201cthy surface may be wonderful and beautiful; but\nbelow\u2014what are you below the surface?\u201d\n\n    \u201cThe human moths about the light\n    Dash and cling in dazed delight,\n    And burn and laugh, the world and wife,\n    For this is London, this is life!\n\n    \u201cUpon thy petals butterflies,\n    But at thy root, some say, there lies\n    A world of weeping, trodden things,\n    Poor worms that have not eyes or wings.\u201d\n\nHe moved onwards in the direction of the Law Courts. Presently he neared\nthe Waterloo Bridge approach. He had, all unrealized by himself, since he\nleft the restaurant where he had dined, been walking towards the river.\nA moment or two after, and he was leaning on the parapet of the bridge,\nlooking down into the dark waters. Sluggish, oil-like in appearance, as\nseen in the dull gleam of the lamps, the river moved seawards. A sudden\nlonging to get out upon those dark waters came to him.\n\n\u201cIf only\u2014\u2014\u201d he mused. Then, turning briskly, he came face to face with a\nman in a blue guernsey, who was crossing the bridge. It was the very man\nof his half-uttered thought. \u201cIf only I could run up against Bob Carter!\u201d\nhe had almost said.\n\n\u201cGood evening, Mister Ham\u2019nd.\u201d The man in the guernsey saluted with a\nthick, tar-stained forefinger as he recognized Tom Hammond.\n\n\u201cGood evening, Carter.\u201d Hammond laughed as he added, \u201cI was just wishing\nI could meet you, for I felt I should like to get out on the river.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m jes\u2019 going as fur as Lambeff, sir. Ef yer likes ter go wif me,\nyou\u2019ll do me proud, sir; yer know that, I knows!\u201d\n\nA few minutes later the two men sat in Carter\u2019s boat. Hammond, in the\nstern, was steering. The man Carter, on the first thwart, manipulated the\noars. Hammond had known the man about a year. He had done him a kindness\nthat the waterman had never forgotten.\n\n\u201cAw\u2019d go to ther world\u2019s end fur yer, sir,\u201d he had often said since.\n\nThe man was ordinarily a silent companion, and to-night after a few\nexchanged words between the pair, he was as silent as usual.\n\nDown the wide, turgid river the boat, propelled by Carter\u2019s two oars,\nshot jerkily, the rise and fall of the glow in the rower\u2019s pipe-bowl\nsynchronizing with the lift and dip of the oars.\n\nHammond enjoyed the silence. There was a weirdness about this night\ntrip on the river that fitted in with his mood. His brain had been\nconsiderably overwrought that day. The quiet row was beginning to soothe\nthe overwrought nerves. Where he sat in the stern of the boat, he\nfaced the clock-tower at Westminster. The gleaming windows of the great\nembankment hotels lay behind him. A myriad electric lights were on his\nright hand. The gloom and darkness of the unlighted wharfage on the\nSurrey side were on his left.\n\nOnly by a waterway miracle Carter cleared an anchored barge that, defying\nthe laws of the river, carried no warning light.\n\n\u201cDrat \u2019em!\u201d growled the man Carter. \u201cThey oughter do a stretch in\nPortlan\u2019 or Dartmoor fur breakin\u2019 the lor. There\u2019s many a \u2019onest waterman\nwhose boat\u2019s foun\u2019 bottom-up, or smashed to smithereens, an\u2019 whose body\u2019s\nfoun\u2019, or isn\u2019t, jes, as the case may be, all becos\u2019 they lazy houn\u2019s is\ntoo \u2019ide-boun\u2019 to light a lamp, cuss \u2019em!\u201d\n\nHis growl died away in his throat. The glowing fire of his pipe rose and\nfell quicker than ever, telling of a fierce anger burning within him.\n\n\u201cSsh!\u201d he hissed. Hammond saw that his face was turned shorewards. He\nheaved aft towards Hammond, and whispered, \u201cKin yer see that woman, sir?\u201d\nHe jerked his chin in the direction of a line of moored barges.\n\nHammond had turned his head, and could plainly discern the form of a\nwoman standing on the edge of the outer barge of the cluster.\n\nThe men in the boat sat still, but watchful.\n\n\u201cDo she mean sooerside, sir?\u201d whispered Carter. \u201cLooks like it, sir.\nDon\u2019t make a soun\u2019.\u201d\n\nEven as he spoke the woman leaped into the air. There was a low scream, a\nsplash, a leap of foam flashed dully for one instant, then all was still\nagain.\n\nThe waterman plied his oars furiously. Hammond steered for the spot where\nthat foam had splashed. An instant later the boat was over the place\nwhere the body had disappeared. Carter lay on his oars, and peered into\nthe darkness on one side. Hammond strained his eye on the other side.\n\nWith startling suddenness a hand darted upwards within a foot of where\nHammond sat in the stern of the boat. In the same instant the woman\u2019s\nhead appeared. Hammond reached out excitedly, and caught the back hair\nof the woman, twisting his fingers securely into the knot of hair at the\nback of her head.\n\nCarter shipped his oars, and in two minutes the wretched woman was safe\nin the boat. Her drenched face gleamed white where they laid her. A low\nwhimpering sob broke from her.\n\n\u201cTurn \u2019er over on her face a little, sir, while I makes the boat fast fur\na minute or two, sir,\u201d jerked out the waterman.\n\n\u201cPore soul ov \u2019er!\u201d he went on, knotting his painter to a bolt in the\nstern of a barge. \u201cShe \u2019ave took in a bellyful of Thames water, an\u2019 it\nain\u2019t filtered no sort, that\u2019s sartin!\u201d\n\nHammond had by this time turned the woman over on her face.\n\nCarter came aft bearing a water-beaker in his hands.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll lift her legs, sir,\u201d he said, \u201cand you put this beaker under her,\njes\u2019 above her knees; that\u2019ll \u2019elp her a bit.\u201d\n\nThat was done, and almost instantly the woman was very sick.\n\n\u201cIn my locker there, sir, I\u2019ve got a drop o\u2019 whisky. I keeps it there fur\n\u2019mergencies like this,\u201d said Carter.\n\nHammond moved to allow the man to reach a seat-locker in the stern. The\nnext minute, while Hammond supported the woman, the waterman poured a\nfew drops of the spirit down her throat.\n\nShe coughed and sputtered, but the draught restored her. She began to cry\nin a low, whimpering way.\n\n\u201cWe must get her ashore, Carter,\u201d cried Hammond. \u201cI\u2019ll take the oars,\nand, as you know the riverside better than I do, just steer into the\nnearest landing-place you know.\u201d\n\nCarter leaped to the bows, cast off the painter, and hurried aft again.\n\n\u201cJes\u2019 \u2019long yere, sir, there\u2019s an old landin\u2019 as\u2019ll jes\u2019 serve us. Wots\nyer fink ter do wi\u2019 the pore soul, sir\u2014not \u2019and her over to the perlice?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, neither the police nor workhouse, Carter. I wish I could see her\nface, and see what kind of woman she is.\u201d\n\nBy way of reply, Carter struck a match, and lit a small bull\u2019s-eye\nlantern. When the wick had caught light, he flashed it on the face of the\nwoman.\n\nHer eyes were closed, her face was deadly pale. Her hair was dishevelled.\nBut in the one flashing glance Hammond took at her, he recognized her.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s Mrs. Joyce!\u201d he muttered half-aloud and in amazed tones.\n\n\u201cKnow \u2019er, sir?\u201d asked the waterman.\n\n\u201cA little!\u201d he replied. \u201cHer husband is a reporter\u2014a drinking scamp.\u201d\n\nCarter shut off the light of the bull\u2019s-eye, at that moment.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re jes\u2019 \u2019ere now, sur, so\u2019s best not to be callin\u2019 \u2019tention like wi\u2019\na light.\u201d\n\nHe steered the boat into a kind of narrow alley-way between two crazy old\nwharves.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHammond, rightly gauging the kindly heart of his landlady, had brought\nthe drenched woman in a cab to his lodgings. She was still in a\nhalf-fainting condition when he carried her into the house. In two\nsentences he explained the situation to the landlady, whose natural\nkindness and loyalty to her lodger made her willing to aid his purpose of\nrescue.\n\n\u201cI will carry her up to the bath-room,\u201d he said. \u201cLet your girl get a cup\nof milk heated as hot as can be sipped, while you bath this poor soul\nquickly in very hot water. Then let her be got to bed, and have some\ngood, nourishing soup ready. She\u2019ll probably sleep after that. And in the\nmorning\u2014well, the events of the morning will take their own shape.\u201d\n\nHalf-an-hour later, as Hammond took a cup of coffee, he had the\nsatisfaction of knowing that the woman he had saved was in bed, and doing\nwell.\n\n\u201cPoor soul!\u201d he mused. \u201cThat brute of a husband has probably driven her\nto this attempt on her life. I wonder what her history was before she\nmarried, for I remember how it struck me, that day when I saw her at the\noffice, that she was evidently a woman of some culture.\u201d\n\nIt was nearly ten now. He had no desire to go out again. It wanted two\nhours quite to his usual bed-time. But a strange sense of drowsiness\nbegan to steal over him, and he went off to his bed.\n\n\u201cWhat a day this has been!\u201d he muttered, as he laid his head on the\npillow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\u201cI ONLY REAPED WHAT I SOWED.\u201d\n\n\nHammond awaited the woman whom he had saved from drowning.\n\n\u201cShe has slept fairly well,\u201d the landlady told him, \u201cand I made her eat a\ngood breakfast that I carried up to her myself, Mr. Hammond!\u201d\n\nNow he waited to speak to her. A moment or two more, and the landlady\nushered her into the room, then slipped away.\n\n\u201cHow can I ever repay you, sir!\u201d cried the woman, seizing the hand that\nHammond held out to her.\n\nFor a moment or two her emotion was too great for further speech. Hammond\nled her to an armchair and seated her. She sobbed convulsively for a\nmoment or two. He allowed her to sob. Presently tears came. The paroxysm\npassed, the tears relieved her, and she lifted her sad, beautiful eyes to\nhis face.\n\n\u201cYou know\u2014oh, yes, you must know, Mr. Hammond\u2014(I recognized you last\nnight)\u2014how I came to be in the water. I tried to take my life. I was\nmiserable, despairing! God forgive me.\u201d\n\nHis strong eyes were full of a rare tenderness, as he said, \u201cBut, Mrs.\nJoyce, you surely know that death is not the end of all existence. I am\nnot what would be called a religious man, but every fibre of my inward\nbeing tells me that death does not end all.\u201d\n\nHe saw a shiver pass over her, as she hoarsely replied, \u201cI, too, realize\nthat this morning, Mr. Hammond. But last night the madness of an\noverwhelming despair was upon me. My life had been a literal hell for\nyears, until yesterday I could bear it no longer. I was famished with\nhunger, sick with despair, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe sighed wearily. \u201cPerhaps,\u201d she went on, \u201cif you knew all I have\nborne, you would not wonder at my rash, mad act.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me your story, Mrs. Joyce,\u201d he said, gently. \u201cIt may relieve your\novercharged heart, and, anyhow, I will be your friend, as far as I can.\u201d\n\nShe sighed again. This time there was a note of relief, rather than\nweariness, in the sigh.\n\n\u201cMy father was a well-to-do farmer,\u201d she began, \u201cin North Hants. I was\nthe only child, and I fear I was spoiled. I received the best education\npossible, and loved my studies for their own sake, for culture, in all\nits forms, had a strong attraction for me. I had been engaged to a young\nyeoman farmer for nearly a year. I had known him all my life, and we had\nbeen sweethearts even as children. Then there came suddenly into my life\nthat man Joyce, for whom I sacrificed everything. God only knows how he\ncontrived to exercise such an awful fascination over me as to make me\nleave everyone, everything, and marry him.\u201d\n\nFor a moment she paused, and shuddered. Her voice, when she spoke, again,\nwas hollow, and full of tears.\n\n\u201cI killed my father by eloping on the very eve of my arranged marriage\nwith Ronald Ferris. Ronald left the country as soon as he could wind up\nhis affairs. And I\u2014well, here in this mighty Babylon, I have ever since\nbeen reaping some of the sorrow I had sown. Not a penny of my father\u2019s\nmoney ever reached me, and that brute Joyce only married me for what he\nexpected to get with me. He has done his best to make earth a hell for\nme, and I, in my mad blindness, last night, almost exchanged earth\u2019s\nfleeting hell for God\u2019s eternal hell.\u201d\n\nA look of shame filled her eyes as she lifted them to Hammond.\n\n\u201cWhat you reminded me of just now, Mr. Hammond, I, deep down in my soul,\nknow only too well\u2014that death does not end all. My father was a true\nChristian, and a lay preacher. I have travelled with him hundreds of\ntimes to his preaching appointments, playing the harmonium and singing\nsolos for him in his services. More than once the sense of God\u2019s claim\nupon me was so great as almost to compel my yielding my heart and life.\nWould to God I had! But my pride, my ambitions, strangled my good\ndesires, and, as I said just now, I broke my father\u2019s heart. I killed\nhim, and ruined all my own life, though I have no pity for myself. Then\nLondon life, my husband\u2019s brutality, my own misery, all helped to drive\neven the memory of God from my mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet,\u201d broke in Hammond, \u201cthe Christian religion teaches that sorrow and\nsuffering ought to drive the possessor of the faith nearer to God.\u201d\n\nThere was a hint of apology in his tones as he went on:\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t misunderstand me, Mrs. Joyce; I only speak from hearsay. I have\nheard parsons preach it, but I know nothing experimentally about these\nthings myself.\u201d\n\nShe smiled in a slow, sad way, and, catching her breath in a kind of\nquick sob, said: \u201cNeither have I ever known anything experimentally of\nthese truths. I drifted into the outward form of a correct, religious,\nlife. I learned to like the brightness of our chapel services, the fun of\nchoir practice, the merry company, the adulation heaped upon me for my\nsolo-singing. Then there were the tea-meetings, the service of song, and\na multitude of other mild excitements which went to brighten the monotony\nof a rural existence. But of God, of Christ, of the Divine life, I fear I\nknew nothing.\u201d\n\nHammond smiled inwardly as he listened to this strange confession. The\nphraseology was new to him.\n\n\u201cIt is the shibboleth of Nonconformity, I suppose,\u201d he told himself. \u201cAnd\nI suppose each section of religious society has its own outward form of\nthings in which it trusts, thinking, caring, nothing for the great Divine\nverities that should be the true religious life.\u201d\n\nHe did not utter his thoughts aloud, but asked with some apparent\nirrelevance, \u201cWhere is your husband, Mrs. Joyce?\u201d\n\n\u201cOff on one of his drinking bouts, or maybe, locked up for drunkenness; I\ncannot say.\u201d\n\nHer lifted eyes were full of beseeching, as she went on, \u201cYou will keep\nsecret, Mr. Hammond, all this wild, mad episode of my life. If only I\ncould know that the sad, mad, bad story was locked up between God and\nyou, your kind landlady and myself, I think I could go back and face my\nmisery better.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not fear, Mrs. Joyce,\u201d he replied quickly. \u201cThe affair shall be as\nthough it had never been. I can answer for Mrs. Belcher, my landlady; and\nfor myself I give you my word, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cGod reward you, sir!\u201d she sobbed. \u201cAlready you have given me clearer\nviews of Him than any minister or any sermon ever did.\u201d\n\nA few moments later Mrs. Joyce rose to leave. He pressed three sovereigns\ninto her hand, and in spite of her tearful protestations made her take\nthe money.\n\n\u201cIf you are ever in desperate need, come to me, or write me, Mrs. Joyce,\nand I will help you, if I can. Meanwhile, be assured that the little I\nhave done for you I would have done for any stranger, for, after all, the\nhuman race is linked by a strange, a mighty family tie. Good-bye.\u201d\n\nShe wrung the hand he gave her, then with a sudden, impulsive movement\nshe lifted it sharply to her lips and kissed it with a tearful\npassionateness.\n\nThe next moment she was gone. His hand was wet with her tears.\n\n\u201cPoor soul!\u201d he muttered.\n\nPassing across the room to the window, he glanced out. She was moving\ndown the street. Her handkerchief was pressed to her eyes.\n\n\u201cHow strange,\u201d he murmured, as he turned from the window, \u201care\nthese chance encounters in life! Like ships at sea, we sight, hail,\nexchange some kind of greeting, then pass on. Do we, after all, I\nwonder, unconsciously influence each other in these apparently trivial\nlife-encounters? If so, how? Take this episode now, for instance. Will my\nencounter with that poor soul have any effect on my life, or on hers? If\nso, what?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nLILY WORK.\n\n\nThe room we now enter is a large one. It is close under the roof of a\nhouse in Finsbury. The man there at work pauses for a moment.\n\nThe room is a workshop. The man is a Jew\u2014but what a Jew! He might have\nposed to an artist as a model, a type of the proudest Jewish monarch over\nIsrael. Face, form, stature\u2014not even Saul or David or Solomon could have\nexcelled him.\n\nThe room held the finished workmanship of his hands for the three past\nyears. And now, as he paused in his labour\u2014a labour of love\u2014for a moment,\nand drew his tall form erect, and lifted his face to the window above\nhim, a light that was almost holy filled his eyes.\n\n\u201cGod of our fathers,\u201d he murmured, \u201cGod of the Holy Tent and of the\nTemple, instruct me; teach my fingers to do this great work.\u201d\n\nHe let his hands fall with an almost sacred touch upon the chapiter he\nhad been chasing. He wist not that his face shone with an unearthly\nlight, as for a moment his lips moved in prayer. Then quietly reaching a\nthick old book from a shelf, he opened it at one of its earlier pages,\nand read aloud.\n\n\u201cAnd the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, See, I have called by name\nBezaleel, the son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah: and I\nhave filled him with the Spirit of God, in wisdom, and in understanding,\nand in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, to devise cunning\nworks, to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in cutting\nof stones, to set them, and in carving of timber, to work in all kinds\nof workmanship. And I, behold, I have given with him Aholiab, the son\nof Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan: and in the hearts of all that are\nwise-hearted I have put wisdom, that they may make all that I have\ncommanded thee: the tabernacle of the congregation, and the ark of the\ntestimony, and the mercy-seat that is thereupon, and all the furniture of\nthe tabernacle.\u201d\n\nThe light\u2014it was now almost a fire\u2014deepened in his eyes. A rare, a rich,\ncadence filled his voice as he read the holy words. His fingers moved to\nthe middle of the book. It easily opened at a certain place, as though it\nhad been often used at that page. Again he read aloud:\n\n\u201cAnd the chapiters that were upon, the top of the pillars were of lily\nwork, ... and the chapiters upon the two pillars had pomegranates also\nabove, ... and the pomegranates were two hundred, in rows round about\nupon the other chapiter, ... and he set up the pillars in the porch of\nthe temple: and he set up the right pillar, and called the name thereof\nJachin (\u201dHe shall establish\u201c); and he set up the left pillar, and called\nthe name thereof Boaz (\u201dIn it is strength\u201c). And on the top of the\npillars was lily work: so was the work of the pillars finished.\u201d\n\nWith a reverent touch the man closed the book, replaced it on the shelf,\nthen, lifting his eyes again to where the cold, clear light streamed down\nthrough the great skylight in the ceiling, he murmured:\n\n\u201cHow long, O Lord, shall Thy people be cast off and trodden down, and\ntheir land, Thy land, be held by the accursed races?\u201d\n\nFor a moment a look of pain swept into his face. Then, as he became\nconscious of the touch of his lowered hand upon the chapiter, his eyes\ntravelled downwards to the exquisite \u201clily work,\u201d and the light of a new\nhope swept the pain off his face.\n\n\u201cThe very fact that the time has come,\u201d he murmured, \u201cfor us to be\npreparing for the next temple, is a token from Jehovah that the day of\nMessiah draweth nigh.\u201d\n\nHis eyes lingered a moment on the rare and beautiful workmanship, then\nhe took up a chasing tool and continued his toil; yet, while he worked\nhe kept up a running recitative of Ezekiel\u2019s description of the great\ntemple\u2014for he knew by heart all the chapters of that prophet.\n\nAs he presently repeated the words: \u201cAnd the Prince in the midst of them,\nwhen they go in, shall go in; and when they go forth, shall go forth,\u201d he\nlifted his eyes with a deep holy rapture shining in all his face.\n\nHe closed his recitative with a ringing note of triumph in his voice, as\nhe cried, \u201cIt shall be round about eighteen thousand cubits: and the name\nof the city from that day shall be Jehovah-Chammah\u201d\u2014\u201cThe Lord is there.\u201d\n\nThere was a moment of absolute silence. The graver was still, the hand\nthat held it might have been stone, so rigid did it become. The lips of\nAbraham Cohen moved, but no other sound came from him save the words\n\u201cJehovah was there,\u201d and he prayed aloud.\n\nIn the midst of his rapt devotion the door of the workroom opened. The\nslight sound aroused the dreamer. He turned his face in the direction of\nthe door, and his eyes flashed with pleasure.\n\n\u201cAh, Zillah!\u201d he cried in greeting. The girl he addressed closed the\ndoor, thus shutting out the odour of frying fish. She crossed the floor\nquickly, with a certain eagerness, and came towards him with a rare\ngrace. She was singularly beautiful, of an Eastern style of beauty. Her\ncomplexion was of the Spanish olive tone, and her melting eyes were of\nthat same Spanish type. Her hair\u2014a wondrous crown of it\u2014was blue-black.\nShe had a certain plumpness of form that seemed to add rather than take\nfrom her general beauty. She was sister to his wife.\n\n\u201cSupper will be ready in five minutes, Abraham,\u201d she began. \u201cWill you be\nready for it?\u201d\n\nHe smiled down into her great black eyes. He was never very keen on his\nmeals. He ate to live only; he did not live to eat. She knew that, and\nhad long since learned that his labour of love was as meat and drink to\nhim. Her eyes glided past him and rested on his work.\n\n\u201cIt is very beautiful, Abraham!\u201d she cried. There was reverence as well\nas rapture and admiration in her voice and glance.\n\n\u201cIt cannot be too beautiful, Zillah,\u201d he returned.\n\nHer eyes were on his work. His were on her face. He read in it the\nrapturous admiration of his workmanship.\n\n\u201cWhen will the Messiah come?\u201d she sighed.\n\n\u201cSoon, I believe!\u201d he returned. \u201cJehovah rested in His creative work\nafter six days\u2019 labour. A thousand years with Him are as one day. May it\nnot well be, then, that as there have passed nearly six thousand years\n(each thousand years, representing one day) that He will presently rest\nin His finished work for His people, through the coming of the Messiah,\nas He did at the creation?\u201d\n\nHe laid his tool aside, and turned to the beautiful girl, as he continued:\n\n\u201cBesides, do not our sacred books say that when three springs have been\ndiscovered on Mount Zion, Messiah will come? Two springs have lately\nbeen discovered by the excavators in Jerusalem, and our people out there\nexcitedly watch the work of these men, expecting soon the discovery of\nthe third spring.\u201d\n\nHer eager, parted lips told how she hung upon his speech. He smiled down\ngratefully into her great black lustrous eyes, though a sigh escaped him\nas he said:\n\n\u201cAh! I wish Leah would only show a little of the interest in all this,\nthat you do, Zillah!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must not blame Leah too much, Abraham,\u201d the girl answered quickly.\n\u201cShe has her children, you know. Mother always said that if ever Leah had\nbabies, that there would be nothing else in the world for her except the\nbabies. Besides, Abraham, no two of us are constituted alike, and Leah is\nwhat the Gentiles about here call happy-go-lucky. But, Abraham, tell me\nmore of what you think of Messiah\u2019s coming. Leah\u2019s five minutes will be\nsure to run to a quarter of an hour.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do think Messiah is coming soon,\u201d cried the young fellow excitedly.\n\u201cWho knows? Perhaps when the Passover comes again, and we set His chair,\nand open the door for Him to enter, that He will suddenly come. Did I\ntell you, Zillah, about the date discovery at Safed, in Palestine?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, what is it?\u201d The girl\u2019s face glowed with a strange earnestness, her\nvoice rang with it.\n\n\u201cSafed,\u201d he went on, quickly, \u201cis a little town to the north-west of\nGalilee. Our Rabbi there has discovered from our sacred books, that\nMessiah\u2019s coming, and the overthrow of our enemies, will be in the\nyear five thousand six hundred and sixty-six\u2014nineteen hundred and six\naccording to the Gentile reckoning. Our Father Moses, and all the\nchildren of Israel sang, when Jehovah delivered them from the Red\nSea:\u2014\u2018Yea, by the force of Thy swelling waves hast Thou demolished those\nwho arose against Thee. Thou didst discharge Thy wrath, it devoured\nthem up like stubble.\u2019 Our Rabbis\u2014and even the Christian Gentile\nteachers\u2014agree that the deliverance of our race from Pharaoh, and the\ndestruction of his hosts, picture our race\u2019s future as well as its past.\nAnd the numerical value of \u2018Thou shalt overthrow\u2019 (part of those two\nsong-stanzas I have just repeated) gives the date I have mentioned as the\ntime of our deliverance from all our troubles, when Messiah shall come.\u201d\n\nThere was a sudden clatter of little feet outside at that moment, and a\nboy and a girl burst into the room.\n\n\u201cWhat do you think, father?\u201d cried the boy, with the excited\nimpulsiveness of a child bursting with news. \u201cA boy\u2014he\u2019s a Gentile, of\ncourse\u2014whom I know says that Messiah has come, that the cursed Nazarene\nwas He, and that\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will go to supper, Reuben, and you and I will talk about that another\ntime.\u201d Cohen spoke quietly to his boy. He had his own reasons for\nchecking the subject at that time.\n\nHis aunt caught the boy\u2019s hand, and danced with him out of the room.\nRachel, the little girl, a wondrous miniature of Zillah, clung to her\nfather, and the whole family trooped off to wash their hands before the\nmeal.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nAN INTERESTING TALK.\n\n\n\u201cThe Courier\u201d was now an established fact. As a newspaper it was as much\na revelation to the journalists as to the general public. London had\ntaken to it from the first moment of its issue. The provinces, instead\nof following their usual course of waiting to see what London did, took\ntheir own initiative, and adopted the new paper at once. Every instinct\nabout the ideal paper, felt and nursed during the waiting years by Tom\nHammond, had been true instinct. He had always felt them to be true; now\nhe realized the fact. He was a proud man, a happy man.\n\nOne curious feature of the new journal had attracted much attention,\neven before the publication of the first issue. In his \u201cForeword,\u201d as he\nhad termed it, in a full page announcement that appeared in three of the\nleading London dailies, Tom Hammond had said:\n\n\u201cAn important feature of the \u2018Courier\u2019 will be the item or items (as the\ncase may be) which will be found each day under the heading, \u2018From the\nProphet\u2019s Chamber.\u2019 A greater man than the editor of \u2018The Courier\u2019 once\nsaid, \u2018Every editor of a newspaper ought to have a strain of the seer in\nhis composition. He ought to have the gift of prophecy up to a certain\npoint. He ought to be so thoroughly conversant with the history of his\nown and every other nation that when history is on the point of repeating\nitself\u2014as it has a habit of doing,\u2014he may not be caught altogether\nnapping.\u2019 It is the unexpected that happens, we say.\n\n\u201cTrue, but there are many of the so-called happenings of the unexpected\nthat to the spirit of the seer will have been expected and more than\nhalf-prophesied.\n\n\u201cNow, while we propose that the whole tone of \u2018The Courier\u2019 shall show\nthe spirit of the seer in a measure, we shall endeavour to make the\nparticular column to which we are now alluding essentially new. In it\nwe shall deal with every class of subject likely to prove mentally\narrestive to our readers, and shall make it prophetic up to the limits\nof our capacities as man, citizen and editor. How far the possession of\nthe quality of the seer will be found in us we must leave the future\u2014and\nour readers\u2014to decide. But we certainly anticipate that \u2018The Prophet\u2019s\nChamber\u2019 column will be one of the most popular features of what we shall\naim to make the most popular paper of the day.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond was no believer in luck. He had left nothing to chance in the\nproduction of his paper. There was not a department left to subordinates\nwhich he did not personally assure himself was being carried out on the\nbest, the safest, lines. For weeks he literally lived on the spot where\nhis great paper was to be produced, taking his meals and sleeping at an\nhotel close by the huge building that housed \u201cThe Courier.\u201d\n\nHe saw very little of Sir Archibald Carlyon during these weeks, and\nnothing at all of George, or the fair American, Madge Finisterre. George\nwas in Scotland; Madge on the Continent.\n\nHis thoughts often turned to the American girl, and his eye brightened\nand his pulse quickened whenever he heard of her from Sir Archibald.\n\nOnce he had been permitted by Sir Archibald to read a gossipy letter sent\nby her to the old baronet. He laughed over a quotation in that letter.\n\n\u201cI am not like the Chicago girl,\u201d she wrote, \u201cof whom our Will Carleton\nwrites, who, telling all about her tour in \u2018Urop,\u2019 says,\n\n    \u201cOld Scotland? Yes, all in our power,\n      We did there to be through;\n    We stopped in Glasgow one whole hour,\n      Then straight to \u2018Edinborough.\u2019\n    At Abbotsford we made a stay\n      Of half-an-hour precisely.\n    (The ruins all along the way\n      Were ruined very nicely.)\n\n    \u201cWe \u2018did\u2019 a mountain in the rain,\n      And left the others undone,\n    Then took the \u2018Flying Scotchman\u2019 train,\n      And came by night to London.\n    Long tunnels somewhere on the line\n      Made sound and darkness deeper;\n    No; English scenery is not fine\n      Viewed from a Pullman sleeper.\n\n    \u201cOh, Paris! Paris! Paris! \u2019Tis\n      No wonder, dear, that you go\n    So far into ecstasies\n      About that Victor Hugo!\n    He paints the city, high and low,\n      With faithful pen and ready.\n    (I think, my dear, I ought to know,\n      We drove there two hours steady.\u201d)\n\n\u201cI feel,\u201d Madge had written, \u201cthat one wants a life-time to \u2018do\u2019 the\nContinent.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond\u2019s thoughts often flew to the gay girl. This morning, having\nseen a review of Carleton\u2019s latest book of ballads, he had been reminded\nof her, and he laid down his pen a moment, as he gave himself up to a\nlittle reverie about her. An announcement aroused him.\n\n\u201cMiss Finisterre and Mr. Carlyon, sir.\u201d\n\nHe smiled to himself. \u201cTalk of angels, etc.,\u201d he mused.\n\nThe next moment he was greeting his callers. Madge Finisterre looked, in\nTom Hammond\u2019s eyes, more radiant now than ever.\n\n\u201cFancy, Mr. Hammond,\u201d she laughed, when the greetings were over, \u201cGeorge\nand I met at Dover! He had come south to see a friend off from Dover, and\nwas on the pier when I landed from the Calais boat. We\u2019ve been down to\nthat dear old country house, but I wanted to do some shopping, and to see\nhow you looked as editor-in-chief and general boss of the biggest daily\npaper in the world.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond\u2019s eyes flashed with a pleased light at her confession, which\nimplied that she had thought of him, even as he had thought of her. He\nnoted, too, how an extra shade of colour warmed the clear skin of her\ncheeks as she made her confession.\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d she went on, \u201call the world declares that \u2018The Courier\u2019 is the\npremier paper of the world, and everyone who is anyone\u2014in the know of\nthings, I mean\u2014knows that Mr. Tom Hammond is \u2018The Courier.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe talk, for a few minutes, was \u201cshop.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t go in for a column of comic,\u201d Madge presently said. \u201cIf you\ndid, I could give you an item, we, George and I, heard in the train as we\nran up to town. There were two of your English parsons in our carriage,\ntalking in that high-faluting note that always reminds me of your\nhigh-pitched church service,\u2014\u2018dearly-beloved-brethren\u2019 note.\n\n\u201cWell, the two parsons were telling yarns one against the\nother\u2014chestnuts were cheap, I assure you,\u2014and one of them told a story\nhe tacked on to General Booth\u2014the last time I heard it, it was told of\nSpurgeon. He said that the General was going down Whitechapel, and,\nseeing the people pouring into a show, and wondering what there was so\npowerfully attractive to the masses in these shows, he determined to go\ninto this particular one. It was advertised as a \u2018Museum of Biblical\nCuriosities.\u2019 Just as he got in, the showman was exhibiting a very rusty\nold sword, and saying,\n\n\u201c\u2018Now, yere\u2019s a werry hinterestin\u2019 hobject. This is the sword wot Balaam\n\u2019it \u2019is hass wiv, \u2019cos \u2019ee wouldn\u2019t go.\u2019 Booth speaks up, and says,\n\n\u201c\u2018Hold hard there, my friend; you\u2019re getting a little mixed. Balaam\nhadn\u2019t got a sword. He said, \u201cWould that I had a sword.\u201d\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018That\u2019s all right, guv\u2019nor,\u2019 cried the showman; \u2018this is the sword \u2019ee\nwished \u2019ee \u2019ad.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe girl\u2019s mimicry of the coster-showman\u2019s speech was inimitable, and the\ntwo men laughed as much at her telling as at the tale itself.\n\nGeorge Carlyon got up from his seat, saying, \u201cBut I say, you two, do you\nmind if I leave you to amuse each other for an hour? I want, very much,\nto run down to the club. I\u2019ll come back for you, Madge, or meet you\nsomewhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cBless the boy!\u201d she laughed. \u201cDo you think I was reared in an incubator,\nor in your Mayfair? Haven\u2019t you learned that, given a Yankee girl\u2019s got\ndollars under her boots to wheel on, it ain\u2019t much fuss for her to skate\nthrough this old country of yours, nor yet through Europe, come to that,\neven though she has no more languages under her tongue than good plain\nDuchess county American. I told the \u2018boys\u2019 that before I left home.\u201d\n\nGeorge Carlyon laughed, as, accepting his release, he nodded to the pair\nand left the room.\n\nIt was a strangely new experience to Tom Hammond, to be left alone with a\nbeautiful and charming woman like Madge Finisterre.\n\nThe picture she made, as she moved round the room looking at the framed\npaintings, all gifts from his artist friends, came to him as a kind of\nrevelation. When he had met her that day in the Embankment hotel, he\nhad been charmed with her beauty and her frank, open, unconventionality\nof manner. He had thought of her many times since\u2014only that very day, a\nmoment before her arrival,\u2014thought of her as men think of a picture or a\npoem which has given them delight. But now he found her appealing to him.\n\nShe was a woman, a beautiful, attractive woman. She suggested sudden\nthoughts of how a woman, loved, and returning that love, might affect his\nlife, his happiness.\n\nHer physical grace and beauty, the exquisite fit of her costume, the\nperfect harmony of it\u2014all this struck him now. But the woman in her\nappealed strongest to him.\n\n\u201cAwfully good, this sketch of street arabs!\u201d she turned to say, as she\nstood before a clever bit of black-and-white drawing.\n\nAn end of a lace scarf she was wearing caught in a nail in the wall. He\nsprang forward to release the scarf. It was not readily done, for his\nfingers became infected with a strange nervousness. Once their hands met,\ntheir fingers almost interlocked. A curious little thrill went through\nhim. He lifted his eyes involuntarily, and met her glance. A warm colour\nshot swiftly into her face. And he was conscious at the same moment that\nhis own cheeks burned.\n\n\u201cI guess I\u2019ll sit down before I do any more mischief,\u201d she laughed.\n\nWoman-like, she was quicker to get at ease than he was.\n\n\u201cDo you know, Mr. Hammond,\u201d she went on, as she seated herself in a\nrevolving armchair, \u201cI just wanted very much to see how you were fixed up\nhere, and how you looked now that you are a big man.\u201d\n\nHe made a deprecatory little gesture.\n\n\u201cOh, but you are a really great man,\u201d she went on. \u201cI have heard some big\npeople talk of you, and say\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe leaned back, and smiled merrily at him, as she went on,\n\n\u201cWell, I guess if there\u2019s only a shadow of truth in the old saying, then\nyour ears must often have burned.\u201d\n\nMadge Finisterre gave the chair in which she was sitting a half twist.\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you British people go in for rockers?\u201d she asked. \u201cI simply\ncan\u2019t enjoy your English homes to the full, for want of a good rocker,\nwherever I go.\u201d\n\nAn indiarubber bulb lay close to his hand. He pressed it without her\nnoting the movement. A clerk suddenly appeared. Hammond looked across at\nMadge, with an \u201cExcuse me, Miss Finisterre, one moment.\u201d\n\nHe drew a sheet of notepaper towards him. The paper was headed with \u201cThe\nCourier\u201d title and address.\n\n\u201cSend me, at once, unpacked and ready for immediate use, the best\nAmerican drawing-room rocking-chair you have in stock. Send invoice, cash\nwill follow,\u201d etc.\n\nThat was what he wrote. He enclosed it in an envelope, then on a separate\nslip of paper he wrote:\u2014\n\n\u201cTake a cab, there and back, to Wallis\u2019s, Holborn Circus. See how smart\nyou can be; bring the chair, ordered, back with you.\u201d\n\nFrom his purse he took a four-shilling piece, and gave the young fellow\nthe note, the slip of instructions, and the coin.\n\nAs the attendant left the room, he turned again to Madge, who, utterly\nunsuspicious of the errand on which he had sent his employee, was amusing\nherself with a copy of \u201cPunch.\u201d She looked up from the paper as the door\nclosed.\n\n\u201cI like \u2018The Courier\u2019 immensely, Mr. Hammond,\u201d she cried. There was a\nrare warmth of admiration in her tone.\n\n\u201cThank you, Miss Finisterre!\u201d His eyes said more than his words, \u201cwhat do\nyou specially like in it?\u201d he asked; \u201cor is your liking of a more general\ncharacter?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do like it from a general standpoint,\u201d she replied; \u201cI think it the\nbest paper in the world. But especially do I like your own particular\ncolumn, \u2018From a Prophet\u2019s Chamber.\u2019 But, Mr. Hammond, about the Jew\u2014you\nare going in strong for him, aren\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom the ordinary newspaper point, yes,\u201d he said. \u201cI cannot quite\nrecall how my mind was first switched on to the subject, but I do know\nthis\u2014that the more I study the past history of the race, and the future\npredictions concerning it, the more amazed I am, how, past, present, and\nfuture, the Jews, as a nation, are interwoven with everything political,\nmusical, artistic\u2014everything, in fact. And I wonder, equally, that we\njournalists, as a whole\u2014I speak, of course, as far as I know my kinsmen\nin letters\u2014should have thought and written so little about them.\n\n\u201cTake their ubiquitousness, Miss Finisterre,\u201d went on Hammond. \u201cThere\ndoes not appear to have been an empire in the past that has not had its\ncolony of Jews. By which I do not mean a Ghetto, simply, a herding of\nsordid-living, illiterate Hebrews, but a study colony of men and women,\nwho, by sheer force of intellect, of brain power, have obtained and\nmaintained the highest positions, the greatest influence.\n\n\u201cWhy, in China, even, isolated, conservative China, before Christ was\nborn in Bethlehem, the Jews were a prosperous, ubiquitous people,\nworshipping the one God, Jehovah, amidst all the foulness of Chinese\nidolatries.\u201d\n\nMadge Finisterre listened with rapt interest. The man before her, fired\nwith his subject, talked marvellously. A good listener helps to make a\ngood talker, and Tom Hammond talked well.\n\n\u201cIt is not simply that they practically hold the wealth of the world in\ntheir hands, that they are the world\u2019s bankers, but they are dominating\nour press, our politics.\u201d\n\nWith glowing picture of words he poured out a flood of wondrous fact and\nillustration, winding up presently with:\n\n\u201cThen you cannot kill the Jew, you cannot wipe him out. Persecution has\nhad the effect of stunting his growth, so that the average Britisher is\nseveral inches taller than the average Jew. But the life of the Hebrew\nis indestructible. Sometimes of late I have asked myself this question,\nas I have reviewed the history of the dealings of so-called Christianity\nwith the Semitic race\u2014Has Christianity been afraid of the Jews, or why\nhas she sought to stamp them out?\u201d\n\nThe pair had been so engrossed with their talk that they had lost all\ncount of time. A half-hour had slipped by since Tom Hammond had sent his\nmessenger to Wallis\u2019s. The young fellow suddenly appeared at the door.\n\n\u201cGot it, Charlie?\u201d\n\nWithout waiting for a reply to his question, the editor bounded from his\nseat and passed outside. Thirty seconds later the door opened again, and\nhe appeared, bearing a splendid rocker in his arms.\n\nBefore she fully realized the wonder of the whole thing, Madge found\nherself seated in the rocking-chair. Swaying backwards and forwards, and\nblushing and smiling, she cried:\n\n\u201cYou are a wonderful man, Mr. Hammond!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou said you could never fully enjoy our English houses for want of a\nrocker. Now, however \u2018angelic\u2019 your visits to this room may be, you shall\nhave one inducement to slip in\u2014a rocker.\u201d\n\nShe was beginning her thanks again, when he interrupted with:\n\n\u201cBut, excuse me, Miss Finisterre, what about some tea? Shall we go out\nand get some, or would you prefer that I should order it in here?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, here, by all means! I can have tea at a restaurant every day of\nmy life, but with a real London lion\u2014a real live editor\u2014and in his own\nspecial den. Why, it may never fall to my lot again. Oh, here, by all\nmeans!\u201d she cried, excitedly.\n\nHe squeezed that rubber bulb again. To the lad Charlie, who appeared, he\ngave a written order to a neighbouring restaurant. Twenty minutes later\nthe tea was in the room.\n\nMadge officiated with the teapot. Hammond watched her every movement.\nA truly pretty, graceful girl never looks handsomer to a man than when\npresiding at a tea-table. Tom Hammond thought Madge had never looked more\ncharming. The meal was a very enjoyable one, and as she poured out his\nsecond cup he paid her a pretty compliment, adding:\n\n\u201cTo see you thus, Miss Finisterre, makes one think what fools men are not\nto\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe paused abruptly. She flashed a quick glance of enquiry at him.\n\n\u201cNot to what, Mr. Hammond?\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder,\u201d he replied, \u201cif I ought to say what I left unsaid?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know why I should not,\u201d he laughed. \u201cI was going to say that, to\nhave a bright, beautiful, graceful woman like Madge Finisterre pouring\nout tea for him, makes a man think what a fool he is not to marry.\u201d\n\nHis tone and glance were alike full of meaning. She could not mistake\nhim. Her colour heightened visibly. Her eyes drooped before his ardent\ngaze. The situation became tense and full of portent.\n\nThe opening of the door at that instant changed everything. George\nCarlyon had returned. At the same moment a wire was brought to Hammond,\ntogether with a sheaf of letters\u2014the afternoon mail.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\u201cCOMING.\u201d\n\n\nGeorge Carlyon\u2019s entrance, the arrival of the afternoon mail, and the\ntelegram gave Madge Finisterre an opportunity to escape. George Carlyon\nwas anxious to leave, and Madge rose at once to accompany him.\n\nTom Hammond did not press them to stay, for he, too, felt awkward. The\nfriends shook hands. The eyes of Madge and Hammond met for one instant.\nEach face flushed under the power of the other\u2019s glance.\n\nWhen the door had closed upon them, Tom went back to his old place by the\ntable, his eyes involuntarily sweeping the whole apartment. He smiled as\nhe suddenly realized how empty the room now seemed. His glance rested\nupon the tea-tray, and he rang for the lad Charlie.\n\n\u201cClear all this away, Charlie, please,\u201d he began. Then with a smile he\nsaid, \u201cYou will find a capital cup of tea in that pot.\u201d\n\nThe boy grinned. At his first glance at the tray he had mentally decided\nthat he would be able to have a rare feast. A couple of minutes, and the\nboy had gone.\n\nTom Hammond gathered up his mail, and was about to drop into his ordinary\nseat, when he remembered the rocker. With a smile at Madge\u2019s occupancy of\nthe chair, he dropped into it.\n\nFor fully five minutes he sat still thinking, reviewing all the\ncircumstances of the peculiar situation upon which the unexpected coming\nof George Carlyon had broken. He asked himself whether he was really in\nlove with the fair Madge, and whether he would have proposed to her if\nher cousin had not so unexpectedly turned up? He made no definite reply\nto his own questioning, but turned to his mail.\n\nThe telegram he had opened at once on its receipt. He turned now to the\nletters. He had opened all but two. The last one was addressed in a\nwoman\u2019s hand-writing. Breaking the envelope, he took out the letter, and\nturned first to the signature on the fourth page.\n\n\u201cMillicent Joyce,\u201d he read. \u201cMillicent Joyce?\u201d he repeated. Unconsciously\nhe had laid his emphasis on the \u201cMillicent,\u201d and he forgot the \u201cJoyce.\u201d\n\nBut suddenly it came to him that the letter was from Mrs. Joyce, the\nwoman whom he had helped to save from drowning on the night of that\nmemorable day when the great chance of his life had come to him.\n\n\u201cPoor soul!\u201d he muttered. \u201cI wonder what she has written about?\u201d The next\ninstant he was reading the letter.\n\nTom Hammond cast his eyes over the letter which Mrs. Joyce had sent him,\nand which ran thus:\n\n    \u201cDear Sir,\n\n    \u201cI gave you my word that if ever I was in special trouble or\n    need I would write, or come to you for help.\n\n    \u201cI did not promise you, however, that if any great joy or\n    blessing should come to me, that I would let you know. I don\u2019t\n    think I believed any joy could ever possibly come into my life\n    again. But joy and wondrous gladness have come into my life,\n    and in an altogether unexpected way.\n\n    \u201cYou will remember how I said to you in parting, that morning,\n    that your strong, cheery words had given me a clearer view of\n    God than any sermon I had ever listened to. That impression\n    deepened rather than diminished when I got home. My husband,\n    I heard, had been sent to Wandsworth Prison for a month, for\n    assaulting the police when drunk.\n\n    \u201cAnd in this month of quiet from his brutalities, the great joy\n    of my life came to me. I began to attend religious services\n    from the very first night after my return home. I went to\n    church, chapel, mission hall, and Salvation Army.\n\n    \u201cOne night I went to the hall of the Mission for Railway Men. A\n    lady was speaking that night, and God found me, and saved me.\n    All that I had ever heard from my dear father\u2019s lips, when he\n    preached about conversion, came back to me, and that night I\n    passed from death to life.\n\n    \u201cThe subject of the address was \u2018The Coming of the Lord.\u2019 I\n    listened in amazement as the lady speaker declared that, for\n    this age, God evidently meant that this truth of the near\n    coming of Christ should have almost, if not quite, the most\n    prominent place in all public preaching.\n\n    \u201cI was startled to hear her say that there were nearly three\n    hundred direct references to the second coming of Christ in the\n    Gospels and Epistles, and that there were thus more than double\n    the number of references to that subject than even to that of\n    salvation through the blood of the Atonement.\n\n    \u201cWith her Bible in her hand, she turned readily to a score of\n    passages as illustrations of her statement, and all through her\n    address she never made a statement without backing it up by\n    Scripture. One thing she said laid a tremendous grip upon me,\n    and led me to an immediate decision for Christ: she said, \u2018How\n    often is the possibility of sudden death advanced by a preacher\n    as an incentive to unsaved souls to yield to God!\n\n    \u201c\u2018But how poor an argument is that compared with the near\n    approach of Christ! Sudden death might come to one person in\n    a congregation before twenty-four hours, but in a sense, that\n    would touch that one person only. But if Christ came to take up\n    His people from the earth\u2014the dead in Christ from their graves,\n    the living from their occupations, etc.,\u2014this would affect\n    every unsaved soul in every part of the country, of the world,\n    even.\u2019\u201d\n\nTom Hammond paused in his reading.\n\n\u201cWhat on earth can she mean?\u201d he murmured, under his breath. Then he went\non from the letter:\n\n    \u201cI gave myself up to God there and then, Mr. Hammond, and am\n    seeking now to live so that, should Christ come, even before I\n    finish this letter, I may be ready to be caught up to meet Him\n    in the air.\u201d\n\nHammond paused again.\n\n\u201cWhat can the woman mean?\u201d he murmured again. With the letter held in\nhis hand, his eyes became fixed upon space, his mind was searching for\nsomething that he had recently heard or read bearing on this strange\ntopic. The clue seemed almost within grasp, yet for awhile he could not\nrecall it.\n\nSuddenly it came to him. A volume of poems had been sent to him for\nreview, amid the excitement of the second day\u2019s issue of \u201cThe Courier.\u201d\nHe had glanced rapidly through the book, had written a brief line for his\npaper, acknowledging the receipt of the book, and promising to refer to\nit fully at some later date.\n\n\u201cThat book,\u201d he mused, \u201chad something in it about\u2014about\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe got up from the rocker, took his place at his table, then wheeled\nabout slowly in his revolving chair, and began searching his book-case.\nIn an instant his keen eye picked out the volume he sought. He wheeled\nround again to his table, the book in his hand.\n\nHe turned a moment to the title-page. \u201cEzekiel and Other Poems,\u201d he read.\n\u201cBy B. M.\u201d\n\n\u201cB. M.,\u201d he mused, \u201cWhom have I heard writes under those initials? Ah! I\nremember! Mrs. Miller.\u2014Barbara Miller.\u201d\n\nHe ran the gilt-edged leaves rapidly through his practised fingers, his\nquick eye catching enough of the running pages to satisfy him. Suddenly\nhe paused in his search. His eye had lit upon what he sought, and he\nbegan to read:\n\n                               \u201cCOMING.\u201d\n\n    \u201cAt even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the\n    morning.\u201d\n\n    \u201cIt may be in the evening,\n      When the work of the day is done,\n    And you have time to sit in the twilight\n      And watch the sinking sun,\n    While the long, bright day dies slowly\n      Over the sea,\n    And the hour grows quiet and holy\n      With thoughts of Me;\n    While you hear the village children\n      Passing along the street,\n    Among those thronging footsteps\n      May come the sound of My feet.\n\n    \u201cTherefore I tell you, \u2018Watch,\u2019\n      By the light of the evening star,\n    When the room is growing dusky\n      As the clouds afar;\n    Let the door be on the latch\n      In your home,\n    For it may be through the gloaming\n      I will come.\u201d\n\nHe paused in his reading for a moment, for, like a voice near by, the\ndrone of that blind beggar\u2019s reading came to him, as he had heard it that\nday on the embankment.\n\n\u201cThis same Jesus shall so come in like manner as ye have seen Him go.\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember,\u201d he mused, \u201chow that sentence arrested me. My mind was\nutterly pre-occupied a moment before, but that wondrous sentence pierced\nmy pre-occupation.\u201d\n\nHis eyes dropped to the poem again, and he read on:\u2014\n\n    \u201cIt may be when midnight\n      Is heavy on the land,\n    And the black waves lying dumbly\n      Along the sand;\n    When the moonless night draws close,\n    And the lights are out in the house;\n    When the fires burn low and red,\n    And the watch is ticking loudly\n      Beside the bed.\n    Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch,\n    Still your heart must wake and watch\n    In the dark room;\n    For it may be that at midnight\n      I will come.\u201d\n\nHe read rapidly, but more eagerly interested each moment. The next\nsection he scarcely paused upon, but the fourth he lingered over, and\nthen read it the second time:\n\n    \u201cIt may be in the morning,\n      When the sun is bright and strong,\n    And the dew is glittering sharply\n      Over the little lawn;\n    When the waves are laughing loudly\n      Along the shore,\n    And the little birds sing sweetly\n      About the door;\n    With the long day\u2019s work before you,\n      You rise up with the sun,\n    And the neighbours come in to talk a little\n      Of all that must be done:\n    But remember that I may be the next\n      To come in at the door,\n    To call you from your busy work\n      For evermore.\n    As you work, your heart must watch,\n    For the door is on the latch\n      In your room,\n    And it may be in the morning\n      I will come.\u201d\n\nHe read on with a strange, breathless interest the next two pages of\npoem, then, with a sudden sense of hush upon him, he went carefully over\nthe concluding lines:\n\n    \u201cSo I am watching quietly\n      Every day.\n    Whenever the sun shines brightly,\n      I rise and say,\n    \u2018Surely it is the shining of His face!\u2019\n    And look unto the gates of His high place\n      Beyond the sea,\n    For I know He is coming shortly\n      To summon me.\n    And when a shadow falls across the window\n      Of my room,\n    Where I am working my appointed task,\n    I lift my head to watch the door, and ask\n      If He is come;\n    And the angel answers sweetly\n      In my home:\n    \u2018Only a few more shadows,\n      And He will come.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe face of Tom Hammond, as he laid down the book, was full of a strange,\nnew perplexity. \u201cStrange, very!\u201d he muttered. \u201cDo you know Joyce, Mr.\nSimpson?\u201d Hammond asked a reporter. \u201cHe used to be on the staff of the\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Daily Tatler,\u2019\u201d cried the man. \u201cKnew him well years ago, sir. Old\nschool-fellows, in fact. Got wrong with the drink, sir. Gone to the\ndogs, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you seen or heard anything of him this last month, Mr. Simpson?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir. He\u2019s grown worse than ever. Magistrate at Bow Street,\ncommitting him for three days, said fellow ought to be put in Broadmoor.\nPity his poor wife, sir. Perfect lady, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know Mrs. Joyce, then?\u201d Hammond queried.\n\nThe reporter sighed, \u201cRather, sir! Wished a thousand times I could have\nhad her for a wife, and he\u2019d had mine. I should have had a happier life.\nAnd he\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThe man laughed grimly. \u201cWell, he\u2019d have had a tartar!\u201d\n\nHammond had heard something about the shrewish wife Simpson had\nunfortunately married. But he had learned all he wanted to know, so\ndismissed the poor, ill-married fellow.\n\n\u201cI think I must call upon Mrs. Joyce, and learn more about this strange\nmatter of the coming Christ,\u201d he told himself.\n\nHe copied the address from the head of the letter into his pocket-book,\nthen turned to the last letter of his mail.\n\nThis proved to be a comparatively short letter, but, to Hammond, a\ndeeply-interesting one. It was signed \u201cAbraham Cohen,\u201d and the writer\nexplained that he was a Jew, who had taken the \u201cCourier\u201d from the very\nfirst number, and had not only become profoundly interested in the recent\nutterances of the editor in the \u201cProphet\u2019s Chamber\u201d column, but he had,\nfor some days, been impressed with the desire to write to the \u201cProphet.\u201d\n\n    \u201cWill you pardon me, sir,\u201d the letter went on, \u201cif I say that\n    it would be to your immense advantage, now that your mind has\n    become aroused to the facts and history of our race, if you\n    would get in touch with some really well-read, intelligent\n    Jew who knows our people well, knows their history, past,\n    present, and future, as far as the latter can be known from our\n    Scriptures and sacred books. Should you care to fall in with my\n    suggestion, I should be pleased to supply you with the names\n    and addresses of several good and clever men of our people.\n\n                           \u201cYours obediently,\n\n                                                    \u201cABRAHAM COHEN.\u201d\n\nAs he folded the letter slowly, Hammond told himself that there was\nsomething in the letter that drew him towards the writer.\n\n\u201cI will hunt him up, for it is evident that he is as enthusiastic over\nhis people\u2019s history as he is intelligent. I will see what to-morrow\nbrings. Now to work.\u201d\n\nHe put Cohen\u2019s letter in his pocket, and turned to the hundred and one\neditorial claims upon his time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nREVERIE.\n\n\nIn spite of the time of the year, the evening was almost as warm as\none in June. Madge Finisterre was on one of the wide hotel balconies\noverlooking the Embankment. She had dined with her cousin, George\nCarlyon, but instead of going out of town that evening with him\u2014he had\npressed her strongly to go,\u2014she had elected to spend a quiet evening\nalone.\n\nLondon\u2019s roar, subdued a little, it is true, at that hour, rose all\naround her where she sat. The cup of coffee she had brought to her,\ncooled where it stood upon the little table at her elbow. She had\nforgotten it.\n\nHer mind was engrossed with the memory of the latter part\u2014the interrupted\npart\u2014of that interview with Tom Hammond that afternoon.\n\n\u201cWhat would have happened if George Carlyon had not turned up at that\nmoment?\u201d she mused,\u2014\u201cif we had been left alone and undisturbed another\nfive minutes?\u201d\n\nHer cheeks burned as she whispered softly to herself:\n\n\u201cI believe Tom Hammond would have proposed to me. If he had, what should\nI have replied?\u201d\n\nA far-away look crept into her eyes. She was back again in the little\ntown where she had been \u201creared,\u201d as she herself would have said. We\nhave many villages in England larger, more populous, more busy, than her\n\u201ctown,\u201d but, then, the people of her land talk \u201cbig.\u201d\n\nBefore her mind\u2019s eye there rose the picture of her father\u2019s store, a\nhuge, rambling concern built of wood, with a frontage of a hundred feet,\nand a colonnade of turned wooden pillars that supported a verandah that\nran the whole length.\n\nEvery item of the interior of the store came vividly before her mind,\nthe very odour of the place\u2014a curious blend of groceries, drapery, rope,\noils and colours, tobacco,\u2014seemed suddenly to fill her nostrils. And in\nthat instant, though she scarcely realized it, the first real touch of\nnostalgia came to her.\n\nShe saw the postal section of the store littered with men, all smoking,\nmost of them yarning. One after another dropped in, and, with a \u201cHowdy,\nall?\u201d dropped upon a coil of white cotton rope, or lounged against a\ncounter or cask. \u201cDollars\u201d and \u201ccents\u201d floated in speech all around,\nwhile the men waited for the mail. It was late that night.\n\nA week before she had sailed for England, she had gone down to the store,\nas she had gone every evening about mail-time, and, entering at the end\nnearest her home, she had come upon the scene that had now so suddenly\nrisen before her mind\u2019s eye. She had traversed all the narrow alley-way\nbetween the stored-up supplies, from which the various departments were\nstocked, singing as she went:\n\n    \u201cThe world is circumbendibus,\n      We\u2019re all going round;\n    We have a try to fly the sky,\n      But still we\u2019re on the ground.\n    We every one go round the sun,\n      We\u2019re moving night and day;\n    And milkmen all go round the run\n      Upon their Milky Way.\u201d\n\n    \u201cWe\u2019re all circumbendibus,\n      Wherever we may be.\n    We\u2019re all circumbendibus,\n      On land or on sea.\n    Rich or poor or middling,\n      Wherever we are found,\n    We\u2019re all circumbendibus,\n      We\u2019re all going round.\u201d\n\nShe had punctuated the chorus with a series of jerked steps, her high\nheels striking the wooden floor in a kind of castanet accompaniment.\nEvery waiting man had risen to his feet as she came upon them in that\npost-office section, and she had answered their rising with a military\nsalute.\n\nIn the great mirror that ran from floor to ceiling of the store, she had\ncaught a glimpse of herself. She recalled, even now, exactly what she\nwas wearing that evening\u2014a white muslin frock, a very wide sash of rich\nsilk\u2014crushed strawberry colour\u2014about her waist, the long ends of the sash\nfloating behind her almost to the high heels of her dainty bronze shoes.\nA knot of the same-hued ribbon, narrow, of course, with streamers flying,\nwas fastened at her left shoulder. Her wide-brimmed hat was trimmed with\nthe same colour. She had known that she made a handsome picture before\nshe read the light of admiration in the eyes of the post-office loungers.\n\n\u201cHave you heard the news, boys?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cAw, guess we hev, Miss Madge.\u201d\n\nIt was Ulysses Fletcher who had acted as spokesman.\n\nIn some surprise, and not altogether pleased, she had wheeled sharply\nround to the lantern-jawed Ulysses and asked,\n\n\u201cHow did you hear the news, Ulysses? Dad didn\u2019t tell you, I\u2019m sure, for\nhe promised me I should tell you all myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cMet a coon down to the depot, an\u2019 I guess he wur chuck full o\u2019 it, an\u2019\n\u2019e ups an\u2019 tells me.\u201d\n\n\u201cA coon told you?\u201d she had cried in ever-increasing amazement.\n\n\u201cSartin, Miss Madge!\u201d\n\n\u201cA coon!\u201d she had repeated. \u201cA coon\u2014told you\u2014down at the depot\u2014that\u2014I\nwas\u2014going\u2014to Europe next week!\u201d\n\nEvery eye had stared in wondering astonishment at Madge Finisterre at\nher announcement that she was going to Europe. Then there was a general\nlaugh, and one of the smartest of the \u201cboys\u201d had cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cI low there\u2019s been a mistake some, Miss Madge, an\u2019 that, too, all roun\u2019.\nFact is, we\u2019ve been runnin\u2019 two separate tickets over this news business,\nan\u2019 thought it wur one an\u2019 the same. We wur talkin\u2019 \u2019bout Seth Hammond\u2019s\nherd o\u2019 hogs as wur cut up by the Poughkeepsie express \u2019smarnin\u2019.\u201d\n\nShe had joined in the laugh, and then in reply to the question of another\nof the men, as to whether it was really true that she was going to\n\u201cUrop,\u201d she had replied in the affirmative, adding, by way of explanation:\n\n\u201cI guess you all know that my momma is British, that she belonged to what\nthe Britishers call, \u2018the Quality\u2019. She was the youngest sister of Sir\nArchibald Carlyon, was travelling over here, out west, when she was about\nmy age, got fixed up in an awkward shop by half-breeds, and was rescued\nby my dear old poppa. Fact, that\u2019s how he came to be my poppa, for she\nmarried him. Spite of her high connections in England, she was very poor,\nand she loved dad. If dear momma could only face the water journey,\nshe\u2019d go over with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAir you goin\u2019 alone, Miss?\u201d one of the boys had asked.\n\nThen\u2014how well she remembered it to-night!\u2014she had given the answer, part\nof which she had given to George Carlyon that very day:\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ll git all right, boys, you can bet on that, without anyone\ndandying around me. For I guess if there\u2019s one thing the Britishers are\nlearning about our women, it\u2019s this\u2014that if a United States gel\u2019s got\ndollars under her boots to wheel around on it ain\u2019t much fuss for her to\nskate through their old country, nor yet through Europe, come to that,\neven if she has no more language under her tongue than good, plain,\nDuchess county American.\u201d\n\nWith a merry smile, for which there had been no scrambling, since it was\nshed upon them all, she had passed on to where she knew she would find\nher father, ringing her boot-heels, castanet fashion, as she sang lightly:\n\n    \u201cMary\u2019s gone wid a coon,\n    Mary\u2019s gone wid a coon;\n    Dere\u2019s heaps o\u2019 trubble on de ole man\u2019s min\u2019\n    Since Mary flit wid de coon.\u201d\n\nHow vividly it all came up before her in this hour of quiet reverie! But\nher mind flitted swiftly to another scene, one that had been hanging in\nthe background of all her thought ever since (thinking of Tom Hammond\nand the interrupted conversation,) she had been reminded of home and its\nhappenings.\n\nThere had been a Donation Party for their pastor (Episcopalian Methodist)\nat the house of one of the members on the very night of the store scene.\nMadge had gone, of course. Balhang was wont to say that a Donation Party\nsimply could not be run without her.\n\nSitting on that Embankment hotel balcony, with eyes fixed on the lamps,\nthe river, the bridge, the traffic yet seeing nothing of it all, that\nDonation Party all came back to her. Things had been a bit stiff and\nformal at first, as they often are at such gatherings.\n\nThe adults sat around and talked on current topics\u2014how much turkeys would\nfetch for Thanksgiving, whether it would pay best to sell them plucked or\nunplucked, what would folks do for cranberries for Thanksgiving, since\nthe cranberry crop had failed that year\u2014\u201cAn\u2019 turkey wi\u2019out cranberry\nain\u2019t wuth a twist o\u2019 the tongue.\u201d\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 squash,\u201d suggested one old man. \u201cWhat\u2019s turkey wi\u2019out squash? I\u2019d\nmost so soon hev only Boston\u201d (i. e., pork and beans) \u201cfur dinner as ter\ngo wi\u2019out squash wi\u2019 turkey.\u201d\n\nThe young folk had been \u201cmoping around\u201d like draggled chickens on a wet\nday when the barn-door is shut. Then, at this juncture, Madge had burst\nupon the scene. She swam into the largest room, swirling round and round\nwith a kind of waltz movement, to the accompaniment of her own gay voice\nas she sang:\n\n    \u201cI said, \u2018My dear, I\u2019m glad!\u2019\n    Said she, \u2018I\u2019m glad you\u2019re glad!\u2019\n    Said I, \u2018I\u2019m glad you\u2019re glad I\u2019m glad,\n    It is so very, very nice;\n    It makes it seem worth twice the price,\n    So glad you\u2019re glad I\u2019m glad!\u2019\u201d\n\nWith a gay laugh she had turned to the hostess, saying;\n\n\u201cThings want hustling a bit here, Miss Julie. Everyone is as glum as a\nwhip-poor-will that is fixed up with the grippe.\u201d\n\nIn the quiet of that corner of the hotel balcony she smiled at these\nremembrances of her nonsense that night. She had started the young people\nplaying their favourite games of \u201cWhisper,\u201d \u201cAmsterdam,\u201d etc., in two or\nthree of the smaller rooms; then had raced away again to the room where\nthe adults were sitting squarely against the wall, as grim as \u201cbrazen\nimages.\u201d Dropping on to the piano stool, she struck a few soft, tender\nnotes, suggestive of some very gracious hymn, then suddenly broke into\nsong:\n\n        \u201cOh, dat\u2019s so! Oh, dat\u2019s so!\n    Dar is nuffing \u2019neath de moon dat\u2019ll satisfy dis coon.\n        Like a K\u2014I\u2014double S, kiss,\n    Since dat Cupid, wid his dart, made a keyhole in my heart\n        For dat M\u2014I\u2014double S, miss.\u201d\n\nBehind a corner of the curtain the young pastor had watched and listened.\nHe had thought his presence unknown to her. He was mistaken.\n\nFor three-quarters of an hour she had been the life of that room. Then,\nsuddenly, as she was singing at the piano, the room grew very quiet. She\nwas aroused by a voice just behind her ear, saying:\n\n\u201cMiss Finisterre, are you going to supper with this first batch, or will\nyou wait the next turn?\u201d\n\nTurning, she found herself face to face with the young pastor, the room\nbeing otherwise empty. His gaze was very warm, very ardent. She had\nflushed under the power of that gaze.\n\nShe had railed him on his extra seriousness, and he had answered,\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t, Madge! you must know why I am grave and sad, to-night.\u201d (He had\nnever called her Madge before.)\n\n\u201cNo, I don\u2019t,\u201d she had replied.\n\n\u201cIn less than a week,\u201d he went on, \u201cso I have heard to-night, you leave\nBalhang. You are going to Europe, and will be away long months, perhaps a\nyear.\u201d\n\nShe had gazed at him in honest wonder, not fully grasping his meaning.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d she asked, \u201cshould that make you sad?\u201d\n\nHe had leaned closer towards her. There was no one to see them. The heavy\ndoor-curtain had slipped from its hook, and shut them in. Where her hand\nrested on the rounded, polished arm of the piano, his larger hand had\nmoved, and her white fingers were clasped in his larger ones. His eyes\nhad sought hers, and, under the hypnotic power of the strong love in his\neyes, she had been compelled to meet his gaze.\n\n\u201cI thought, dear, you must have seen how, for a long time, I had learned\nto love you, Madge.\u201d\n\nHis clasp on her fingers had tightened. He had leaned nearer to her\nstill. No man\u2019s face, save her father\u2019s, had ever been so close to hers\nbefore, and the contact strangely affected her. She felt the warmth of\nhis breath, the heat of his clean, wholesome flesh; even the scent of the\nsoap he had used\u2014or was it some perfume in his clothing?\u2014filled all her\nsense of smell.\n\nThe perfume was violet, and she remembered to-night how, for many a day,\nshe could not smell violets without recalling that moment, and seeing\nagain the strong, earnest, eager face, with the fire of a mighty love\nburning in the eyes.\n\nTo-night she heard again the yearning, pleading voice as he had cried:\n\u201cMadge, Madge, my darling! Can you ever guess how great is my love for\nyou? Tell me, dear, do you, can you, love me in return? Will you be my\nwife? Will you come into all my life to bless it? And let me be wholly\nyours to help, to bless, to strengthen, to love, to cherish you? Tell me,\ndarling!\u201d\n\nAnd she had cried, almost piteously:\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know how to answer you, pastor. It is all so sudden. I knew, of\ncourse, that we were great friends, and I am sure I like you very much,\nbut\u2014this proposal! Why, I never dreamed that you cared for me like that,\nfor how could I be a minister\u2019s wife? I am such a gay, thoughtless,\nfoolish little thing\u2014I\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThere had followed more tender pleading, and she had finally said, \u201cIf\nyou love me, Homer, as you say you do, please do not bother me any more\nnow. Wait until I come back from Europe\u2014then\u2014then\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, Madge?\u201d he had cried softly, eagerly.\n\n\u201cIf I can honestly say \u2018Yes,\u2019\u201d she had replied, \u201cI will and I will not\neven wait for you to ask me again.\u201d\n\nHe had bent over her. His gaze held her fascinated. She thought he was\ngoing to take toll of her lips before his right was confirmed. But at\nthat instant there had come a rush of feet, a sound of many voices. The\ncurtain was flung aside, just as her fingers strayed over the keys of the\ninstrument, and the pastor succeeded in regaining his old unseen nook.\n\n\u201cI guess Miss Julie\u2019s waitin\u2019 fur yer, Miss Madge, ter go ter yer\nsupper,\u201d bawled an old deacon of the church.\n\nShe had swept the ivory keys with rollicking touch, and sang in gayest\nstyle:\n\n    \u201cAllow me to say Ta-ta!\n    I bid you good-day. Ta-ta!\n        I wish I could stay,\n        But I\u2019m going away.\n    Allow me to say Ta-ta!\u201d\n\nAmid the uproarious laughter of everyone in the room, she had bounded\naway to supper.\n\nExcept for one moment, when she was leaving the house for home, and\nhe had helped her on with her cloak, the pastor had not spoken again\ndirectly to her that evening. He had managed then to whisper,\n\n\u201cGod bless you, my darling! I shall pray for you, and live on the hope I\nread in your eyes to-night.\u201d\n\nIt was all this which had risen so strangely before her mind, as\nto-night, on that hotel balcony, she had begun to ask herself how much\nshe really cared for Tom Hammond, and what answer she would have given\nhim had he proposed to her that afternoon.\n\n\u201cI told pastor,\u201d she murmured, \u201cthat night, that I was not sure of\nmyself. I am no nearer being sure of myself now than I was then.\u201d\n\nThe scene with Hammond rose up before her, and she added: \u201cI am less\nsure, I think, than ever!\u201d\n\nShe gazed fixedly where the double line of lamps gleamed on the\nnear-distant bridge. For a moment she tried to compare the two lives\u2014that\nof an American Methodist pastor\u2019s wife, with endless possibilities of\ndoing good, and that of the wife of a comparatively wealthy newspaper\neditor-manager.\n\n\u201cShould I like to marry a popular man?\u201d she asked herself. \u201cI read\nsomewhere once that popular men, like popular actors, make bad husbands,\nthat they cannot endure the tameness of an audience of one.\u201d\n\nShe laughed low, and a little amusedly, as she added, \u201cOh, well, Tom\nHammond has not asked me to marry him. Perhaps he never will\u2014and\u2014well,\n\u2018sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.\u2019 Pastor once preached from\nthat, I remember.\u201d\n\nThe night had grown cooler. She shivered a little as she rose and passed\ninto the lighted room beyond.\n\nTwo hours later, as she laid her head upon the pillow, she murmured, \u201cI\ndon\u2019t see how I could marry the pastor! Why, I haven\u2019t \u2018got religion\u2019\nyet. I am not \u2018converted,\u2019 as these Britishers would say!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA THREAT.\n\n\nTom Hammond paused before the house that bore the number at the head of\nMrs. Joyce\u2019s letter. It was in a mean street, and his soul went out in\npity towards the unfortunate woman, who, with all her refinement, was\ncompelled to live amid such squalid surroundings.\n\n\u201cAnd heart-starved, too,\u201d he mused, pityingly. \u201cHeart-starved for the\nwant of love, of sympathy, of the sense of soul-union that makes life\nwith a married partner at all bearable.\u201d\n\n\u201cYus, sir; Mrs. Joss lives yere. Top floor, lef\u2019 \u2019and side. Yer kin go\nhup!\u201d\n\nA child had opened the door in response to his knock. Following the\ndirections given, Tom Hammond climbed the dirty stairs. On the top\nlanding were two doors. The one on the right was fast shut; that on the\nleft was ajar a few inches. His approach did not seem to have been heard.\nMrs. Joyce, the only occupant of the room, was seated at a bare deal\ntable, sewing briskly.\n\nHe stretched out his hand to tap at the door, but some impulse checked\nhim for a moment. He had the opportunity to observe her closely, and he\ndid so.\n\nShe sat facing the window; the light shone full upon her. She was dressed\nin a well-worn but well-fitting black gown. Round her throat\u2014how pure and\nwhite the skin was!\u2014she wore a white turnover collar, like a nurse, white\ncuffs at her wrists completing the nurse idea. Her hair\u2014she had loosened\nit earlier because of a slight headache\u2014hung in clustering waves on her\nneck, and was held back behind her ears with a comb on either side. There\nwas a rare softness and refinement in the pale face that drooped over\nher sewing. Seen as Tom Hammond saw her then, Mrs. Joyce was a really\nbeautiful woman.\n\nHe gazed for a few moments at the picture, amazed at the rapidity of her\nsewing movements.\n\n\u201cThe tragedy of Tom Hood\u2019s \u2018Song of the Shirt,\u2019\u201d he muttered, as he\nwatched the gleam of the flying needle.\n\n    \u201cOh, men with sisters dear!\n      Oh, men with mothers and wives!\n    It is not linen you\u2019re wearing out,\n      But human creatures\u2019 lives!\n        Stitch, stitch, stitch,\n      In poverty, hunger, and dirt,\n    Sewing at once, with a double thread,\n      A shroud as well as a shirt.\u201d\n\nUnder the magnetic constraint of his fixed gaze the woman looked towards\nthe door. She recognized her visitor, and with a little glad cry started\nto her feet. Tom Hammond pushed the door open and entered the room. She\nsprang to meet him.\n\nNow that he saw her, he realized the expression of her face had changed.\nHeaven\u2014all the heaven of God\u2019s indwelling pardon, love, peace, had come\nto dwell with her. All that she had said in her letter of her new-found\njoy, was fully confirmed by her looks.\n\n\u201cHow good of you to come to see me, Mr. Hammond!\u201d she cried, as she felt\nthe clasp of his hand.\n\n\u201cHow good of you to write me of your new-found happiness!\u201d He smiled back\ninto her glad, eager eyes.\n\nHe took the chair she offered, and with a question or two sought to lead\nher on to talk of the subject about which he had come to see her.\n\n\u201cThe very title of the subject,\u201d Hammond explained, \u201cis perfectly foreign\nto me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was all so, _so_ foreign to me,\u201d she returned. Then, as swift tears\nflooded her eyes, she turned to him with a little rapturous cry, saying,\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd it would all have been foreign to me for ever, but for _you_, Mr.\nHammond. I never, _never_ can forget that but for you my soul would have\nbeen in a suicide\u2019s hell, where hope and mercy could never have reached\nme. As long as I shall live I shall never forget the awful rush of\nsoul-accusation that swept over me, when my body touched the foul waters\nof that muddy river that night. The chill and shock of the waters I did\n_not_ feel, but the chill of eternal condemnation for my madness and sin\nI did feel.\n\n\u201cI saw all my life as in a flash. All the gracious warnings and pleadings\nthat ever, in my hearing, fell from my sainted father\u2019s lips, as he\nbesought men and women to be reconciled to God, seemed to swoop down\nupon me, condemning me for my unbelief and sin. Then\u2014then you came to my\nrescue\u2014and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHer tears were dropping thick and fast now.\n\n\u201cAnd\u2014my soul\u2014had respite given in which to\u2014to\u2014seek God\u2014because\u2014you saved\nmy body.\u201d\n\nOvercome with her emotion, she turned her head to wipe away the grateful\ntears. When next she faced him, her voice was low and tender, her eyes\nglowed with a light that Tom Hammond had never seen in a human face\nbefore.\n\n\u201cNow, if my Lord come,\u201d she said softly, rapturously, \u201cwhether at\nmorning, at noontide, at midnight, or cock-crowing, I shall be ready to\nmeet Him in the air.\n\n\u201cI used to think that if ever I was converted, I should meet my dear\nfather and mother at the last day, at the great final end of all things.\n\n\u201cBut now I know that if Jesus came for His people to-day, that I should\nmeet my dear ones to-day. For when \u2018the Lord Himself shall descend from\nheaven ... the dead in Christ shall rise first: then we which are alive\nand remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet\nthe Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.\u2019\u201d\n\nTom Hammond gazed at the speaker in wonder. The glory that filled her\nface, the triumph and rapture that rang in her voice, were a strange\nrevelation to him.\n\n\u201cA starvation wage for making slop-shirts,\u201d he mused, \u201cyet more than\ntriumphing over every discomfort of poverty by the force of the divine\nhope that dominates her! What is this hope?\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me of this wondrous thing, Mrs. Joyce,\u201d he said, aloud, \u201cthat can\ntransmute your poverty and suffering to triumph and rapture, and your\ncomfortless garret to a heaven on earth.\u201d\n\n\u201cBefore I begin,\u201d she replied, \u201ctell me, Mr. Hammond, have ever you seen\nthis?\u201d\n\nFrom the window-shelf she reached a tiny envelope booklet.\n\n\u201c\u2018Long Odds\u2019!\u201d he said, reading the boldly-printed title of the book.\n\u201cNo; I have never seen this. It sounds sporting, rather.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake it, Mr. Hammond,\u201d she went on; \u201cif it does nothing else, it will\nawaken your interest in this wonderful subject.\u201d\n\nHe slipped the book into his breast-pocket. She opened her mouth to speak\nagain, when a sound from outside caught her ear. She started to her feet;\nher face turned deadly pale. The next instant the door was flung noisily\nopen, and her husband entered the room.\n\nThe blear-eyed, drunken scoundrel glared at the two seated figures, then\nlaughed evilly as he cried,\u2014\n\n\u201cTurned religious? Oho! oho! Like all the rest of your religious people,\nmake a mantle\u2014a regular down-to-your-feet ulster\u2014of your religion to\ncover every blackness and filthiness of life.\u201d\n\n\u201cSilence, you foul-mouthed blackguard!\u201d\n\nTom Hammond\u2019s lips were white with the indignation that filled him, as he\nflung his command to the man.\n\n\u201cSilence yourself, Tom Hammond!\u201d bellowed the drunken scoundrel. \u201cI know\nyou,\u201d he went on. \u201cYou\u2019re a big bug now! Think no end of yourself, and of\nyour messing paper. Perhaps you\u2019ll say you came to invite me to join your\nstaff, now that I\u2019ve caught you here?\u201d\n\nHis sneering tone changed to one of bitterest hate, as he turned to the\nwhite, trembling woman.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re a beauty, ain\u2019t you? Profess to turn saint; then, when you think\nI\u2019m clear away, you receive visits from fine gentlemen! Gentlemen? bah!\nthey\u2019re\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cSilence, you drunken, foul-mouthed beast!\u201d again interrupted Tom Hammond.\n\nThere was something amazing in the command that rang in the indignant\ntones of his voice.\n\n\u201cUnless,\u201d he went on, \u201cyou want to find yourself in the grip of the law.\u201d\n\nFor a moment or two Joyce was utterly cowed! then the devil in him reared\nits head again, and he hissed,\n\n\u201cYou clear out of here, and remember this; if I have to keep sober for a\nyear to do it, I\u2019ll ruin you, Tom Hammond, I will!\u201d\n\nHe laughed with an almost demoniacal glee, as he went on:\n\n\u201cI can write a par yet, you know. I\u2019ll dip my pen in the acid of\nhate\u2014hate, the hate of devils, my beauty\u2014and then get Fletcher to put\nthem into his paper. He\u2019s not in love with the \u2018Courier,\u2019 or with Tom\nHammond, the Editor.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou scurrilous wretch!\u201d It was all that Hammond deigned to reply.\n\n\u201cGood day, Mrs. Joyce!\u201d he bowed to the white-faced woman.\n\nFor her sake he did not offer to shake hands, but moved away down the\nstairs.\n\nHe caught a hansom a few moments after leaving the mean street. He\nhad purposed, when he started out that morning, to hunt up his other\ncorrespondent, the Jew, Abraham Cohen. But after the scene he had just\nwitnessed, he felt quite unwilling to interview a stranger.\n\n\u201cI wish,\u201d he mused, as he sat back in the hansom, \u201cI had not gone near\nthat poor soul. I am afraid my visit may make it awkward for her.\u201d\n\nHis eyes darkened as he added: \u201cAnd even for myself. It will be very\nawkward if that drunken brute puts his threat into execution\u2014and he\n_will_, I believe. Innuendo is a glass stiletto, which, driven into the\nvictim\u2019s character, into his heart and then snapped off from the hilt,\nleaves no clue to the striker of the blow. And a demon like that Joyce,\nplaying into the hands of a cur like Fletcher, may slay a fellow by a\nprinted innuendo, and yet the pair may easily keep outside the reach of\nthe law of libel.\u201d\n\nFor the first time since the floating of the \u201cCourier,\u201d his spirits\nbecame clouded.\n\n\u201cThen, too,\u201d he muttered, \u201cthere is this sudden breakdown of Marsden,\nand, for the life of me, I don\u2019t know where to look for a fellow, whom\nI could secure at short notice, who is at all fit for the \u2018Courier\u2019s\u2019\n_second_.\u201d\n\nHis face had grown moody. His eyes were full of an unwonted depression.\n\n\u201cIf only,\u201d he went on, \u201cBastin had been in England, and were to be got\u2014\u2014\u201d\nHe sighed. There was perplexity in the sigh.\n\n\u201cWhere on earth can Ralph be all these years?\u201d he muttered.\n\nHe glanced out of the cab to ascertain his own whereabouts. In two\nminutes more he would be at the office.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nIN THE NICK OF TIME.\n\n\nAs Tom Hammond\u2019s cab drew up at the office, another hansom drew up a yard\nahead of his. The occupant alighted at the same instant as did Hammond,\nand glanced in his direction. Both men leaped forward, their hands were\nclasped in a grip that told of a very warm friendship. Like simultaneous\npistol shots there leaped from their separate lips,\u2014\n\n\u201cTom Hammond!\u201d\n\n\u201cRalph Bastin?\u201d\n\nThe friends presently passed into the great building, arm linked in arm,\nlaughing and talking like holiday school-boys.\n\n\u201cNot three minutes ago, as I drove along in my cab, I was saying, \u2018Oh! if\nonly I could lay my hand on Ralph!\u201d\n\nThey were seated by this time in Tom Hammond\u2019s room.\n\n\u201cWhy? What did you want, Tom\u2014anything special?\u201d the bronzed, travelled\nBastin asked.\n\n\u201cRather, Ralph! My second, poor Frank Marsden, has broken down suddenly;\nit\u2019s serious, may even prove fatal, the doctors say. Anyway, he won\u2019t be\nfit (if he recovers at all) for a year or more.\u201d\n\nHe leaned eagerly towards his friend as he spoke, and asked,\n\n\u201cAre you open to lay hold of the post?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo-morrow, if you like!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood!\u201d\n\nHammond stretched his hand out. Bastin grasped it. Then they talked over\nterms, duties, etc.\n\n\u201cBut you, man?\u201d said Hammond, when the last bit of shop had been talked.\n\u201cWhere have you been? What have you been doing?\u201d\n\n\u201cBusy for an hour, Tom?\u201d Bastin asked, by way of reply.\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d\n\n\u201cCome round to my diggings, then; not far\u2014Bloomsbury. We can talk as we\ngo. I shall have time to give you a skeleton of my adventures, to be\nfilled in later. Then, when we get to my hang-out, I can tell you, when\nyou have seen _her_, the story of my chief adventure, for it concerns\nher.\u201d\n\nHammond flashed a quick, wondering glance at his friend.\n\n\u201c_Her!_\u201d he said; \u201care you married, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d laughed Bastin, \u201cbut I\u2019ve adopted a child. But come on, man!\u201d\n\nThe pair left the office. In the cab, talking very rapidly, Bastin gave\nthe skeleton sketch of his wanderings, but saying no word of the promised\ngreat adventure.\n\nTom Hammond never forgot the first sight of his friend\u2019s adopted child.\nThere was a low grate in the room, a blazing fire of leaping, flaming\ncoals in the grate. Curled up in a deep saddle-bag armchair was the\nloveliest girl-child Hammond had ever seen.\n\nShe must have been half asleep, or in a deep reverie, but as the two men\nadvanced into the room she sprang from the chair, and, with eyes gleaming\nwith delight, bounded to meet Bastin. Wreathing her arms about his neck,\nshe crooned softly over him some tongue of her own.\n\nShe was loveliness incarnated. Her eyes, black as sloes, were big, round,\nand wide in their staring wonder at Hammond\u2019s appearance. Her hair was a\nmass of short curls. She was dark of skin as some Spanish beauty.\n\nHer costume lent extra charm to her appearance; for she wore a long,\nGrecian-like robe of some light, diaphanous ivory-cream fabric,\nengirdled at the waist with a belt composed of some sort of glistening\npeacock-green shells, buckled with frosted silver. The simple but\nexquisite garment had only short shoulder-sleeves, and was cut low\nround the throat and neck, and finished there\u2014as were the edges of the\nshoulder-sleeves\u2014with a two-inch wide band of sheeny silk of the same\ncolour as the shells of her belt. The opening at the neck of the robe\nwas fastened with a brooch of frosted silver of the same pattern, only\nsmaller, as the buckle of the belt.\n\nFrom beneath the silk-bound hem of her robe there peeped bronze slippers,\nencasing the daintiest little crimsoned-stockinged feet ever used for\npedalling this rough old earth\u2019s crust.\n\nBastin introduced the child. She gave Tom her hand, and lifted her\nwondrous eyes to his, answering his question as to her health in the\nprettiest of broken English he had ever heard.\n\nA moment or two later the three friends were seated\u2014Tom and Bastin in\narmchairs opposite each other, the child (Viola, Bastin had christened\nher) on a low stool between Bastin\u2019s knees.\n\n\u201cShall we use the old lingo\u2014French?\u201d Bastin asked the question in the\nBohemian Parisian they had been wont to use together years before.\n\n\u201cAs you please, Ralph,\u201d Hammond replied.\n\n\u201cI have told you hurriedly something of where I have been,\u201d Bastin began.\n\u201cBut I have reserved my _great_ story until I could tell it to you\nhere\u2014\u2014\u201d He glanced down at the child at his feet. \u201cI heard,\u201d he went on,\n\u201cwhen at La Caribe\u2014as everyone hears who stays long in the place\u2014that\neach year, in spite of the laws of the whites, who are in power, a child\nis sacrificed to the Carib deities, and I longed to know if it were true.\n\n\u201cDuring my first few week\u2019s sojourn on the little island of Utilla, I was\nable to render one of the old priests a service, which somehow became so\nexaggerated in his eyes that there was almost literally nothing that he\nwould not do for me, and eventually he yielded to my entreaties to give\nme a chance to see for myself the yearly sacrifice, which was due in a\nmonth\u2019s time.\n\n\u201cDuring that month of waiting I made many sketches of this wonderful\nneighbourhood, and became acquainted with this little Carib maiden,\npainting her in three or four different ways. The child became intensely\nattached to me, and I to her, and we were always together in the daytime.\n\n\u201cAs the time drew near for the sacrifice I noticed that the little one\ngrew very elated, and there was a new flash in her eyes, a kind of\nrapturous pride. I asked her no question as to this change, putting it\ndown as girlish pride in being painted by the \u2018white prince,\u2019 as she\ninsisted on calling me.\n\n\u201cI need not trouble you, my dear fellow, with unnecessary details of how\nand where the old priest led me on the eventful night, which was a black\nas Erebus, but come to the point where the real interest begins.\n\n\u201cIt was midnight when at last I had been smuggled into that mysterious\ncave, which, if only a tithe of what is reported be half true, has been\ndamned by some of the awfullest deeds ever perpetrated. My priest-guide\nhad made me swear, before starting, that whatever I saw I would make no\nsign, utter no sound, telling me that if I did, and we were discovered,\nwe should both be murdered there and then.\n\n\u201cWe had hardly hidden ourselves before the whole centre of the cave\nbecame illuminated with a mauve-coloured flame that burned up from a\nflat brass brazier, and seemed like the coloured fires used in pantomime\neffects on the English stage. By this wonderful light I saw a hundred\nand fifty or more Carib men and women file silently into the cave, and\ntake up their positions in orderly rows all round the place. When they\nhad all mustered, a sharp note was struck upon the carimba, a curious\none-stringed instrument, and the circles of silent savages dropped into\nsquatting position on their heels. Then the weirdest of all weird music\nbegan, the instruments being a drum, a flute, and the carimba.\n\n\u201cBut my whole attention became absorbed by the grouping in the centre of\nthe room\u2014the fire-dish had been shifted to one side, and I saw a hideous\nstatue, squatted on a rudely-constructed, massive table, the carved hands\ngripping a bowl that rested on the stone knees of the image. The head of\nthe hideous god was encircled with a very curious band, that looked, from\nwhere I stood, like bead and grass and feather work. The face\u2014cheeks and\nforehead\u2014was scored with black, green and red paint, the symbolic colours\nof that wondrous race that once filled all Central America.\n\n\u201cIn the back part of the wide, saucer-like edge of the bowl which rested\non the knees of the statue, there burned a light-blue flame, and whether\nit was from this fire, or from the larger one that burned in the wide,\nshallow brazier on the floor, I cannot positively say, but a lovely\nfragrance was diffused from one or the other.\n\n\u201cBefore this strange altar stood three very old priests, while seven\nwomen (sukias,) as grizzled as the men, stood at stated intervals about\nthe altar. One of these hideous hags had a dove in her hand; another\nheld a young kid clasped between her strong brown feet; a third held the\nsacrificial knife, a murderous-looking thing, made of volcano glass,\nshort in blade, and with a peculiar jagged kind of edge; another of these\nhags grasped a snake by the neck\u2014a blood-curdling-looking tamagas, a\nsnake as deadly as a rattle-snake.\n\n\u201cOpposite the centre-man of the three old priests stood a girl-child,\nabout ten years of age, and perfectly nude. During the first few moments\nthe vapourous kind of smoke that was wafted by a draught somewhere, from\nthe fire-pan on the floor of the cave, hid the child\u2019s features, though\nI could see how beautiful of form she was; then, as the smoke-wreath\npresently climbed straight up, I was startled to see that the child was\nmy little friend.\n\n\u201cIn my amaze I had almost given vent to some exclamation, but my old\npriest-guide was watching me, and checked me.\n\n\u201cMy little one\u2019s beautiful head was wreathed with jasmine, and a garland\nof purple madre-de-cacoa blossoms hung about her lovely shoulders.\n\n\u201cSuddenly, like the barely-audible notes of the opening music of some\norchestral number, the voice of one of the priests began to chant; in\nturn the two other priests took up the strain; then each of the seven\nhags in their turn, and anon each in the first circle of squatting\nworshippers, followed by each woman in the second row: and in this order\nthe chant proceeded, until, weird and low, every voice was engaged.\n\n\u201cSuddenly the combined voices ceased, and one woman\u2019s voice alone rose\nupon the stillness; and following the sound of the voice, I saw that it\nwas the mother of my little native child-friend. I had not noticed her\nbefore\u2014she had been squatting out of sight. Hers was not the chant of\nthe others, but a strange, mournful wail. It lasted about a minute and\na-half; then, rising to her feet, she gently thrust the child forward\ntowards the altar, then laid herself face down on the floor of the cave.\n\n\u201cThe little one leaned against the edge of the altar, and taking up, with\na tiny pair of bright metal tongs, a little fire out of the back edge of\nthe bowl on the knees of the god, she lighted another fire on the front\nedge of the bowl, her suddenly-illuminated face filled with a glowing\npride.\n\n\u201cThen, at a signal from the head priest, the child lifted her two hands,\nextended them across the altar, when they were each seized by the two\nother priests, and the beautiful little body was drawn slowly, gently\nover, until the smooth breast almost touched the sacrificial fire she had\nherself lighted.\n\n\u201cThen I saw the woman who had held the knife suddenly yield it up to the\nhead priest, and I made an unconscious movement to spring forward.\n\n\u201cMy guide held me, and whispered his warning in my ear: yet, even though\nI must be murdered myself, I felt I dared not see that sweet young life\ntaken.\n\n\u201cLike a man suffering with nightmare, who wants to move, but cannot, I\nstood transfixed, fascinated, one instant longer. But in that flashing\ninstant the head priest had swept, with lightning speed, the edge of that\nhideous knife twice across the little one\u2019s breast, and she stood smiling\nupwards like one hypnotized.\n\n\u201cThe priest caught a few drops of the child\u2019s blood, and shook them into\nthe bowl of the god; then I saw the little one fall into her mother\u2019s\narms; there was a second sudden flashing of that hideous knife, a\npiteous, screaming cry, and I gave vent to a yell\u2014but not _voice_ to\nit,\u2014for the watching guide at my side clapped one hand tightly over my\nmouth, while with the other he held me from flying out into the ring of\ndevils, whispering in my ear as he held me back,\n\n\u201c\u2018It is the goat that is slain, not the child.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnother glance, and I saw that this was so; one flash of that obsidian\nsacrificial blade across the throat of the kid had been enough, and now\nthe blood was being drained into the bowl of the god.\n\n\u201cI need not detail all the other hideous ceremonies; they lasted for\nnearly two hours longer, ending with a mad frenzied dance, in which all\njoined save the priests and the mother and child.\n\n\u201cEvery dancer, man and woman, flung off every rag of clothing, and\nwhirled and leaped and gyrated in their perfect nudity, until, utterly\nexhausted, one after another they sank upon the floor.\n\n\u201cThen slowly they gathered themselves up, reclothed themselves, and left\nthe cave. And now some large pine torches were lighted, and my guide drew\nme further back, that the increased glare might not reveal our presence,\nand I saw the curious ending to this weird night\u2019s work. The priests\nand their seven women sukias opened a pit in the floor of the cave by\nshifting a great slab of stone, and lowered the idol into the pit. The\nremains of the kid, the sacrificial knife, and the dove were dropped into\nthe bowl of blood that rested on the knees of the idol; then the sukia\nthat had held the tamagas snake during the whole of those hideous night\nhours, dropped the writhing thing into the bowl, and the slab was lowered\nquickly over the pit, every seam around the slab being carefully filled,\nand the whole thing hidden by sprinkling loose dust and the ashes from\nthe fire over the spot.\n\n\u201cThen, as soon as the last of the performers had cleared the cave, I\nfollowed my guide, and with a throbbing head, and full of a sense of\nstrange sickness, I went to the house where I was staying.\n\n\u201cI lay down upon my bed, but could not sleep; and as early as I dared I\nwent round to my little Martarae\u2019s home\u2014Martarae was her native name. Her\nmother met me, said that the child would not come out in the sun to-day,\nthat I might see her for a moment if I pleased, but that she was not very\nwell.\n\n\u201cSweet little soul! I found her lying on her little bed, with a proud\nlight in her eyes, and a very flushed face.\n\n\u201cA fortnight later the light flesh wounds were healed. She showed me her\nbreast, confided to me the story, and asked me if I did not think she had\nmuch to be proud of.\n\n\u201c\u2018Will you keep a secret?\u2019 I asked her. She gave me her promise, and I\ntold her how I had seen the whole thing, and all my fears for her.\n\n\u201cA week later she was orphaned. Her mother was stung by a deadly\nscorpion, and died in an hour, and I made the child my care.\n\n\u201cShe has travelled everywhere with me ever since, and you see how fair\nand sweet she is, and how beautifully she speaks our English. She is\nbarely twelve, is naturally gifted, and is the very light of my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould she let me see her breast, Ralph, do you think?\u201d Hammond asked.\n\nBastin smiled, and spoke a word to the child, and she, rising to her feet\nand smiling back at him, unfastened the broach at her throat, and, laying\nback her breast-covering, showed the gleaming, shiny scars. Then as she\nre-covered her chest, she said softly:\n\n\u201cRalph has taught me that those gods were evil; but though I shall ever\nwear this cross in the flesh of my breast, I shall ever love the Christ\nwho died on the world\u2019s great cross at Calvary.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a most marvellous story, Ralph,\u201d he said tearing his eyes away\nfrom the child\u2019s clear, searching gaze.\n\n\u201cThe more marvellous because absolutely true,\u201d returned Bastin.\n\nThen, addressing Viola, and relapsing, of course, into English for her\nsake, he explained who Tom Hammond was, and that he (Ralph) was going to\nbe associated with him on the same great newspaper.\n\n\u201cMr. Hammond and you, Viola, must be real good friends,\u201d he added.\n\n\u201cSure, daddy!\u201d the girl said smilingly; \u201cI like him much already\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe lifted herself slightly until she rested on her knees, and stretching\none hand across the hearthrug to Tom Hammond, she laid the other in her\nguardian\u2019s, as she went on:\n\n\u201cMr. Hammond is good! I know, I know, for his eyes shine true.\u201d\n\nA ripple of merry laughter escaped her, as she gazed back into her\nguardian\u2019s face, and added:\n\n\u201cBut you, daddy, are always first.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\u201cLONG ODDS.\u201d\n\n\nFor a wonder, Tom Hammond could not sleep. Usually, when the last thing\nhad been done, and he was assured that everything was in perfect train\nfor the morning\u2019s issue, he ate a small basin of boiled milk and bread,\nwhich he invariably took by way of a \u201cnight-cap,\u201d then went to bed, and\nslept like a tired ploughman. But to-night slumber would have none of him.\n\n\u201cIt must be the various excitements of the day,\u201d he muttered. \u201cThat story\nof Ralph\u2019s Caribbean child was enough to keep a fellow\u2019s brain working\nfor a week. Then there was meeting Ralph so unexpectedly, just, too, when\nI so lusted for his presence and help. Then there was that Joyce item\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHis mind trailed off to the scene of the morning, every item of it\nstarting up in a new and vivid light. Suddenly he recalled the booklet\nMrs. Joyce had given him.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t sleep,\u201d he murmured; \u201cI\u2019ll find that thing and read it.\u201d\n\nHis fingers sought the electric switch. The next moment the room was full\nof light. He got out of bed, passed quickly through to his dressing-room,\nfound the coat that he had worn that morning, and secured the booklet.\n\nHe went back again to bed, and, lying on his elbow, opened the dainty\nlittle printed thing and began to read thus:\n\n                               \u201cLONG ODDS\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t say so! Where on earth has she gone?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t say, sir, but it\u2019s plain enough she _is_ missing. Hasn\u2019t been\nseen since last night when she went up to her room.\u201d\n\nI _was_ put out, I own; my man on waking me had informed me that the\ncook was missing; she had gone to bed without anything being noticed\namiss, and was now nowhere to be found. She was always an odd woman, but\na capital cook. What had become of her? The very last sort of person to\ndisappear in this way\u2014a respectable elderly Scotchwoman\u2014really quite a\ntreasure in the country; and the more I thought of it while I dressed,\nthe more puzzled I became. I hardly liked to send for the police; and\nthen again it was awkward, very\u2014people coming to dinner that day. It was\nreally too bad.\n\nBut I had scarcely finished dressing when in rushed my man again. I do so\ndislike people being excited, and he was more than excited.\n\n\u201cPlease, sir, Mr. Vend has come round to see you; his coachman has\ngone\u2014went off in the night, and hasn\u2019t left a trace behind, and they say\nthe gardener\u2019s boy is with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said I, \u201cit is extraordinary; tell Mr. Vend I\u2019m coming; stay,\nI\u2019ll go at once.\u201d\n\nIt was really past belief\u2014the three of them! After an hour\u2019s talk with\nVend, no explanation offered itself, so we decided to go to town as usual.\n\nWe walked down to the station, and saw at once something was wrong. Old\nWeeks, the stationmaster, was quite upset: his pointsman was missing, and\nthe one porter had to take up his duty. However, the train coming up, we\nhad no time to question him, but jumped in. There were three other people\nin the compartment, and really I thought I was going off my head when I\nheard what they were discussing. Vend, too, didn\u2019t seem to know if he was\non his head or his heels. It was this that startled us so: \u201cWhat can have\nbecome of them all?\u201d\n\nI heard no more. I really believe I swooned, but at the next station\u2014a\nlarge one\u2014we saw consternation on every face. I pinched myself to see if\nI was dreaming. I tried to persuade myself I was. Vend looked ghastly. A\npassenger got in; he did not look quite so dazed as some did, but savage\nand cross. For a time none spoke; at last someone said aloud\u2014I don\u2019t\nthink he expected an answer\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat on earth\u2019s become of them?\u201d and the cross looking man, who got in\nlast, growled out,\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the worst of it; they are not _on earth_, they are gone. My boy\nalways said it would be so; from the very first moment I heard it, I knew\nwhat had happened; often he has warned me. I still have his voice ringing\nin my ears.\n\n\u201c\u2018I tell you, in _that night_ there shall be two men in one bed: the one\nshall be taken, and the other shall be left.\u2019 (Luke xvii. 34.)\n\n\u201cI know only too well \u2018_that night_\u2019 was _last_ night. I\u2019ve often prayed\nfor it without thinking, and so I daresay have you: \u2018Thy kingdom come.\u2019\nIt makes me so savage I don\u2019t know what to do.\u201d\n\nNow, I was an atheist, and did not believe the Bible. For the last thirty\nyears (I am past fifty) I had stuck to my opinions, and when I heard men\ntalk religious trash I invariably objected.\n\nBut this seemed altogether different. I tell you, for a thousand pounds\nI couldn\u2019t have said a word. I just hoped it would all turn out a dream,\nbut the further we went, the more certain it became that we were all\nawake, and that by some unaccountable visitation of Providence a number\nof people had suddenly disappeared in the night.\n\nThe whole of society was unhinged; everybody had to do somebody\u2019s else\u2019s\nwork. For instance, at the terminus, a porter had been put into Smith\u2019s\nstall, as the usual man was missing. Cabs were not scarce, but some\nof those who drove them seemed unlicensed and new to their work. The\nshutters in some of the shops were up, and on getting to my bank I heard\nthe keys had only just been found.\n\nEveryone was silent, and afraid lest some great misfortune was coming.\nI noticed we all seemed to mistrust one another, and yet as each fresh\nclerk, turned up late, entered the counting-room, a low whisper went\nround. The chief cashier, as I expected, did not come. The newspapers no\none cared to look at; there seemed a tacit opinion that _they_ could tell\nus nothing.\n\nBusiness was at a standstill. I saw that very soon. I hoped as the day\nwore on that it would revive, but it did not. The clerks went off without\nasking my permission, and I was left alone. I felt I hated them. I did\nnot know what to do. I could not well leave, else they might say the bank\nhad stopped payment, and yet I felt I could not stay there. Business\nseemed to have lost its interest, and money its value. I put up the\nshutters myself, and at once noticed what a change had come over the City\nwhile I had been at the bank. _Then_ all were trying to fill the void\nplaces; _now_ it seemed as if the attempt had failed.\n\nIn the City some of the streets had that dismal Sunday appearance,\nwhile a few houses had been broken into; but in the main thoroughfares\nthere was a dense mass of people, hurrying, it struck me, they knew not\nwhere. Some seemed dazed, others almost mad with terror. At the stations\nconfusion reigned, and I heard there had been some terrible accidents. I\nwent into my club, but the waiters had gone off without leave, and one\nhad to help oneself.\n\nAs evening came on, I saw the lurid reflection of several fires, but,\nhorrible to say, no one seemed to mind, and I felt myself that if the\nwhole of London were burnt, and I with it, I should not care. For the\nfirst time in my life I no longer feared Death: I rather looked on him as\na friend.\n\nAs the gas was not lit, and darkness came down upon us, one heard cries\nand groans. I tried to light the gas, but it was not turned on. I\nremembered there was a taper in the writing-room. I went and lit it, but\nof course it did not last long. I groped my way into the dining-room,\nand helped myself to some wine, but I could not find much, and what I\ntook seemed to have no effect; and when I heard voices, they fell on me\nas if I were in a dream. They were talking of the Bible, though, and it\nnow seemed the one book worth thinking of, yet in our vast club library I\ndoubt if I should have found a single copy.\n\nOne said: \u201cWhat haunts me are the words \u2018Watch therefore.\u2019 You can\u2019t\n_watch_ now.\u201d\n\nI thought of my dinner party. Little had I imagined a week ago, when I\nissued the invitations, how I should be passing the hour.\n\nSuddenly I remembered the secretary had been a religious fanatic, and\nI made my way slowly to his room, knocking over a table, in my passage,\nwith glasses on it. It fell with a crash which sounded through the house,\nbut no one noticed it. By the aid of a match I saw candles on his writing\ntable and lit them. Yes! as I thought, there was his Bible. It was open\nas if he had been reading it when called away, and another book I had\nnever seen before lay alongside of it\u2014a sort of index.\n\nThe Bible was open at Proverbs, and these verses, being marked, caught my\neye:\n\n\u201cBecause I have called and ye refused, I have stretched out My hand and\nno man regarded; I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when\nyour fear cometh.\u201d\n\nI had never thought before of God laughing\u2014of God mocking. I had fancied\nman alone did that. Man\u2019s laughing had ended now\u2014I saw that pretty plain.\n\nI had a hazy recollection of a verse that spoke of men wanting the rocks\nto fall on them; so looked it up in the index. Yes, there was the word\n\u201cRock,\u201d and some of the passages were marked with a pencil. One was Deut.\nxxxii. 15: \u201cHe forsook God which made him, and lightly esteemed the Rock\nof our Salvation.\u201d\n\nPerhaps he marked that passage after he had had a talk with me. How\nwell I remember the earnestness with which he pressed salvation upon\nme that day\u2014explaining the simplicity of trusting Christ and His blood\nfor pardon\u2014and assuring me that if I only yielded myself to the Lord I\nshould understand the peace and joy he talked about. But it was no use. I\nremember I only chaffed him, and said mockingly that his God was a myth,\nand time would prove it, and he answered,\n\n\u201cNever. \u2018Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My Word shall not pass\naway.\u2019 He may come to-night.\u201d\n\nI laughed and said, \u201cWhat odds will you take? I lay you long ones.\u201d\n\nAnother passage marked was 1 Samuel ii. 2, \u201cNeither is there any rock\nlike our God,\u201d and lower still \u201cMan who built his house upon a rock.\u201d\n\nI had no need to look that out. I knew what it referred to, and then my\neye caught Matt. xxvii. 51, \u201cThe earth did quake, and the rocks rent.\u201d\nThat was when Christ died to save sinners, died to save me\u2014and yet I had\nstriven against Him all my life. I could not bear to read more. I shut\nthe book and got up. There were some texts hanging over the fireplace:\n\n\u201cRepent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted\nout.\u201d\u2014Acts iii. 19.\n\n\u201cThe blood of Jesus Christ His son cleanseth us from all sin.\u201d\u20141 John i.\n7.\n\n\u201cNow is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.\u201d\u20142 Cor.\nvi. 2.\n\nAs I turned to leave the room these caught my eye, and I said, \u201cWell, I\nhave been a fool.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond looked up from the little booklet,\u2014a look of bewilderment was\nin his eyes, a sense of blankness, almost of stupefaction, in his mind.\nLike one who, half stunned, passes through some strange and wondrous\nexperience, and slowly recalls every item of that experience as fuller\nconsciousness returns, he went, mentally, slowly over the story of the\nlittle book.\n\n\u201cThe verisimilitude of the whole story is little less than startling,\u201d he\nmurmured. His eyes dropped upon the book again, and he read the last line\naloud: \u201cWell, I have been a fool.\u201d\n\nSlowly, meditatively, he added: \u201cAnd I, with every other otherwise sane\nman who has been careless as to whether such things are to be, am as big\na fool as the man in that book!\u201d\n\nHe laid the dainty little messenger down on the table by his bedside. His\nhandling of the book was almost reverential. Reaching to the electric\nlever, he switched off the light. He wanted to think, and he could think\nbest in the dark.\n\n\u201cOf course, I know _historically_,\u201d he mused, \u201call the events of the\nChrist\u2019s life, His death, His resurrection, and\u2014and\u2014\u2014Well, _there_,\nI think, my knowledge ends. In a vague way I have always known that\nthe Bible said something of a great final denouement to all the World\nDrama\u2014an award time of some kind, a millennium of perfect\u2014perfect\u2014well\nperfect everything that is peaceful and\u2014\u2014Oh, I don\u2019t know much about\nit, after all. I am very much in a fog, I see, for Mrs. Joyce and that\nbooklet both speak of a return of Christ into the air, whither certain\ndead and certain living are to be caught up to be with Him and to begin\nan eternity of bliss.\u201d\n\nFor a moment or two he tried to disentangle his many thoughts; then, with\na weary little sigh, he gave up the task, murmuring: \u201c_I_ certainly am\nnot ready for any such event. If there is to be a hideous leaving behind\nof the _un_ready, then I should be left to all that unknown hideousness.\u201d\n\nA myriad thoughts crowded upon his brain. He gave up, at length, the\nperplexing attempt to think out the problem, telling himself that with\nthe coming of the new day he would begin a definite search for the real\nfacts of this great mystery\u2014the second coming of Christ.\n\nBy an exercise of his will he finally settled himself to sleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nTHE CENTRE OF THE EARTH.\n\n\n\u201cWill you come into my workroom, Mr. Hammond? It is a kind of sanctum to\nme as well as a workroom, and I always feel that I can talk freer there\nthan anywhere else.\u201d\n\nIt was the Jew, Abraham Cohen, who said these words. His visitor was Tom\nHammond. It was the morning after that Tom Hammond had been troubled\nabout \u201cLong Odds\u201d and its mysterious subject.\n\nJew and Gentile had had a few moments\u2019 general talk in the sitting-room\ndownstairs, but Cohen wanted to see his visitor alone\u2014to be where nothing\nshould interrupt their conversation.\n\nTom Hammond\u2019s first vision of Cohen\u2019s workroom amazed him. As we have\nseen before, the apartment was a large one, and, besides being a\nworkroom, partook of the character of a study, den, sanctum\u2014anything of\nthat order that best pleases the reader.\n\nBut it was the finished work which chiefly arrested the attention of\nTom Hammond, and in wondering tones he cried: \u201cIt is all so exquisitely\nwrought and fashioned! But _what_ can it be for?\u201d\n\nCohen searched his visitor\u2019s face with his deep grave eyes.\n\n\u201cWill you give me your word, Mr. Hammond,\u201d he asked, \u201cthat you will hold\nin strictest confidence the fact that this work is here in this place, if\nI tell you what it is for?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do give you my word of honour, Mr. Cohen.\u201d As he spoke, Tom Hammond\nheld forth his hand. The Jew grasped the hand, there was an exchange of\ngrips; then, as their clasp parted, the Jew said:\n\n\u201cI do not wish to bind you to any secrecy as to the fact that such work\nas this is being performed in England, but only that you should preserve\nthe secret of the whereabouts of the work and workers.\u201d With a sudden\nglow of pride\u2014it flashed in his eyes, it rang in his tones\u2014he cried,\n\u201cThis work is for the New Temple!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe New Temple? I don\u2019t think I quite understand you, Mr. Cohen. Where\nis this temple being built?\u201d There was amaze in Tom Hammond\u2019s voice.\n\n\u201cIt is not yet begun,\u201d replied the Jew. \u201cThat is, the actual rearing has\nnot yet begun, though the preparations are well forward. The New Temple\nis to be at Jerusalem, Mr. Hammond.\u201d\n\nThe ring of pride deepened in his voice as he went on: \u201cThere can be no\nother site for the Temple of Jehovah save Zion, the city of our God,\nbeautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth\u2014the centre of the\nworld, Mr. Hammond.\u201d\n\nAs he talked, Tom Hammond, watching him intently, saw how the soul of the\nman and the hope of the true Israelite shone out of his eyes.\n\nCrossing the room to where a chart of the world (on Mercator\u2019s\nProjection) hung on the wall, the Jew took an inch-marked straight-edge,\nand laying one end of it on Barrow Point, Alaska, he marked the spot\non the straight-edge where it touched Jerusalem. From Jerusalem to\nWrangel Land, Siberia, farthest east, he showed by his straight-edge\nthat practically he got the same measurement as when from the west. From\nJerusalem to North Cape, Scandinavia, and from Jerusalem to the Cape of\nGood Hope, he showed again was each practically the same distance.\n\n\u201cAlways, always, is Zion the centre of the inhabited earth!\u201d he cried in\nquiet, excited tones. Moving quickly back to Hammond\u2019s side, he said:\n\u201cDid you ever think of this, sir, that, practically speaking, all the\nnations west of Jerusalem (those of Europe) write from west to east\u2014that\nis, towards the city of our God; whilst all the Asiatic races (those\neast of Zion) write from east to west\u2014just the opposite,\u2014but always\n_towards_ Zion? No, no, sir; there can be no other place on earth for the\nNew Temple of Jehovah save Jerusalem. Read Ezekiel, from the fortieth\nchapter, sir, and you will see how glorious a Temple Jehovah is to have\nsoon. \u2018Show the house to the people of Israel,\u2019 God said in vision to His\nprophet, \u2018and let them build it after the sum, the pattern which I show\nyou.\u2019 And that, sir, is what we are doing.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho are the _we_ who are doing this?\u201d Tom Hammond\u2019s face was as full of\nwonder as his voice. \u201cWho,\u201d he continued, \u201cmakes the plans, gives the\norders, finds the funds?\u201d\n\n\u201cWealthy, patriotic men of our people, sir. We as a race are learning\nthat soon the Messiah will come, and we are proving our belief by\npreparing for the House of our God. Italian Jews all over Italy are\ncarving the richest marbles; wrought iron, wondrous works in metal, gold\nand silver ornaments, cornices, chapiters, bells for the high priest\u2019s\nrobes, and a myriad other things are being prepared; so that the moment\nthe last restriction on our land\u2014the land of our fathers, the land which\nJehovah gave unto our forefather Abraham, saying, \u2018Your seed shall\npossess it\u2019\u2014is removed, we shall begin to ship the several prepared\nparts of the Temple to Palestine, as the Gentiles term our land.\u201d\n\nA curious little smile flittered over his face as he added,\n\n\u201cThe very march of modern times in the East, Mr. Hammond, is all helping\nto make the consummation of our work more easy. The new railways laid\nfrom the coast to Jerusalem are surely part of the providence of our God.\nWhen Messiah comes, sir, we shall be waiting ready for Him, I trust.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut do you not know,\u201d Tom Hammond interrupted, \u201cthat according to\nevery record of history as well as the New Testament, all Christendom\nhas believed, for all the ages since, that the Messiah came nearly two\nthousand years ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe _Nazarene_?\u201d\n\nThere was as much or more of pity than scorn in the voice of the Jew as\nhe uttered the word.\n\n\u201cHow could _He_ be the Messiah, sir?\u201d he went on. \u201cCould any good thing\ncome out of Nazareth? Besides, _our Messiah_ is to redeem Israel, to\ndeliver them from the hand of the oppressor, and to gather again into one\nnation all our scattered race. No, no! a thousand times No! The Nazarene\ncould not be _our_ Messiah!\u201d\n\nTurning quickly to Hammond, he asked, \u201cAre _you_ a Christian, sir?\u201d\n\nFor a moment Tom Hammond was startled by the suddenness, the\ndefiniteness, of the question. He found no immediate word of reply.\n\n\u201cYou are a _Gentile_, of course, Mr. Hammond,\u201d the Jew went on; \u201cbut are\nyou a Christian? For it is a curious fact that I find very few Gentiles\nwhom I have met, even _professed_ Christians, and fewer still who ever\npretend to live up to their profession.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond recovered himself sufficiently to say:\n\n\u201cYes, I am a Gentile, of course, and I _suppose_ I am\u2014er\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nIt struck him, as he floundered in the second half of his reply, as being\nvery extraordinary that he should find it difficult to state why he\nsupposed he was a Christian. While he hesitated the Jew went on:\n\n\u201cWhy should you say you _suppose_, sir? Is there nothing distinctive\nenough about the possession of Christianity to give assurance of it to\nits possessor? I do not _suppose_ I am a _Jew_, sir (by religion I mean,\nand not merely by race.) No, sir, I do not suppose, for I _know_ it.\nThere is all the difference in the world, it seems to me, sir, between\nthe mere theology and the religion of the faith we profess. The religion\nis life, it seems to me, sir; theology is only the science of that life.\u201d\n\nBoth men were so utterly absorbed in their talk that they did not hear\na touch on the handle of the door. It was only as it opened that they\nturned round. Zillah stood framed in the doorway. Cohen, who saw her\nevery day, realized that she had never looked so radiantly beautiful\nbefore. She had almost burst into the room, but paused as she saw that a\nstranger was present.\n\n\u201cExcuse me,\u201d she began; \u201cI had no idea you had a friend with you,\nAbraham.\u201d\n\nShe would have retreated, but he stopped her with an eager\u2014\n\n\u201cCome in, Zillah.\u201d\n\nShe advanced, gazing in curious inquiry at Hammond.\n\n\u201cThis is Mr. Tom Hammond, editor of the \u2018Courier,\u2019 Zillah,\u201d Cohen\nexplained to the young girl. To Hammond he added, \u201cMy wife\u2019s sister,\nZillah Robart.\u201d\n\nThe introduced pair shook hands. The young Jew went on to explain to\nZillah how the great editor came to be visiting him.\n\nTom Hammond\u2019s eyes were fixed upon the vision of loveliness that the\nJewess made. She was going to assist at the wedding of a girl-friend, and\nhad come to show herself to her brother-in-law before starting. Lovely at\nthe most ordinary times, she looked perfectly radiant in her well-chosen\nwedding finery.\n\nTom Hammond had seen female loveliness in many lands\u2014East, North, West,\nSouth. He had gazed upon women who seemed too lovely for earth\u2014women\nwhose flesh was alabaster, whose glance would woo emperors; women whose\nskins glowed with the olive of southern lands, the glance of whose black,\nlustrous eyes intoxicated the beholder in the first instant: Inez of\nSpain, Mousmee of Japan, Katrina of Russia, Carlotta of Naples, Rosie\nof Paris, Maggie of the Scottish Highlands, Patty of Wales, Kate of\nIreland, and a score of other typical beauties. But this Jewish maiden,\nthis Zillah of Finsbury\u2014she was beyond all his thought or knowledge of\nfeminine loveliness.\n\nWhile Cohen talked on for a moment or two, and Zillah\u2019s eyes were fixed\nupon her brother-in-law, Tom Hammond\u2019s gaze was riveted upon the lovely\ngirl.\n\nEvery feature of her beautiful face became photographed on his brain. Had\nhe been a clever artist, he could have gone to his studio and have flung\nwith burning, brilliant haste her face upon his canvas.\n\nHe thought of Zenobia as he looked upon her brow. He wondered if ever two\nsuch wide, black, lustrous eyes had ever shone in the face of a woman\nbefore, or whether a female soul had ever before been mirrored in such\neyes.\n\nHer mouth was not the large, wide feature so often seen in women of\nher race, but of exquisite lines, with ripe, full lips, as brilliant\nin colour as the most glowing coral. Her eyes were fringed with the\nblackest, finest, silkiest lashes. Her hair was raven in hue and wondrous\nin its wealth.\n\nHe realized, in that first moment of full gazing upon her, how faded\nevery other female face must ever seem beside her glorious beauty. With a\nstrange freak of mental conjuring, Madge Finisterre and that interrupted\ntete-a-tete rose up before him, and a sudden sense of relief swept over\nhim that George Carlyon had returned at the moment that he did.\n\n\u201cIt is all so strange, so wonderful to me, what I have seen and heard\nhere,\u201d he jerked out as Cohen finished his explanation.\n\nHammond spoke to the beautiful girl, whose great lustrous eyes had\nsuddenly come back to his face.\n\nFor a moment or two longer he voiced his admiration of the separate\npieces of finished work, and spoke of his own growing interest in the\nJewish race.\n\nThe great black eyes that gazed upwards into his, grew liquid with the\nevident emotion that filled the soul of the beautiful girl. With the\nfrank, hearty, simple gesture of the perfectly unconventional woman, she\nheld forth her hand to Hammond as she said:\n\n\u201cIt is so good of you, sir, to speak thus of my brother-in-law\u2019s work\nand of our race. There are few who speak kindly of us. Even though, as a\nnation, you English give our poor persecuted people sanctuary, yet there\nare few who care for us or speak kindly of us, and fewer still who speak\nkindly to us.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond held the pretty, plump little hand that she offered him\nclasped warmly in his, almost forgetting himself as he gazed down into\nher expressive face and listened to her rich musical voice. There was an\nardency in his gaze that was unknown, unrealized, by himself.\n\nThe olive of the girl\u2019s cheeks warmed under the power of his gaze. He\nsaw the warm colour rise, and remembered himself, shifted his eyes, and\nreleased her hand.\n\n\u201cI must not stay another moment, Abraham,\u201d she cried, turning to the Jew.\n\u201cAdah would be vexed if I were late.\u201d\n\nShe turned back to Hammond, but before she could speak he was saying,\n\n\u201cGood-bye, Miss Robart; I hope we may meet again. What your brother has\nalready told me only incites me to come again and see him, for there are\nmany things I want to know.\u201d\n\nHe shook hands with the girl again. His eyes met hers, and again he saw\nthe olive cheeks suddenly warm.\n\nTen minutes later he was driving back to his office, his mind in a\nstrange whirl, the beautiful face of Zillah Robart filling all his vision.\n\nHe pulled himself up at last, and laughed low and amusedly as he murmured,\n\n\u201cAnd I am the man whose pulses had never been quickened by the sight or\nthe touch of a woman until I met her\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThe memory of Madge Finisterre flashed into his mind. He smiled to\nhimself as he mused:\n\n\u201cEven when I seemed most smitten by Madge, by her piquant Americanism,\nI told myself I was not sure that love had anything to do with my\nfeelings. Now I know it had not.\u201d\n\nHis eyes filled suddenly with a kind of staring wonder as he cried out,\nin a low, startled undertone:\n\n\u201cAm I inferring to myself that this sudden admiration for Zillah Robart\nhas any element of love in it?\u201d\n\nHe smiled at his own unuttered answer. The cab pulled up at the door of\nthe office at that moment. He came back sharply to everyday things.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nA DEMON.\n\n\nMadge Finisterre awoke early on the morning after that discussion with\nherself anent Hammond\u2019s possible proposal.\n\nWith startling suddenness, as she lay still a moment, a vision of the\npastor of Balhang came up before her mind. Then a strange thing happened\nto her, for a yearning sense of home-sickness suddenly filled her.\n\nShe tried to laugh at herself for her \u201cchildishness,\u201d as she called it,\nand sprang from her bed to prepare for her bath. Standing for one instant\nby the bedside, she murmured:\n\n\u201cBut, after all, it is time I was paddling across again. Who ever heard\nof anyone from our side staying here through the winter? I must think\nthis all out seriously. Anyway, I\u2019ll get my bath, and dress, and go for a\nstroll before breakfast. They say that one ought to see suburban London\npouring over the bridges into London city in the early morning. I\u2019ll go\nthis morning.\u201d\n\nHalf-an-hour later she was dressed ready for her expedition. As she\npassed the office on her way out, they were sorting the morning mail. She\nwaited for her letters. There was only one, but it was from home.\n\nRacing back to her room, she tore it open with an eagerness born,\nunconsciously to herself, of the nostalgia that had seized upon her\nthree-quarters of an hour before.\n\nThere were two large, closely-written sheets in the letter\u2014one from her\nfather and one from her mother. Each told their own news.\n\nShe read her father\u2019s first; every item interested her, though as she\nread she seemed to feel that there was all through it an underlying\nstrain of longing for her return.\n\n\u201cDear old poppa!\u201d she murmured as she neared the finish of the epistle.\n\nSuddenly her eyes took in the two lines of postscript jammed close into\nthe bottom edge of the first sheet. Her heart seemed to stand still as\nshe read:\u2014\n\n\u201cPastor is considered sick. Doctor can\u2019t make his case out.\u201d\n\n\u201cPastor sick!\u201d She gasped the words aloud; then, turning swiftly to her\nmother\u2019s letter, she cried: \u201cMomma will tell more than this!\u201d\n\nHer eyes raced over the written lines. Her mother said a little more than\nher father had done about the sickness of their friend and pastor; not\nmuch, though, in actual words, but to the disturbed heart of the young\ngirl there seemed to her much deeper meaning.\n\nAn excited trembling came upon her for a few moments. The next instant\nshe had put a strong curb upon herself, and, folding the letters, and\nreplacing them in the envelope, she cried out quietly, but sharply:\n\n\u201cThe boat from Southampton sails at two to-day. I\u2019ll catch that!\u201d\n\nThe next instant she was divesting herself of her hat and jacket, and\nbegan to set about her packing.\n\nNow and again she talked to herself thus: \u201cSick, is he? Poor old pastor!\nI guess I know what\u2019s the matter with him, and I\u2019ll put him right in five\nminutes.\u201d\n\nShe smiled as she went on: \u201cI guess, too, I\u2019ve found out what\u2019s the\nmatter with me\u2014I want to be a pastor\u2019s wife!\u201d\n\nThe next instant her voice was carolling out:\n\n    \u201cFor I tell them they need not come wooing of me,\n    For my heart, my heart, is over the sea.\u201d\n\nHer fingers were busy, her mind all the time kept mentally arranging a\nhost of things.\n\n\u201cI wonder,\u201d she murmured presently, \u201chow Uncle Archibald and George will\ntake my sudden departure? Well, I\u2019m glad George is out of town. He\u2019s been\nshowing signs of spoons lately with me, so it\u2019s best, perhaps, that I\nshould get off without seeing him.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy eleven that forenoon she had left Waterloo. Her uncle had seen her\noff from the station. He wanted to accompany her to Southampton, but she\nwould not hear of it.\n\n\u201cI want to be very quiet all the way down,\u201d she said, \u201cand write some\nimportant letters. Make my excuses to everybody, and explain that I only\nhad an hour or two to do everything.\u201d\n\nAt the last moment her uncle slipped an envelope into her hand, saying,\n\u201cYou are not to open it until you have been travelling a quarter of an\nhour.\u201d\n\nThen came the good-byes, and\u2014off.\n\nShe had been travelling _nearly_ a quarter of an hour when she opened the\nenvelope. There was a brief, hearty, loving note inside, in her uncle\u2019s\nhand-writing, expressing the joy her visit had given him, and his sense\nof loneliness at her going, and saying:\n\n    \u201cPlease, dear Madge, accept the enclosure in second envelope,\n    as a souvenir of your visit, from your affectionate\n\n                                                          \u201cNUNKUMS.\u201d\n\nShe opened the smaller envelope. To her breathless amazement, she found a\nBank of England note for \u00a31,000. When she recovered herself a little, a\nsmile filled her eyes as she murmured:\n\n\u201cFancy an American Methodist pastor\u2019s wife with a thousand pounds of her\nown! My!\u201d\n\nThe train was rushing on; she remembered that she had a special letter to\nwrite. She opened her bag and took out writing materials. The carriage\nrocked tremendously, but she managed to pen her letter. Before she\nfinally enclosed the letter in an envelope, she took from her purse a\ntwo-inch cutting from the columns of some newspaper or magazine. This she\nplaced in the letter.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTom Hammond had just settled himself down to work when a letter, bearing\nthe Southampton post-mark, was delivered to him. Opening it, and\nreading \u201cMy dear Mr. Hammond,\u201d he turned next to the signature. \u201cMadge\nFinisterre?\u201d he cried softly, surprisedly, under his breath. Wonderingly\nhe turned back to the first page, and read:\n\n\u201cYou will be surprised to know that when you receive this I shall be\nsteaming down Channel _en route_ for New York. I got letters from home\nthis morning that made it imperative that I should start at once.\n\n\u201cI cannot leave without thanking you for all your kindness to me. It has\nbeen a pleasure to have known you, and I sincerely hope that we may meet\nagain some day.\n\n\u201cNow I am going to take you right into my confidence, Mr. Hammond, for\nwho so discreet as a \u2018prophet?\u2019\u2014vide \u2018The Courier.\u2019\n\n\u201cYesterday evening, after dinner, I had a long talk alone with myself.\nI had had a very pleasant tete-a-tete tea with a friend\u2014perhaps you may\nremember this,\u2014and while I went over in mind many things in connection\nwith that tete-a-tete, especially the events immediately preceding the\ninterruption, I suddenly realized a sense of longing for home.\n\n\u201cA night or two before I sailed from America, our pastor asked me to be\nhis wife. He was awfully in earnest, poor fellow; and I could see how\nlove for me\u2014gay, frivolous little me\u2014was consuming him. I was startled\nat the proposition, and told him frankly that I did not know my own\nmind, but that if ever I found out that I loved him, I would come right\naway and tell him so. I found out this morning, when I heard that he was\ndangerously sick, that I wanted him as much as ever he wanted me. At this\nstage of the letter, please read the cutting enclosed.\u201d\n\nWondering what the clipping could have to do with the subject, Tom\nHammond laid down the letter and read the cutting:\n\n\u201cA king had a son born to him in his old age, and was warned by his\nastrologers and physicians, that his son would be blind if he ever saw\nthe light before he was twelve years old. Accordingly the king built\nfor him a subterranean chamber, where he was kept till he was past the\nfatal age. Thereupon he was taken out from his retreat, and shown all\nthe beauties of the world, gold and jewels and arms, and carriages and\nhorses, and beautiful dresses. But seeing some women pass, he asked what\nthey might be, and was told, \u2018Demons, who lead men astray.\u2019 Afterwards\nthe king asked him which of all the beautiful things he had seen he\ndesired most, and the prince answered, \u2018The demons which lead men astray.\u2019\n\n\u201cI am going back to be demon to my pastor,\u201d the letter went on, \u201cto lead\nhim\u2014not astray, I trust, but back to health. Please keep all this in\nabsolute confidence, for I have not given even a hint of it to my uncle.\nWhenever you visit the States, be sure to come and visit me, for no one\nwill be more welcome from the Old Country than yourself.\n\n\u201cBy-the-bye, dear friend, apropos of your remark anent the presence of\na woman to make tea for you, keep the subject well before yourself, and\nwhen you see the lady who can really satisfy all your ideals, propose\nquickly, secure her, and\u2014happy thought\u2014do America by way of a honey-moon,\nand come and see me.\n\n                          \u201cYours most sincerely,\n\n                                                       \u201cMADGE FINISTERRE.\u201d\n\nHe smiled as he laid down the letter. For a moment all the bright,\npiquant personality of the writer filled his vision. Then, with a\nswiftness and completeness that was almost startling, her face vanished\nfrom his mental picturing, and Zillah Robart, in all her radiant\nloveliness, took the place in his thought and vision.\n\nFor a brief while he was absorbed in his new vision. The sudden entrance\nof Ralph Bastin dispelled his dreaming.\n\nAfter a few moments\u2019 talk, Bastin cried, quite excitedly, \u201cI say, Tom,\nthose pars of yours about the Jews are the talk of all London\u2014our London,\nI mean, of course.\u201d\n\nWithout breaking the confidence reposed in him by Cohen, Tom Hammond told\nhis friend what he had recently discovered as to the Jewish work on the\nmaterials for the New Temple.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s strange, Tom,\u201d returned Bastin. \u201cI dropped in now as much as\nanything to tell you that last night I met Dolly Anstruther\u2014you remember\nher, don\u2019t you?\u2014the little Yorkshire girl that was learning sculpture\nwhen we were staying at Paris with Montmarte.\n\n\u201cShe has just come back from Italy, where she has been three years. She\ntold me how startled she was to hear from several sources about this New\nTemple business. She said she visited a very large studio in Milan, and\nsaw the most magnificent pillar she had ever seen. She asked the great\nartist what it was for, and he said, \u2018It is a pillar for the New Temple\nat Jerusalem.\u2019\n\n\u201cIn Rome she visited another great studio, and there she saw a duplicate\nof the Milan pillar, and was told again, \u2018Oh, that is a pillar for the\nfuture Temple at Jerusalem.\u2019\n\n\u201cIn another place, where the most wonderful brass-work in the world is\nturned out, she saw two magnificent gates; and, on inquiring where they\nwere destined to be hung, received the same reply, \u2018In the future Temple\nat Jerusalem.\u2019 What does it all mean, Tom?\u201d he added.\n\n\u201cThat is what I want to find out, to be perfectly sure of, Ralph. My\nintelligent Jew, of whom I told you, declares that the Messiah is coming.\nWe, as Christians\u2014nominal Christians, I mean, of course,\u2014same as you and\nI, Ralph, don\u2019t profess anything more\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nBastin searched his friend\u2019s face with a sudden keenness, but did not\ninterrupt him by asking him what he meant.\n\n\u201cAs nominal Christians,\u201d Tom Hammond went on, \u201cwe believe the Christ\nhas already come. But the question has been aroused in my mind of late\n(suggested by certain things that I have not time to go into now), does\nthe Bible teach that Christ is coming again, and are all these strange\nmovings among the Jews and in the politics of the world so many signs\nand\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThere came an interruption at that moment. The tape was telling of the\nassassination of a Continental crowned head. Both men became journalists,\npure and simple, in an instant.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nMAJOR H\u2014\u2014 ON \u201cTHE COMING!\u201d\n\n\nTom Hammond was riding westwards in the Tube. It was the morning after\nthe events narrated in the last chapter. He had just bought from a\nbook-stall a volume of extracts from essays on art in all its branches.\nHe sat back in the comfortable seat of the car dipping into the book.\nSuddenly an extract arrested his attention.\n\nIt was evidently a description of the Crucifixion, but\u2014most\ntantalizing\u2014the head of this page was torn, he could find out nothing\nabout the authorship. But the extract interested him:\u2014\n\n\u201cDarkness\u2014sooty, portentous darkness\u2014shrouds the whole scene; only\nabove the accursed wood, as if through a horrid rift in the murky\nceiling, a rainy deluge\u2014\u2018sleety-flaw, discoloured water\u2019\u2014streams down\namain, spreading a grisly, spectral light, even more horrible than that\npalpable night. Already the Earth pants thick and fast! The darkened\nCross trembles! The winds are dropt\u2014the air is stagnant\u2014a muttering\nrumble growls underneath their feet, and some of the miserable crowd\nbegin to fly down the hill. The horses sniff the coming terror, and\nbecome unmanageable through fear. The moment rapidly approaches, when,\nnearly torn asunder by His own weight, fainting with loss of blood,\nwhich now runs in narrower rivulets from His slit veins, His temples and\nbreast drowned in sweat, and His black tongue parched with the fiery\ndeath-fever, Jesus cried, \u2018I thirst.\u2019 The deadly vinegar is elevated to\nHim.\n\n\u201cHis head sinks, and the sacred corpse \u2018swings senseless on the cross.\u2019 A\nsheet of vermilion flame shoots sheer through the air and vanishes; the\nrocks of Carmel and Lebanon cleave asunder; the sea rolls on high from\nthe sands its black, weltering waves. Earth yawns, and the graves give up\ntheir dwellers. The dead and the living are mingled together in unnatural\nconjunction, and hurry through the Holy City.\n\n\u201cNew prodigies await them there. The veil of the Temple\u2014the unpierceable\nveil\u2014is rent asunder from top to bottom, and that dreaded recess,\ncontaining the Hebrew mysteries\u2014the fatal ark, with the tables and\nseven-branched candelabrum\u2014is disclosed by the light of unearthly flames\nto the God-deserted multitude.\u201d\n\n\u201cStrange!\u201d he mused, as his eyes stared into space, his mind occupied\nwith the thought of the extract. \u201cStrange how everything of late seems to\nbe compelling my attention to the Christ\u2014Christ past, Christ future.\u201d\n\nAt that instant he heard someone mention the name of his paper. He\nglanced in the direction of the voices. Two gentlemen were talking\ntogether. It was evident that his own identity was utterly unknown to\nthem.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re right, you\u2019re right,\u201d the second man was saying. \u201cA very clever\nfellow, evidently, that editor of the _Courier_.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have noticed, of course,\u201d the first man went on, \u201cthose striking\nparagraphs, of late, about the Jews. Though, to a keen student of the\nsubject, they show a very superficial knowledge; still, it is refreshing\nto find a modern newspaper editor writing like that at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d the other said, \u201cbut it is strange how few people, even Christian\npeople, ever realize how intimately the future of the Jewish race is\nbound up with that other shamefully neglected truth\u2014the coming of the\nLord for His Church. I wish the editor of the _Courier_, and every other\nnewspaper editor, could be induced to go this afternoon and hear Major\nH\u2014\u2014 speak on these things at the \u2014\u2014 Room.\u201d\n\n\u201cBritish Museum!\u201d called the conductor of the car. The two talkers\ngot out. Tom Hammond also alighted. As he mounted in the lift to the\nstreet, he decided that he would hear this major on the subject that was\noccupying his own perplexed thought so much.\n\nThree o\u2019clock that afternoon found him one of a congregation of three\nto four hundred persons in the \u2014\u2014 Room. He was amazed at the quality of\nthe audience. He recognized quite a dozen well-known London clergymen\nand ministers, with a score of other equally well-known laymen\u2014literary\nmen, merchants, etc. All were of a superior class. There was a large\nsprinkling of ladies, who, in many cases, were evidently sisters.\nUnaccustomed to such meetings, Tom Hammond did not know how enormous is\nthe number of Christian women who are to be found at special religious\ngatherings, conventions, etc.\n\nThere was a subdued hum of whispering voices in the place. The hum\nsuddenly ceased. Tom Hammond glanced quickly towards the platform.\nHalf-a-dozen gentlemen and one or two ladies were taking their seats\nthere. They bowed their heads in silent prayer.\n\nA minute later a tall, fine looking man, the centre one of the platform\ngroup, rose to his feet and advanced to the rail. He held a hymn-book in\nhis hand. His keen eyes swept the faces of the gathered people. Then\nin a clear, ringing voice like the voice of a military officer on the\nbattle-field, he cried:\n\n\u201cNumber three-twenty-four. Let every voice ring out in song.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond opened the linen-covered book that had been handed to him as\nhe entered, and was almost startled to note the likeness of the sentiment\nof the hymn to the poem of B. M., which had struck him so forcibly that\nnight in his office.\n\nThe major gave out the first verse:\n\n    \u201cIt may be at morn, when the day is awaking,\n    When sunlight thro\u2019 darkness and shadow is breaking,\n    That Jesus will come in the fulness of glory,\n        To take out of the world \u2018His own.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe major paused a moment to interpolate, \u201cLet the gladness of the\nthought ring out in your voices as you sing, but especially in the\nchorus.\u201d\n\n        \u201cO Lord Jesus, how long?\n    How long ere we shout the glad song\n        Christ returneth! Hallelujah!\n        Hallelujah! Amen!\u201d\n\nThe singing of that hymn was a revelation to Tom Hammond. He had heard\nhearty, ringing, triumphant song at Handel festivals, etc., but among the\nrank and file, so to speak, of Christians he had never heard anything\nlike the singing of that verse and chorus.\n\nA hundred thoughts and conflicting emotions filled him as he realized, as\nthe hymn went on, that these people were really inspired by the glorious\nhope of the return of the Christ. Once he shuddered as the thought\npresented itself to his mind,\n\n\u201cHow should _I_ fare if this Christ came suddenly\u2014came now?\u201d\n\nTwice over the last verse was sung, the quiet rapture of the singers\nbeing doubly accentuated as the glorious words rang out:\n\n    \u201cOh, joy! oh, delight! should we go without dying!\n    No sickness, no sadness, no dread, and no crying;\n    Caught up through the clouds with our Lord into glory,\n        When Jesus receives \u2018His own.\u2019\u201d\n\nWith the last-sung note the voice of the Major rang out again:\n\n\u201cGeneral Sir R. P.\u2014\u2014 will lead us in prayer.\u201d\n\nThe hush that followed was of the tensest. It lasted a full half-minute,\nthen the old general\u2019s voice led in a prayer such as Tom Hammond had\nnever even conceived possible to human lips, and such as, certainly, he\nhad never heard before. It awed him, and at the same time revealed to him\nthat real Christianity was something which he, with all his knowledge of\nmen and things, had never before come in contact with.\n\nThe prayer concluded, not a moment was wasted. In his clear, ringing\ntones, the major began:\n\n\u201cTurn with me, if you will, dear friends, to the first chapter of the\nActs of the Apostles, and the eleventh verse.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond wished that he had a Bible with him. It seemed to him that\nhe was the only person there without one. In an instant every Bible was\nopened at the passage named. There was no searching, no fumbling. This\nwas another revelation to him.\n\n\u201cThey know their Bibles,\u201d he mused, \u201cbetter than I do my dictionary or\nencyclop\u00e6dia.\u201d\n\nBut his attention was suddenly riveted on the major, who, pocket Bible in\nhand, was saying;\n\n\u201cSuffer me, friends, to change one word in my reading, that the truth may\ncome home clearer to our hearts. \u2018Ye men of London, ... This same Jesus\nwhich is taken up from you into heaven shall so come in like manner as ye\nhave seen Him go into heaven.\u2019\u201d\n\nHe paused for one instant, then went on: \u201cThe second coming of our Lord\nand Saviour Jesus Christ is, I believe, the central truth of real, true\nChristianity at this moment, and it should be carefully, diligently\nstudied by every converted soul. It should be comprehended as far as\nScripture reveals it, and so apprehended that we should live in daily,\nhourly expectancy of that return. Moody, the great evangelist, to\nwhom the whole subject (as he tells us) was once most objectionable,\nupon studying the Word of God for himself, in this connection, was so\nprofoundly impressed with the insistence with which the return of the\nLord was emphasized, that he was compelled to believe in it, and to\npreach it, saying, \u2018It is almost the most precious truth of all the\nBible. Why, one verse in thirteen throughout the New Testament is said to\nallude to this wondrous subject in some form or another.\u2019\n\n\u201cMany of you who are present this afternoon are not only conversant\nwith this glorious matter, but are living in the glad expectancy of the\nreturn of your Lord. But there are sure to be some here to-day to whom\nthe whole subject is foreign, and to you\u2014even if there be only one such\u2014I\nshall speak as plainly, frankly, simply, yearningly, as though we were\ntete-a-tete.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nTHE ADDRESS.\n\n\n\u201cNow to begin. Even in the Church of God there are whole multitudes to\nwhom the very title of this afternoon\u2019s address is but jargon. They will\nnot search the Word for it, they will barely tolerate its mention. Why?\n\u2018Oh,\u2019 say some, \u2018hidden things are not to be searched into.\u2019 Others there\nare who spiritualize every reference to the Lord\u2019s second coming, and\nsay, \u2018Yes, of course, He has come again, He has come into my heart, or\nhow else could I have become a child of God.\u2019\n\n\u201cTo these last, these dreamers, we would respectfully say, \u2018A coming into\nthe air for His people, to take them up, is a totally different thing\nto coming into the heart to indwell as Saviour and Keeper while we are\ntravelling life\u2019s pathway.\u2019\n\n\u201cThere is another section of the Christian Church who say, \u2018We do not\nwant to hear anything about it. Our minister don\u2019t hold with it; it\nis not a doctrine of our church.\u2019 Now, such an argument as this is\nblasphemous, since, if God has put it into His Word, it is blasphemy to\nignore it, to refuse to believe it.\n\n\u201cTwo distinct advents are plainly taught in Scripture. The first,\nof Jesus\u2019 birth as a Babe in Bethlehem, the second as \u2018Son of\nMan\u2019\u2014glorified, who shall come in the clouds. Now, every Christian will\nadmit, nay, more, the very worldling admits the fact that every Scripture\nrelating to the first advent, as to time, place, circumstances, was\nliterally fulfilled, even to the minutest detail. Then, in the name of\ncommon-sense, with the same covenant Scriptures in our hands, why should\nwe not expect to see the predictions relating to the second advent also\nfulfilled to the very letter?\n\n\u201cWe have our Lord\u2019s own definite promise in John fourteen: \u2018If I go, I\nwill come again and receive you unto Myself.\u2019 We are all agreed that He\nwent. Well, in the same breath He said, \u2018I will come again.\u2019 Can any\nEnglish be plainer\u2014\u2018And receive you unto Myself?\u2019 That promise cannot\nallude to conversion, and it certainly cannot allude to death, for death\nis a going to Him\u2014if we are saved.\n\n\u201cThis expectancy of Christ\u2019s return for His people was the only hope of\nthe early Church; and over and over again, in a variety of ways in the\nepistles it is shown to be the only hope of the Church, until that Church\nis taken out of the world, as a bride is taken by the bridegroom from her\nold home, to dwell henceforth in his. There never has been any comfort\nto bereaved ones in the thought of death, nor to any one of us who are\nliving is there any comfort in the contemplation of death, save and\nexcept, of course, the thought of relief from weariness and suffering,\nand in being translated to a painless sphere, to be with Christ. But in\nthe contemplation of the coming of Christ, when the dead in Christ shall\nrise, and those who are in Christ, who are still living when He comes,\nthere is the certainty of the gladdest meeting when all are \u2018caught up\ntogether in the air, to be for ever with the Lord.\u2019 No waiting until the\nend of the world but, if He came this afternoon\u2014and this may happen\u2014you\nwho have loved ones with Christ would that very instant meet them in the\nair, with your Lord.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond listened intently to every word of the major\u2019s, and, as\nScripture after Scripture was referred to, he saw how the speaker\u2019s\nstatements were all verified by the Word of God.\n\n\u201cThere are two points I would emphasize here,\u201d the major went on. \u201cFirst,\nthat we must not confuse the second coming of the Lord\u2014the coming in the\nair\u2014for His saints, with that later coming, probably seven years after,\nwhen He shall come with His saints to reign.\n\n\u201cAnd, secondly, to those to whom this whole subject may be new, I would\nsay, you must not confuse the second coming of our Lord with the end of\nthe world. The uninstructed, inexperienced child of God feels a quaking\nof heart at all talk of such a coming.\n\n\u201cSuch people shrink from the suddenness of it. They say that there is no\npreparatory sign to warn us of that coming. But that is not true.\n\n\u201cThe Word of God gives many instructions as to the signs of Christ\u2019s near\nreturn, and the hour we live in shows us these signs on every hand, so\nthat it is only those who are ignorant of the Word of God, or those who\nare carelessly or wilfully blind to the signs around (and this applies,\nwe grieve to say, as much to ministers as to people,) who fail to see how\nnear must be the moment of our Lord\u2019s return.\n\n\u201cThe first sign of this return is an awakening of national life among the\nJews, that shall immediately precede their return\u2014in unbelief\u2014to their\nown land. Please turn with me to Matthew twenty-four.\u201d\n\nThere was again that soft rustle of turning leaves that had struck Tom\nHammond as so remarkable. Someone behind him, at the same instant,\npassed a Bible, open at the reference, to him over his shoulder. With a\ngrateful glance and a murmured word of thanks, he accepted the loan of\nthe book.\n\n\u201cI will read a verse or two here and there,\u201d the major announced. \u201cYou\nwho know your Bibles, friends, will readily recall the subject-matter of\nthe previous chapter, and how our Lord after His terrible prediction upon\nJerusalem, added, \u2018Behold, your house is left unto you desolate. For I\nsay unto you, Ye shall not see Me henceforth, till ye shall say, Blessed\nis He that cometh in the name of the Lord.\u2019\n\n\u201cThis is Jewish, of course, but the whole matter of the future of the\nJews and of the return of the Lord for His Church, and, later on, with\nHis Church, are bound up together. Presently, after uttering His last\nprediction, the disciples came to Him privately, saying,\n\n\u201c\u2018Tell us, when shall these things be? and what shall be the sign of Thy\ncoming, and of the end of the world?\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep your Bibles open where you now have them, friends, and note\nthis\u2014that the two-fold answer of our Lord\u2019s is in the reverse order to\nthe disciples\u2019 question. In verses four and five He points out what\nshould not be the sign of His coming. While, in verse six, He shows what\nshould not be the sign of the end of the world. With these distinctions I\nshall have more to say another day.\n\n\u201cThis afternoon I want to keep close to the signs of the coming of the\nLord. Read then the thirty-second and third verses: \u2018Now learn a parable\nof the fig-tree: when its branch is yet tender, and putteth forth leaves,\nye know that summer is nigh: so likewise ye, when ye shall see all these\nthings, know that\u2019\u2014look in the margins of your Bible, please, and note\nthat the \u2018it\u2019 of the text becomes \u2018He,\u2019 which is certainly the only wise\ntranslation\u2014\u2018when ye shall see all these things, know that He is near,\neven at your doors.\u2019\n\n\u201cNow, I hardly need remind the bulk of you, friends, gathered here this\nafternoon, that the fig-tree, in the Gospels, represents Israel. The\nBible uses three trees to represent Israel at different periods of her\nhistory, and in different aspects of her responsibility.\n\n\u201cThe Old Testament uses the vine as the symbol of Israel, the Gospels the\nfig, and the Epistles the olive. At your leisure, friends, if you have\nnever studied this, do so. You will not be puzzled much over the blasting\nof the barren fig-tree when you have made a study of the whole of this\nsubject, because you will see that it was parabolic of God\u2019s judgment on\nthe unfruitful Jewish race.\n\n\u201cNow, with this key of interpretation before us, how pointed becomes this\nfirst sign of the return of our Lord. \u2018When,\u2019 He says, \u2018the fig-tree\nputteth forth her leaves\u2019\u2014when the Jewish nation shows signs of a revival\nof national life and vitality,\u2014\u2018then know that the coming of the Lord\ndraweth nigh.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe careful reader of the daily press, even though not a Christian,\nought to have long ago been awakened to the startling fact that, after\nthousands of years, the national life of Israel is awakening. The Jew is\nreturning to his own land\u2014Palestine.\n\n\u201cOnly a year or two ago the world was electrified by hearing of the\nformation of that wonderful Zionist movement. How it has spread and\ngrown! And how, ever since, the increasing thousands have been flocking\nback to Palestine! There are now nearly three times the number of Jews\nin and around Jerusalem, that there were after the return from the\nBabylonish captivity. Agricultural settlements are extending all over the\nland. Vineyards and olive-grounds are springing up everywhere.\n\n\u201cNow note a remarkable fulfillment of prophecy. Turn to Isaiah xvii. 10,\n11: \u2018Therefore shalt thou plant pleasant plants, and shalt set it with\nstrange slips. In the day thou shalt make thy plant to grow, and in the\nmorning shalt thou make thy seed to flourish; but the harvest shall be a\nheap in the day of grief and of desperate sorrow.\u2019\n\n\u201cIn the early months of eighteen-ninety-four the Jews ordered two\nmillion vine-slips from America, which they planted in Palestine. There\nis the fulfillment of the first part of that prophecy, and if we are\njustified in believing, as we think we are, that the return of the Lord\nis imminent, then, as the tribulation will doubtless immediately follow\nthat return, and of the taking out of the Church from the world, then the\ngreat gathering in of the harvest of those vines will be in \u2018the day of\ngrief and of desperate sorrow.\u2019\n\n\u201cNow, let me read to you, friends, an extract from the testimony of an\nexpert, long resident in Palestine:\n\n\u201c\u2018There is not the shadow of a doubt,\u2019 he writes, \u2018as to the entire\nchanging of the climate of the land here (Palestine). The former and\nlatter rains are becoming the regular order of the seasons, and this is\ndoubtless due (physically, I mean) to the fact that the new colonists are\nplanting trees everywhere where they settle. The land, for thousands of\nyears, has been denuded of trees, so that there was nothing to attract\nthe clouds, etc.\n\n\u201c\u2018Comparing the rainfall for the last five years, I find that there\nhas been about as much rain in April as in March; whereas, comparing\nfive earlier years, from 1880-85, I find that the rainfall in April was\nconsiderably less than in March, and if we go back farther still, we find\nthat rain in April was almost unknown.\n\n\u201c\u2018Thus God is preparing the land for the people. The people, too, are\nbeing prepared for the land. The day is fast approaching when \u2018the Lord\nwill arise and have mercy upon Zion.\u2019\n\n\u201cI need hardly, I think, tell you what even the secular press has\nbeen giving some most striking articles about quite recently,\u2014namely,\nthe quiet preparation on the part of the Jews of everything for the\nrebuilding of the temple at Jerusalem.\n\n\u201cI see, by the lighting up of your faces, that you are familiar with the\nfact that gates, pillars, marbles, ornaments, and all else requisite\nfor the immediate building of the new temple are practically complete,\nand only await the evacuation of the hideous Mohamedan, with all his\nabominations, from Jerusalem, to be hurried to the site of the old\ntemple, and to be reared, a new temple to Jehovah, by the Jew. Any day,\nTurkey\u2014\u2018the sick man of the East\u2019\u2014in desperate straits for money, may\nsell Palestine to the Jews.\n\n\u201cThe Jews are to return to their land in unbelief of Christ being the\nMessiah. They will build their temple, reorganize the old elaborate\nservices, the lamb will be slain again \u2018between the two evenings,\u2019\nand\u2014but all else of this time belongs to another address. What we have to\nsee this afternoon is that the fig-tree\u2014the Jewish nation\u2014is budding, and\nto hear Jesus Christ saying to us, \u2018When ye see all these things, know\nthat He is near, even at the doors.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnother sign of the return of our Lord is to be the world-wide\npreaching of the Gospel. Now, in this connection, let me give a word of\ncorrection of a common error on this point.\n\n\u201cThe Bible nowhere gives a hint that the world is to be converted before\nthe return of the Lord for His Church. As a matter of fact, the world\u2014the\ntimes\u2014are to grow worse and worse; more polished, more cultured,\ncleverer, better educated, yet grosser in soul, falser in worship. The\nbulk of the Church shall have the form of godliness, but deny the power.\n\n\u201cMen shall be \u2018lovers of their own selves\u2019\u2014who can deny that selfishness\nis not a crowning sin of this age?\u2014\u2018covetous\u2019\u2014look at the heaping\nup of riches, at the cost of the peace, the honour, the very blood\nof others,\u2014\u2018incontinent\u2019\u2014the increase in our divorce court cases is\nalarming, disgusting,\u2014\u2018lovers of pleasure\u2019\u2014the whole nation has run mad\non pleasures.\n\n\u201cI need not enlarge further on this side of the subject, save to repeat\nthat the Word of God is most plain and emphatic on this point, that the\nreturn of our Lord is to be marked by a fearful declension from vital\ngodliness. But, with all this, there is to be a world-wide proclamation\nof the truth of salvation in Jesus. Not necessarily that every individual\nsoul shall hear it, but that all nations, etc., shall have it preached to\nthem.\n\n\u201cNow, in this connection, let me mention a fact that has deeply impressed\nme. It is this, that the greatest reawakening in the hearts of individual\nChristians in all the churches\u2014England, America, the Colonies\u2014as\ntestified to by all concerned, agrees, in time, with the awakening of\nthe Church of Christ to the special need of intercession for foreign\nmissions\u2014namely, from 1873-75.\n\n\u201cI must close for this afternoon, lest I weary you. We will, God\nwilling, come together again here on Tuesday at the same hour, and I\npray you all to be much in prayer for blessing on the attempt to open up\nthese wondrous truths, and pray also that the right kind of people may be\ngathered in. Will you all work for this, as well as pray for it? Invite\npeople to the meetings.\n\n\u201cDo either of you know any editors of a daily paper? If so, write to\nsuch, draw attention to these expositions, urge your editors to come. Oh,\nif only we could capture the daily press! What an extended pulpit, what a\nfar-reaching voice would our subject immediately possess!\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t quite know how far I ought to go on this line, but even as I\nspeak, it comes to me to ask you if any one here present is acquainted\nwith the evidently-gifted, open-minded editor of \u2018The Courier.\u2019 We have\nall, of course, been struck by his own utterances from the \u2018Prophet\u2019s\nChamber\u2019 column. Oh that he could be captured for Christ; then his paper\nwould doubtless be a clarion for his Lord!\u201d\n\nTom Hammond turned hot and cold. He trusted that no one had recognized\nhim. He would be glad to get away unrecognized. Yet he was not offended\nby the speaker\u2019s personal allusion to him. He felt that the major\u2019s soul\nrang true.\n\n\u201cBefore I close,\u201d the major went on, \u201csuffer me to read an extract from\nthe \u2018Gentleman\u2019s Magazine,\u2019 of the year seventeen hundred and fifty-nine:\n\n\u201c\u2018Mr. Urban,\u2014Reading over chapter eleven, verse two, of Revelation, a\nthought came to me that I had hit upon the meaning of it which I desire\nyou\u2019ll publish in one of your future magazines. The verse runs thus:\n\u201cBut the court which is without the temple leave out, and measure it not,\nfor it is given to the Gentiles, and the holy city shall they tread under\nfoot forty and two months.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Now, according to the Scriptural way of putting a day for a year, if\nwe multiply forty-two months by thirty (the number of days contained in\na Jewish month,) we have the time the Turks will reign over the Jews\u2019\ncountry, and the city of Jerusalem\u2014viz., 1,260; which, if we add to the\nyear of our Lord 636, when Jerusalem was taken by the Turks, we have\nthe year of our Lord 1896, near or about which time the Jews will be\nreinstated in their own country and city, Jerusalem, again, which will be\nabout 137 years hence; and that the Turks are the Gentiles mentioned in\nthe above-quoted chapter and verse appears from their having that country\nand city in possession about 1,123 years, and will continue to possess it\ntill the Omnipotent God, in His own time, bringeth this prophecy to its\nfull period.\u2019\n\n\u201cThis letter is signed \u2018M. Forster,\u2019 and is dated from \u2018Bessborough,\nOctober 24th, 1759.\u2019 I have very little sympathy with those of our\nbrethren who are ever venting in speech and in print the exact dates\n(as they declare) of the coming events surrounding the return of our\nLord, but I do believe (in spite of the somewhat hazy chronology at\nour command) that the regarding of approximate times is perfectly\npermissible, and the letter I have read you has some value when, taking\ndates, etc., approximately, we remember that this letter was written\nnearly a hundred and fifty years ago, and that 1896 was memorable for a\ndistinct movement towards the Holy Land.\n\n\u201cSo, I say, \u2018the coming of the Lord draweth nigh. To myself and to every\nChristian here, I would say, \u2018May God help us to quicken all our hearts,\nand purify all our lives, that we may not be ashamed at His coming.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd to any who are here (if such there be) who are not converted, may\nGod help you to seek His face, that you may not be \u2018left,\u2019 when He shall\nsuddenly, silently snatch away His Church out of this godless generation.\n\u2018Left!\u2019\n\n\u201cThink of what that will mean, unsaved friend, if you are here to-day.\nLeft! Left behind! When the Spirit of God will have been taken out of the\nearth. When Satan will dwell on the earth\u2014for, with the coming of Christ\ninto the air, Satan, \u2018the prince of the power of the air,\u2019 will have to\ndescend.\n\n\u201cChrist and Satan can never live in the same realm. Oh, God, save anyone\nhere from being left\u2014left behind, to come upon the unspeakable judgments\nwhich will follow the taking out of the world of the Church!\n\n    \u201cSome husband, whose head was laid on his bed,\n      Throbbing with mad excess,\n    Awakes from that dream by the lightning gleam,\n      Alone in his last distress.\n\n    \u201cFor the patient wife, who through each day\u2019s life,\n      Watched and wept for his soul,\n    Is taken away, and no more shall pray,\n      For the judgment thunders roll.\n\n    \u201cAnd that thoughtless fair who breathed no prayer,\n      Oft as her husband knelt,\n    Shall find he is fled, and start from her bed\n      To feel as never she felt.\n\n    \u201cThe children of day are summoned away;\n      Left are the children of night.\n\n\u201cIt is high time for us all to awake. God keep us awake and watching for\nour Lord, for His precious name\u2019s sake. Amen.\u201d\n\nThe murmured Amens rolled through the congregation like the deep surge of\na sea billow on a shingle shore.\n\n\u201cOur time has gone, friends,\u201d cried the major. \u201cWe will sing two verses\nonly of the closing hymn 410, the first and last verse. Sing straight\naway.\u201d\n\nTom Hammond, wondered at it all much as ever, listened while the song\nrang out:\n\n    \u201cWhen Jesus comes to reward His servants,\n      Whether it be noon or night,\n    Faithful to Him will He find us watching?\n      With our lamps all trimmed and bright?\n\n    CHORUS.\n\n      \u201cOh, can we say we are ready, brother?\n        Ready for the soul\u2019s bright home?\n      Say, will He find you and me still watching,\n        Waiting, waiting, when the Lord shall come?\n\n    \u201cBlessed are those whom the Lord finds watching\n      In His glory they shall share:\n    If He shall come at the dawn or midnight,\n      Will He find us watching there?\u201d\n\nAgain the chorus rang out, and as Tom Hammond left the hall, the question\nof it clung to him. It forced itself upon his brain; it groped about for\nhis heart; it clamoured to be hearkened to.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nHER CABIN COMPANION.\n\n\n\u201cThere\u2019ll be one other lady with you in your cabin, miss.\u201d\n\nThe berth-steward\u2019s announcement in no way disconcerted Madge Finisterre.\nShe had had two cabin companions on the outward voyage.\n\nShe was arranging her cabin necessaries when her fellow-traveller\nentered. She was a wee, winsome girl, very fragile in appearance, with a\nyearning sweetness in her great grey eyes, such as Madge had never seen\nin any eyes before. With half-a-dozen words of exchanged greeting and a\nvery warm handshake, the pair became instant friends.\n\nBy a strange but happy coincidence neither of them ever suffered from\nsea-sickness, and from the first moment of the great liner\u2019s departure\nthey became inseparable.\n\nAs the vessel forged her way down Channel that evening, a glorious moon\nshining down upon them, the two girls, arm-in-arm, paced the promenade\ndeck talking. The subject of the acute distress among the poor and\nout-of-works in all the world\u2019s great cities came up between them.\n\n\u201cOh, if only our Lord would come quickly!\u201d cried the girl\u2014Kate Harland\nwas her name.\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean, Kate?\u201d Madge\u2019s voice was full of amazed wonder.\n\n\u201cI mean that\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThe fragile girl paused; then, glancing quickly up into Madge\u2019s face, she\ncried:\n\n\u201cYou love Jesus, of course, Madge? You are saved, dear, and looking for\nHis coming?\u201d\n\nFor an instant Madge was silent. Then, with a deep sigh, she replied:\n\n\u201cOh, me! I am afraid I am not saved, as you call it. Katie, dear, the\nfact is\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe halted in her speech. She did not know how to put into words all that\nher friend\u2019s question had aroused within her.\n\nWhile she halted thus, the girl at her side put her arms about her,\nclasping her with a kind of yearning\u2014an \u201cI will not let you go\u201d kind of\nclasp\u2014as she cried, softly:\n\n\u201cOh, my darling, you must not lie down to-night until you know you are\nChrist\u2019s. Then\u2014then\u2014after that, nothing can ever matter. Come weal, come\nwoe, come life, come death, all is well!\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was past midnight before the two girls climbed into their berths, but\nby that time Madge Finisterre knew that she had passed from death into\nlife.\n\nBefore the vessel reached New York she had learned something of the truth\nof the near return of the Lord.\n\nOn the quay, when they landed, the two girls bade each other a sorrowful\nfarewell.\n\n\u201cWe shall meet in heaven, Katie, if nevermore on earth,\u201d sobbed Madge.\n\n\u201cIn the air, my darling,\u201d replied the other. \u201cDo not let us lose sight of\nthat. When our Lord shall come,\n\n    \u2018Loved ones shall meet in a joyful surprise,\n    Caught up together to Him in the skies,\n      When Jesus shall come once again.\u2019\u201d\n\nKate Harland\u2019s friends, who had travelled to meet her from Denver,\ncarried her off, and Madge took the car to the Central.\n\nOne hour later she boarded the train and began the last lap of her long\njourney.\n\nHer spirits rose higher every moment. She had conceived a very bold idea,\nand she was going to carry it through after her own fashion. She sent no\nmessage of warning of her coming, as this would spoil her little plot.\n\nHer eyes rested delightedly upon every place she passed. At Garrisons,\nwhere the train waited a few minutes, she caught a glimpse of the father\nof the man whom she was hurrying to meet.\n\nThe white-haired old father lived at Garrisons, and was a preacher of\nthe Gospel, like his son. He was leaving the depot as her train pulled\nup. She easily recognized him, because several times during his son\u2019s\npastorate at Balhang he had been to see him, staying a week at a time,\nand preaching once on the Sunday on each occasion.\n\nAt Duchess Junction she had to change trains. To her joy, she met no one\nfrom Balhang; there was not a soul at the depot whom she even knew by\nsight.\n\nJust before her train reached Balhang she donned a thick brown gauze\nveil. No one could see her face through this to recognize it. There\nwould be nothing to detain her at the depot, for her baggage was all\n\u201cexpressed.\u201d\n\nThe train stopped; she alighted. Several people peered hard at her, the\ndepot manager especially, as he took her check, but no one recognized\nher. She passed on. Twenty yards from the depot she met Judge Anstey.\n\nShe stopped him with a \u201cGood day, Judge; can I speak with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, madam,\u201d the official replied genially.\n\n\u201cCome aside, Judge,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI don\u2019t want anyone to recognize me,\nor to hear what I am saying to you, should people pass.\u201d\n\nAs he moved on by her side in the direction she wished, she whispered:\n\n\u201cI have put on this thick veil, Judge, so as not to be recognized. I am\nMadge Finisterre.\u201d\n\n\u201cDu say!\u201d he gasped. \u201cI knew the voice, but could not recall whose it\nwas. I hadn\u2019t heard a breath of your coming home, Miss Madge.\u201d\n\n\u201cI let no one, not even mumma and poppa, know that I was coming,\u201d she\nreplied. \u201cThe fact is, Judge\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe was glad, as she prepared to take him into her confidence, that the\nthick veil would hide the hot colour that she felt leaped into her face.\n\n\u201cMomma wrote me,\u201d she went on, \u201cthat the pastor was very sick, and\nthat the doctor didn\u2019t understand his case. I only got the letter last\nSaturday morning. The boat was to start that day at two; but I caught it,\nfor I knew that would cure the pastor.\u201d\n\nShe felt how fiercely the blushes burned in her cheeks, but, assured that\nhe could not see them, she went on:\n\n\u201cJust before I started for Europe, Judge, pastor told me he loved me, and\nasked me to be his wife\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe watched the amused amaze leap into the Judge\u2019s face, and smiled\nherself at his low whistle.\n\n\u201cI told him,\u201d she continued, \u201cI could make him no definite promise, as I\nwas not quite sure of myself; but that, when I was, I would not wait for\nhim to ask me again\u2014I would come and tell him. I am going straight to him\nnow, Judge, and I want you to give me a clear quarter of an hour\u2019s start.\nWhile I am gone to fix him up and to make him happy, I want you to go\n\u2019long to mumma and poppa, and bring them right along with you, and marry\nme and pastor as soon as you git up to us. So-long for a quarter of an\nhour.\u201d\n\nWithout another word she moved swiftly away.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s tropical!\u201d he laughed, as he saw her making for Mrs. Keller\u2019s,\nwhere the pastor boarded.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe French windows of the pastor\u2019s sitting-room were open, for the day\nwas like a spring one. Madge moved quickly across the patch of grass,\nmounted the stoop, and peered in.\n\nIn a large rocker, looking very frail and ill, the young pastor was lying\nback with his eyes closed.\n\nMadge felt her eyes fill with tears. She lifted the disguising veil, and\nwiped the salt drops away. She did not lower her veil again, but with a\nlittle glad cry of\u2014\n\n\u201cHomer, dear love!\u201d she crossed the threshold, and dropped on her knees\nby his side, flung her arms around his neck, and laid her hot lips to his.\n\nIt was like a dream to him\u2014a wondrous, delicious dream. His thin arms\nclasped her. His kisses were rained upon her, but at first he found no\nwords to say. Between their passionately-exchanged kisses she poured out,\nin rapid, caress-punctured speech, how she came to be there.\n\n\u201cI have not seen mumma or poppa yet,\u201d she explained; \u201cbut I met Judge\nAnstey down by the depot. I have sent him home for mumma and poppa; they\nwill be here in no time now. The Judge will come with them, and will\nmarry us right off, dear. For, say, you do want some nursing.\u201d\n\nHe found his voice at last, declared that her coming, her first kiss, had\nmade him strong; that he would need no nursing now that she had come.\nGetting on to his feet, he gathered her into his arms, and rained fresh\nkisses upon her lips, her cheeks, her brow, her eyes.\n\nShe managed to whisper the good news, \u201cI have found Jesus, dear, or He\nfound me, and now\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nA sound of voices and of hurrying steps outside checked her. She had only\ntime to tear herself from his arms when her mother and father reached her\nside.\n\nAn hour later, when the Judge had been and gone again, Madge Finisterre\nwas the wife of the pastor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nCASTING A SHOE.\n\n\nIt was two hours after midnight when Tom Hammond was free at last. But\nhe did not go to bed. His soul was disturbed. What he had heard at the\nmajor\u2019s meeting had stirred a myriad disquieting thoughts within him, and\nnow that he was clear to do it, he shut himself up alone with a Bible,\nand began to go over every point of the major\u2019s address. He had taken\ncopious notes in shorthand, paying especial attention to the texts quoted\nand referred to.\n\nAt the end of an hour he looked up from his Bible. There was a wondering\namaze in his eyes, a strange, perplexed knitting of his brows.\n\n\u201cIt is all most marvellous!\u201d he murmured. \u201cThere is not a flaw or hitch\nanywhere in the major\u2019s statements or reasoning. The Scriptures prove, to\nthe hilt, every word that he uttered.\u201d\n\nHe smiled to himself as, rising to his feet, he said aloud,\n\n\u201cI should not sleep if I went to bed; I will go out.\u201d\n\nThere are ways of getting into some of the London parks before the\nregulation hour for opening the gates. Tom Hammond had often found a way\nto forestall the park-opener.\n\nTen minutes after leaving his chambers he was inside the park he loved\nbest. Everything was eerily still and silent. The calm suited his mood.\nHe wanted to feel, as well as to be, absolutely alone. He had his\ndesire. There had been a thick mist over London overnight, but the\natmosphere was as clear as a bell now. The air was as balmy as a morning\nin May or September.\n\nThere was a faint light from the stars that stabbed the deep violet sky.\nHe moved slowly, thoughtfully, through paths as familiar to him as the\nrooms he occupied at home.\n\n\u201cAnd the Christ might come to-day!\u201d he mused. \u201cAs Major H\u2014\u2014 showed\nplainly from the Bible, there is no other prophetic event to transpire\nbefore His coming.\u201d\n\nAlmost unconsciously he paused in his walking.\n\n\u201cIf,\u201d he cried softly, a certain fearsomeness in his voice, \u201cif He came\nto-day, came now, what about me? Where should I come in?\u201d\n\nHe recalled the fact that, according to the major\u2019s showing, he, Tom\nHammond, was quite unprepared for Christ\u2019s coming, because he was still\nunsaved. He shivered slightly as the thought of his unpreparedness came\nto him.\n\nWith the flashing swiftness of one of memory\u2019s freaks, there leaped into\nhis mind some lines of Charles Wesley\u2019s. He had written them, a day or\ntwo before, in illustration of a certain statement in an article on\nhymnology. They had not borne any message to his soul then, but now they\nseemed like the voicing of his own inmost thoughts.\n\nHe walked slowly on, the words falling from his lips in half-uttered\nnotes.\n\n    \u201cAnd am I only born to die?\n    And must I suddenly comply\n      With nature\u2019s stern decree?\n    What after death for me remains\u2014\n    Celestial joys, or bitter pains,\n      To all eternity?\n\n    \u201cNo room for mirth or trifling here,\n    For worldly hope, or worldly fear,\n      If life so soon is gone\u2014\n    If now the Judge is at the door,\n    And all mankind must stand before\n      The inexorable throne!\n\n    \u201cNothing is worth a thought beneath,\n    But how I may escape the death\n      That never, never dies\u2014\n    How make my own election sure,\n    And, when I fail on earth, secure\n      A mansion in the skies.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere was something inspiring, something helpful, in the last verse,\u201d he\nmused, \u201cbut, for the life of me, I cannot recall it.\u201d\n\nThe piping note of a robin from a clump of bush trees close by broke into\nhis reverie. He lifted his head sharply and looked around, then upwards.\nThe stars had paled in the violet dome above him. Somewhere near, ahead\nof him, was a piece of ornamental water. He caught a glimpse of it\nbetween the trees.\n\n\u201cPip-pip!\u201d came again from the robin\u2019s throat. He remembered Charles Fox,\nand said softly aloud:\n\n    \u201cCame forward to be seen,\n    My little bright-eyed fellow,\n    And an honest one as well O\n    In thy suit of olive green,\n    With red-orange vest between,\n    And small touching voice so mellow.\u201d\n\nThe bird suddenly flew across his path, dropped upon a low piece of iron\nfencing, glanced askance at him, then darted to where a morning meal\npeeped out of the damp sod.\n\nTwo or three other low, sleepy bird-notes followed, then the water-fowl\nbegan their discordant quacking. The tremulous flutenotes of a thrush\nmade rich music on the morning air.\n\nThe stars faded out of sight. The cold grey light of dawning day moved\ninto the eastern horizon. The smell of the earth grew rank. The air grew\nkeener. The east slowly reddened. Roofs and towers of houses and churches\ngrew up slowly, and grey amid the cold light of the dawn. He turned to\nface the spot where he knew the great clock-tower of Westminster could\nbe seen. A light burned high aloft in the tower, telling that England\u2019s\nlegislators were still in session.\n\nSlowly, thoughtfully, he turned back to walk home.\n\n\u201cIf Christ came at this instant,\u201d he mused, \u201chow many of those Commoners\nand Peers would be ready to meet Him? And what of the teeming millions of\nthis mighty city? God help us all! What blind fools we are!\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn spite of his night vigil Tom Hammond was in his office at his usual\nhour. He had been there about an hour when there came a short, sharp rap\non the panel of his room-door. In response to his \u201cCome in!\u201d Joyce, the\ndrunken reporter lurched in. In some way he had contrived to elude those\non duty in the enquiry-office.\n\nHe was the worse for drink, and in response to Hammond\u2019s sharp queries:\n\n\u201cWhat do you want? How came you here unannounced?\u201d he began to \u201cbeg the\nloan of five shillings.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a copper!\u201d cried Hammond.\n\nJoyce whined for it.\n\nHammond refused more sharply.\n\nThe drunken wretch cringed, whimpered for \u201cjust \u2019arf-a-crown.\u201d\n\nThe fellow began to bluster, then to threaten.\n\n\u201cIf you don\u2019t leave this room, I\u2019ll hurl you out,\u201d cried Hammond, \u201cand\ngive you in custody of the police.\u201d\n\nThe drunken beast straightened his limp form as well as he was able, as\nhe hiccoughed:\n\n\u201cAll rightsh, Tom Ham\u2019n\u2019d. Every dawg hash hish day. You\u2019re havin\u2019 yoursh\nnow, all rightsh\u2014all rightsh,\u2014but I\u2019ll\u2014hic\u2014do fur yer; I\u2019ll\u2014hic\u2014ruin yer;\nI\u2019ll\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nTom Hammond darted from his place by the table. The next instant he would\nhave put his threat of \u201churling out\u201d into execution, but the drunken\nbraggart did not wait for him, for he shuffled out of the room, cursing\nhideously.\n\nAs the door closed upon him, Tom Hammond went across to the window, and\nflung up the lower sashes, and drew down the upper ones. From a drawer\nin a cabinet he took a strip of scented joss-paper, and lit it. The\nsandal-like perfume spread instantly through all the room.\n\n\u201cFaugh!\u201d he muttered. \u201cThe whole place seems foul after his presence.\u201d\n\nHe turned to his wash-stand, rolled back the polished top, and washed his\nhands.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll see Ralph,\u201d he muttered, as he dried his hands \u201cand go out for a\ncouple of hours. I\u2019ll go and see Cohen.\u201d\n\nIt was curious how often he found excuse to visit the Jew.\n\nA quarter of an hour later he drove up to the house of Cohen. He found\nhim, with his wife and Zillah, on the point of starting for their\nsynagogue.\n\n\u201cOne may live a life-time, as a Jew, in this country,\u201d Cohen explained,\n\u201cand never see the ceremony that is about to take place in our synagogue.\nIt is what is known in our religion as \u2018Chalitza.\u2019 Will you go with us,\nMr. Hammond?\u201d\n\nTom Hammond\u2019s eyes met Zillah\u2019s. Then he promptly said\u2014\n\n\u201cYes\u201d to the Jew\u2019s question.\n\n\u201cRight, then! We can explain about the ceremony as we go!\u201d Cohen said,\nand the quartette left the house.\n\nThere was not much time for explanation, but what Tom Hammond heard\nconvinced him that he was a fortunate journalist that day. He had no\nopportunity of talking with Zillah, but he found his heart beating with a\nstrange wildness whenever his eyes met hers\u2014and they frequently met.\n\nAt the door of the synagogue the party had to separate, the two women\ngoing one way, Cohen and Hammond another. The building was filling very\nfast. Presently it was packed to suffocation.\n\nIt was Tom Hammond\u2019s first sight of a Jewish congregation in a synagogue.\nIt amazed him. The hatted men and bewigged women\u2014these latter sat behind\na grille. The gorgeousness of much of the female finery. The curious\n\u201cpraying shawls\u201d\u2014the \u201cTalith\u201d of the men.\n\nSuddenly a Rabbi began to intone the opening words of the service,\nreading from the roll of the law, \u201cThe Holy Scroll:\u201d \u201cIf brethren dwell\ntogether, and one of them die, and have no child, the wife of the dead\nshall not marry without unto a stranger; her husband\u2019s brother shall take\nher to wife, and perform the duty of a husband\u2019s brother to her.... And\nif the man like not to take his brother\u2019s wife, then let his brother\u2019s\nwife go up to the gate unto the elders, and say, My husband\u2019s brother\nrefuseth to raise up unto his brother a name in Israel, he will not\nperform the duty of my husband\u2019s brother.\n\n\u201cThen the elder of the city shall call the man, and speak unto him: and\nif he stand to it, and say, I like not to take her;\n\n\u201cThen shall his brother\u2019s wife come unto him in the presence of the\nelders, and loose his shoe from off his foot, and shall spit in his face,\nand shall answer and say, \u2018So shall it be done unto that man that will\nnot build up his brother\u2019s house.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd his name shall be called in Israel, \u2018the house of him that hath his\nshoe loosed\u2019.\u201d\n\nThe service was all very curious in the eyes of Tom Hammond. He followed\nevery item of it with the closest, most interested attention. Presently\nthe parties specially concerned mounted the platform. This platform was\nbacked with a huge square frame covered with black cloth. This was meant\nto symbolize mourning for the dead husband. Three tall candle-sticks held\nlighted candles, their flames looking weird and sickly in the daylight.\n\nThe Rabbi stooped before the brother-in-law, and took off his right shoe\nand sock. Another official washed the foot, wiped it with a towel, and\npared the toe-nails.\n\nA soft white shoe, made specially for the occasion, was then taken by the\nrabbi, put on to the bare foot of the man, and laced up very tightly, the\nlong ends of the lace being twisted round the ankle and knotted securely.\n\nThen there followed a seemingly interminable string of questions, put by\nthe rabbi, and answered by the brother-in-law. The catechism culminated\nin a few chief questions such as:\n\n\u201cDo you wish to marry this woman?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not,\u201d replied the brother-in-law.\n\n\u201cFor what reason?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am already married; my wife is living, and the law of the land we\nlive in does not permit my having more than one wife.\u201d\n\nThe reply rang clear and strong through the silent building, and the hush\nseemed to deepen as the rabbi asked,\n\n\u201cWill you give this woman Chalitza?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly I will, if she wishes it,\u201d replied the brother-in-law.\n\nTurning to the woman, the rabbi asked, \u201cDo you wish to receive Chalitza?\u201d\n\nTom Hammond saw how the light of a great eagerness leaped into the eyes\nof the beautiful Jewess, and how her face glowed with the warmth of a\nsudden colour, as she replied,\n\n\u201cI do wish for Chalitza, for I desire to marry again.\u201d\n\nThe rabbi\u2019s assistant gave her certain instructions, and she knelt before\nher brother-in-law, and with the thumb and finger of her right hand\u2014she\ndare not use the left, however difficult her task might prove,\u2014she began\nuntying the knots in the lace fastenings around the ankle.\n\nIt was no child\u2019s play to unfasten the shoe. The knots had been drawn\nvery tight; but she was very determined, and presently a deep sigh of\nrelief broke from the breathless, watching congregation, as, taking the\nshoe from the man\u2019s foot, she flung it sharply down, twice, upon the\nfloor.\n\nShe rose now to her feet to complete the ceremony. The law of spitting\nin the face of the man had been modified to meet the views of a day less\ngross than when it was carried out in full coarseness.\n\nThe brother-in-law took a couple of paces backwards, and the beautiful\nwidow spat on the place he had stood a moment before.\n\nThen she faced the great congregation. Her eyes travelled straight to the\nface of the man she loved, whom she was shortly to marry. Her eyes danced\nwith excitement, her cheeks were rosy with colour, her whole face was\nfull of an indescribable rapture, as she cried:\n\n\u201cI am free!\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue, sister, you are free!\u201d the brother-in-law responded.\n\nThe rabbi moved swiftly to her side, and, looking into her face, said:\n\n\u201cO woman of Israel, you are free!\u201d\n\nWith a shout that reminded Tom Hammond of the shout, \u201cHe is risen!\u201d\nat the Easter service in the Greek churches of Russia, the excited,\nperspiring congregation cried: \u201cWoman, you are free!\u201d\n\nA moment or two later the service concluded, and the building emptied.\nWalking homeward by Hammond\u2019s side, Cohen said, \u201cOnly the most orthodox\nof Jews would dream of using Chalitza to free themselves for re-marrying.\nThis is the only case I have personally known. By-the-bye, Mr. Hammond,\nit is said that about the middle of the eighteenth century that one of\nthe Rothschild widows sought Chalitza, but failed to untie the lace of\nthe shoe, and was disqualified from re-marrying.\u201d\n\nCohen\u2019s wife had stopped to speak to some friends. The young Jew joined\nher. Tom Hammond found himself moving forward by Zillah\u2019s side.\n\n\u201cWhat an extraordinary service that was, Miss Robart!\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cIt was!\u201d she glanced almost shyly away from him, for, unknown to himself\nhis eyes were full of the warmest admiration.\n\n\u201cDo you think, Miss Robart,\u201d he went on, \u201cif you were situated as was\nthat beautiful woman whom we have just seen freed from the Mosaic bond,\nthat you would have braved the Chalitza ceremony, or would you have taken\nadvantage of the English law and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe lifted her great, black, lustrous eyes to his in a sudden gaze of\nutter frankness, as, interrupting him, she cried:\n\n\u201cI would certainly not marry any man, save one whom I could wholly revere\nand love!\u201d\n\n\u201cHappy the man whom you shall thus honour, Miss Robart!\u201d\n\nTom Hammond barely whispered the words, and she was not wholly sure that\nhe meant them for her ears. She did not respond in any way. But she was\nconscious that his gaze was fixed upon her. She was equally conscious\nthat she was blushing furiously.\n\nPerhaps it was to give her a chance of recovering herself, that his next\nquestion was on quite a different topic.\n\n\u201cAre you, Miss Robart,\u201d he said, \u201cwholly wedded to the Jewish faith? Do\nyou believe, for instance, that Jesus, the Nazarene, was an impostor?\u201d\n\nHe heard the catch that came into her throat. Then, with a\nhalf-frightened look around, she lifted her melting eyes to his, as she\nsaid, \u201cI can trust you, Mr. Hammond, I know. You will keep my confidence,\nif I give it to you?\u201d\n\nHis eyes answered her, and she went on.\n\n\u201cI have not dared to breathe a word of it to anyone, not even to my good\nbrother-in-law Abraham, but I am learning to love the Christ.\u201d\n\nHer face was filled with a holy light, her cheeks glowed with excitement,\nas she went on:\n\n\u201cI see how the prophecies of our forefathers\u2014Isaiah especially\u2014were all\nliterally fulfilled in the life and work of Jesus of Nazareth. I see,\ntoo, that when next He comes, it will not be as our race supposes, as the\nMessiah to the Jews, but He will come in the air, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe glanced sharply round. Some instinct told her her friends were coming.\n\n\u201cNo more now,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI will tell you more another time. I\nshall myself know more, to-night. I go twice a week to a mission-room at\nSpitalfields\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat time?\u201d he asked eagerly.\n\n\u201cSeven,\u201d she replied, not realizing the eagerness of his tone.\n\n\u201cWhere is this place?\u201d he went on.\n\nShe had just time to tell him. When Cohen and his wife came up, husband\nand wife began talking together. Zillah appeared to listen, but in\nreality she heard nothing of what they were saying. For a strange thing\nhad happened.\n\nShe had dropped her hand by her side as the Cohens had rejoined them, and\nhad suddenly found her fingers clasped in Hammond\u2019s hand.\n\nWhat did it mean? she wondered. They had met often of late. She had read\nan unmistakable ardency in his eyes very often, when her glance met his.\nAnd, deep in her own heart, she knew that all the woman-love she would\never have to give a man she had unconsciously given to him. Was this\nsudden secret handclasp of his a silent expression of love on his part,\nor was it meant merely as an assurance of sympathy in the matter of her\nnew faith?\n\nShe could not be sure which it was, but she let her plump fingers give\na little pressure of response. How did he translate this response? she\nwondered. She had no means of deciding, save that her heart leaped wildly\nin a tumultuous delight as she felt how he literally gripped her fingers\nin a closer, warmer clasp.\n\nThey had reached the house by this time. Hammond would not go in. He\nshook hands, in parting, with each, but his hold upon Zillah\u2019s hand was\nlonger than on the others. He pressed the fingers meaningly, and his eyes\nheld an ardency that gave a new tumult to her heart.\n\nAs she passed into the house she whispered to herself, \u201cWill he be at\nSpitalfields to-night?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTOLD IN A CAB.\n\n\nA quarter of an hour before the time Zillah had given him, Tom Hammond\nwas waiting near the \u201cMission Hall for Jews,\u201d where the meeting was to be\nheld. He was anxious that she should not know of his proximity, so kept\nout of sight,\u2014there were many possibilities of this among the various\nstalls in the gutter-way.\n\nPresently he saw her coming, and the light of a glad admiration leaped\ninto his eyes. \u201cWhat a superb face and figure she has!\u201d he mused. \u201cWhat a\nperfect queen of a woman she is!\u201d\n\nFrom behind a whelk-stall he watched her cross over to the door of the\nHall. Here she paused a moment, and glanced around.\n\n\u201cI believe she half expected to see me somewhere near!\u201d he murmured to\nhimself.\n\nShe entered the Hall. By the time her head was bowed in prayer, he had\nentered, and had taken a seat on the last form, the fourth behind hers.\nWhen she first raised her head from her silent prayer, she looked around\nand backward. In her heart she was hoping he would be there. If he had\nnot been bending in prayer, she must have seen him. After that she turned\nno more, the service soon occupied all her thoughts.\n\nHe too became utterly absorbed by the service, of which the address\nwas the chief feature. It was largely expository, and from the first\nutterance of the speaker, it riveted Tom Hammond\u2019s attention.\n\nThe speaker, himself a converted Jew, took as his text Deut. xxi. 22, 23.\n\n\u201cIf a man have committed a sin worthy of death, and is sentenced to\ndeath, and thou hang him on a tree, his corpse shall not remain all night\nupon the tree, but, burying, thou shalt bury him on that day (because he\nwho is hanged is accursed of God).\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, brethren,\u201d the speaker went on, \u201cas far as I have been able to\ndiscover, in all the Hebrew records I have been able to consult, and in\nall the histories of our race, I have not found a single reference to a\nHebrew official hanging of a criminal on a tree. To what, then, does this\nverse refer, and why is it placed on Jehovah\u2019s statute-book?\u201d\n\nFor a few moments he appealed to his Jewish hearers on points peculiarly\nHebraic. Then presently he said,\n\n\u201cNow let us see if the New Testament will shed any light upon this.\u201d\n\nTurning rapidly the leaves of his Bible, he went on: \u201cThere is a book in\nthe Christian Scriptures known as the Epistle to the Galatians which,\nin the tenth verse of the third chapter, repeats our own word from\nDeuteronomy:\n\n\u201c\u2018Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written\nin the Book of the Law to do them,\u2019 and in the thirteenth verse says,\n\u2018Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse\nfor us: for it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.\u2019\n\n\u201cWe all, brethren, as the sons of Abraham, believe that our father\nDavid\u2019s Psalm beginning, \u2018My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?\u2019 was\nnever written out of his own experience, but was prophetic of some other\nPerson. Now, let me quote you some of the words of that Psalm.\u201d\n\nIn clear, succinct language, the speaker, quoting verse after verse of\nthe Psalm, showed how literally the descriptions fitted into a death\nby crucifixion. Referring to the Gospel narratives of the death on the\ncross, he showed how they also fitted in with the description of Christ\u2019s\ndeath, and how Christ actually took upon His dying lips the cry of the\nPsalm, \u201cMy God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?\u201d\n\nThen with wondrous clearness he referred to parts of Isaiah liii., and,\ncontinuing his theme, showed that it was evident that only one particular\ntype of death could have atoned for the sin of the human race, a death\nthat would render the dying one accursed of the Almighty. The only death\nthat would fully carry out that condition was crucifixion.\n\n\u201cOur race waited for the Messiah,\u201d he cried, \u201cand He came. Our prophet\nMicah said, \u2018Yet thou, O Bethlehem-Ephratah, little as thou art amidst\nthe thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall proceed from Me, One who is\nto be ruler in Israel!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Christ was born at the only time in the world\u2019s history when\nHe could have been executed on a tree\u2014crucified. At a time when the\nRoman\u2014crucifixion was a Roman punishment\u2014swayed our beloved land of\nJewry. So that Paul, the great Jew, chosen of God to be apostle to the\nGentiles, wrote after the crucifixion of Jesus, the Nazarene, \u2018According\nto the time, Christ died.\u2019\u201d\n\nFor some minutes the speaker appealed to his Jewish hearers with a\nwonderful power. Then finally addressing not only the Jews, but any\nGentiles who might be present, he cried:\n\n\u201cWe must know the meaning of sin, brethren, before we can understand\nthe mystery of a crucified Christ. A beheaded, a stoned Christ, could\nnot have atoned for a guilty world, but only a God-cursed death, a\ntree-cursed death could have done this.\n\n\u201cAnd Christ was cursed for us\u2014He who knew no curse of His own. Ah!\nbeloved, the guilt of the human race is the key to the cross.\n\n\u201cTimes change, customs change, but sin remains, sin is ever the same, and\nonly a living, personal trust in the crucified Christ can ever deliver\nthe unsaved sinner from the wrath of God which abideth on him.\u201d\n\nThe address closed. Tom Hammond awoke from his intense absorption of\nsoul. He had long since utterly forgotten Zillah. He had seen only\nhimself, at first, his own sin, and that his sin had nailed Christ to the\ncross. Then, better still, he saw the Christ.\n\nOnly a few nights before he had paused to watch a Salvation Army\nopen-air meeting. The girl-officer in charge of the corps had announced\nthirty-eight as the number of the hymn they would sing, and prefaced the\nreading of the first verse by saying:\n\n\u201cThis hymn was written by an ex-drunkard\u2014an ex-blasphemer. His name was\nNewton\u2014drunken Jack Newton, he was often called by his mates, and by\nothers who knew him. He was a sailor, on a ship trading to the African\ncoast, at the time when his soul was aroused to its danger. He was in\nagony, not knowing what to do to get rest and peace.\n\n\u201cOne night he was keeping anchor-watch. He was alone on the deck, the\nnight was dark and eerie. His sins troubled him. All that he had heard\nof the crucified Christ\u2014whom he had so often blasphemed\u2014swept into his\nsoul, and he groaned in the misery of his sin-convicted state.\n\n\u201cSuddenly he paused in his deck-pacing, and looked up. To his fevered\nimagination, the yard which crossed the mast high up above his head\nappeared like a mighty cross, and it was remembering this, with all the\nsoul-experience of that night, that in after years, when he became a\npreacher of the gospel, and a noted divine, Dr. John Newton wrote:\n\n    \u201cI saw One hanging on a tree\n      In agonies and blood,\n    Who fixed His dying eyes on me,\n      As near the cross I stood.\n    \u2018A second look He gave, which said,\n      \u201cI freely all forgive\n    My blood was for thy ransom paid,\n      I die that thou may\u2019st live.\u2019\u201d\u201d\n\nRecalling these words now, Tom Hammond\u2019s soul received the great\nRevelation. He heard no word of the closing hymn and prayer, but passed\nout into the open air a new man in Christ.\n\nThe mission-leader had given an invitation to any who would like to be\nhelped in soul matters to remain behind. Tom Hammond noticed that Zillah\nlingered.\n\nIt was half-an-hour before she came out. Tom Hammond had lived a\nlife-time of wonder in the thirty minutes.\n\nLike one in a delicious dream Zillah walked on a few yards. Suddenly she\nbecame aware of Tom Hammond\u2019s presence at her side.\n\n\u201cZillah!\u201d\n\nHe gave her no other word of greeting. It was the first time he had ever\ncalled the young girl by her first name. He took her hand, and drew it\nthrough his arm. She barely noticed the tender action, for her soul was\nrioting in a new-found joy, and she poured out, in a few sentences, all\nthe story of her supreme trust in Christ the Nazarene.\n\nHis voice was hoarse with many emotions, as he said,\n\n\u201cI, too, Zillah, have to-night seen Jesus Christ dying for my sin, and\nhave taken Him for my own personal Saviour!\u201d\n\nSuddenly she realized how closely he was holding her to his side, how\ntight was the clasp of his hand upon hers. She looked up into his face\nto express her joy at his new-found faith. Their eyes met. A new meaning\nflashed in their exchanged glances.\n\nA four-wheeled cab moved slowly along in the gutter-way, the driver\nuttered a low \u201cKeb, keb!\u201d\n\nTom Hammond seized the opportune offer, and whispered,\n\n\u201cLet us take a cab, Zillah. I have something to say to you which I must\nsay to-night.\u201d\n\nBefore scarcely she realized it, she was seated by his side in the cab.\n\nThere is a moment in every woman\u2019s life when her heart warns her of the\ncoming of the great event in that life, when love is to be offered to her\nby the only man who has ever loomed large enough in her consciousness to\nbe able to affect her existence.\n\nThis moment had suddenly unexpectedly come to Zillah Robart.\n\nHer heart warned her that the crisis was upon her. She had done nothing\nto precipitate it. It had met her, drawn her aside, and had shut her up\nin the semi-darkness of this vehicle with the only man she could ever\nlove.\n\nThe cab rattled over the cobbles of that wide East-end thoroughfare, past\nthe throngs of moving pedestrians, though, to her consciousness, the\nwhole wide world consisted of but one man\u2014the man at her side.\n\nHe had secured her hand, he held it in his strong, hot clasp. She held\nher breath in a strange, expectant ecstasy. Then the inevitable came. She\nfelt its coming.\n\nTom Hammond was drawing her closer to himself. She was yielding to that\ndrawing. She caught her breath again, and as she did so a rush of strange\ntears filled her eyes.\n\n\u201cZillah!\u201d his voice was hoarse and deep.\n\nShe realized the meaning of the hoarseness. She knew by her own feeling\nthat the depth and intensity of his voice was due to the emotion that\nfilled him. She knew she would have found herself voiceless at that\nmoment had she tried to speak.\n\n\u201cI love you, my darling!\u201d he went on. \u201cI have loved you from the first\ninstant I met you. You have felt it, known it, dear. Have you not?\u201d\n\nShe tried to speak, her lips moved, but no sound came from them. But she\nlooked into his eyes, and he read his answer.\n\nWith a sweeping gesture of passionate love he gathered her into his arms\nand showered kisses upon her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, her hair.\n\nShe lay like a stunned thing in his arms. Her joy was almost greater than\nshe could bear. Then as his hot lips sought hers again, she awoke from\nher semi-trance of ecstasy, and with a little sob she flung her arms\nupwards and clasped them about his neck, crying,\n\n\u201cLove you, my darling? Love seems too poor a word to express my feeling,\nfor God knows that, save my Lord Jesus, to whom to-night I have fully\nyielded, you are all my life.\u201d\n\nHer voice was stifled with a little rush of tears. Where she lay on his\nbreast, he felt how all her frame quivered.\n\n\u201cAnd you will be mine, dear Zillah\u2014and soon?\u201d His eyes burned into hers,\nasking for an answer as loudly as his lips.\n\nShe did not answer him for a moment. Her heart beat with a tumultuous\ngladness, and her brain throbbed with the wonder of what she conceived to\nbe the honour that had come to her. Wondering incredulity mingled with\nthe rapturous ecstasy that filled her.\n\n\u201cBut you are so great\u2014so\u2014\u2014\u201d She paused, she could find no words to\nexpress all that prospective wifedom to him appeared to her.\n\nHe smiled down into her eyes. Her loveliness seemed to him greater than\never before.\n\n\u201cYou seem like a king to me!\u201d she gasped at last.\n\n\u201cYou, Zillah,\u201d he smiled, \u201cdo not seem, you are, a queen to me. Say,\ndarling, the one word that shall fill all my soul with delight\u2014say that\nyou will be mine\u2014and soon, very soon!\u201d\n\n\u201cI will.\u201d\n\nThere was the intensity of a mighty love in her utterance of the two\nwords.\n\nHe gathered her to himself in an even closer embrace, and spent his\nkisses on her lips.\n\nThe flush of pride, of love, burned deeper in her face.\n\n\u201cOh, why is it given to me to have such bliss?\u201d she murmured.\n\nThe words were low-breathed; they sounded like a gasping sigh of delight\nmore than a voiced utterance.\n\nFor a moment, clasped tightly in his arms, she was silent, and he\nuttered no word. Presently he whispered,\n\n\u201cWill it give you joy, I wonder, my darling, to know that I have been\na man free of all woman\u2019s love before? I have seen many women, in many\nlands, the loveliest of the earth\u2014though none so lovely as you, my\nsweetheart. It is no egotism on my part, either, to say that many women\nhave sought my love by their smiles and favour. But none ever won a word\nof love or response from me.\u201d\n\nThe cab was passing a great central light in the heart of a junction of\nfour roads. Her eyes, full of a great rapture, sought his. His were fixed\nupon her face, and filled with a love so great that again she caught her\nbreath in wonder.\n\n\u201cBut you, my Zillah!\u201d He caught her close to himself again, and bending\nhis head, let his lips cling to hers, \u201cBut you, darling!\u201d he continued,\n\u201chave been to me all that the heart of man could ever wish for, from the\nfirst moment I met you. May God give us a long life together, dearest,\nand make us (with our new-born faith in Him) to be the best, the holiest\nhelp-meets, the one to the other, that this world has ever known.\u201d\n\nWhere she lay in his arms, he felt her tremble with the intensity of her\njoy. As he looked down into the deep, dreamy lustrousness of her eyes,\nhe saw how they were full of a far-off look, as though she was picturing\nthat united future of which he had spoken.\n\nPerhaps he read that look in her eyes aright. Then, as he watched her, he\nsaw how the colour deepened in her face. She slowly, proudly, yet with a\nglad frankness, lifted herself in his arms until, in a tender, passionate\ncaress, her lips rested upon his in the first spontaneous kiss she had\ngiven him.\n\n\u201cIf the Christ, to whom we have given ourselves to-night, should tarry,\u201d\nshe whispered, \u201cand we are spared to dwell together on earth as husband\nand wife, dear Tom, may God answer all that prayer of yours abundantly.\u201d\n\nThe cab turned a corner sharply at that moment. He looked through the\nwindow. They were within a few hundred yards of where he had given the\ndriver orders to stop. Zillah would have, on alighting, only the length\nof a short street to traverse before reaching home, and he would take a\nhansom and drive back to the office. But the intervening moments before\nthey would part were very precious, and love took unlimited toll in those\nswift, fleeting moments.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nTOM HAMMOND REVIEWING.\n\n\nIt was the morning after Tom Hammond had found Christ, and had closed\nwith the great offer of redemption. He had scarcely slept for the joy of\nthe two loves that had so suddenly come into his life.\n\nDuring the sleepless hours, he had learned, for the first time in his\nlife, the true secret of prayer, and that even greater secret, that of\ncommunion.\n\nWith real prayer there is always a certain degree of communion, but real,\ndeep, soul-filling communion is more often found in seasons when the\ncommuning one asks for nothing, but, silent before his or her God, the\nsense of the Divine fills all the being, and if the lips utter any sound\nit is the cry, \u201cMy Lord and my God!\u201d\n\nTom Hammond, reviewing all that God had revealed to him, learned in those\nfirst hours of his new birth the secret of adoring communion with God.\n\nIn the book of extracts he had been reading in the tube train at the\nmoment when he had first heard of Major H\u2014\u2014\u2019s coming address on the\nSecond Advent, he had come across one headed, \u201cFrederick William Faber:\nThe Precious Blood\u2014chap. iv.\u201d He had at the time been considerably\nimpressed with the extract, though there was a certain note about it\nwhich he had failed to understand. In the flush of the great revelation\nthat had come to his soul (in that little meeting at Spitalfields), he\nnow found the book, and re-read the extract:\n\n\u201cI was upon the sea-shore; and my heart filled with love it knew not why.\nIts happiness went out over the wide waters, and upon the unfettered\nwind, and swelled up into the free dome of blue sky until it filled it.\nThe dawn lighted up the faces of the ivory cliffs, which the sun and sea\nhad been blanching for centuries of God\u2019s unchanging love. The miles of\nnoiseless sands seemed vast, as if they were the floors of eternity.\nSomehow, the daybreak was like eternity. The idea came over me of that\nfeeling of acceptance which so entrances the soul just judged and just\nadmitted into heaven.\n\n\u201c\u2018To be saved!\u2019 I said to myself, \u2018to be saved!\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the thoughts of all the things implied in salvation came in one\nthought upon me; and I said:\n\n\u201c\u2018This is the one grand joy of life;\u2019 and I clapped my hands like a\nchild, and spoke to God aloud. But then there came many thoughts, all in\none thought, about the nature and manner of our salvation. To be saved\nwith such a salvation!\n\n\u201cThis was a grander joy, the second grand joy of life; and I tried to say\nsome lines of a hymn but the words were choked in my throat. The ebb was\nsucking the sea down over the sand quite silently; and the cliffs were\nwhiter, and more day-like. Then there came many more thoughts all in one\nthought, and I stood still without intending it.\n\n\u201cTo be saved by such a Saviour! This was the grandest joy of all, the\nthird grand joy of life; and it swallowed up the other joys; and after it\nthere could be on earth no higher joy.\n\n\u201cI said nothing; but I looked at the sinking sea as it reddened in the\nmorning. Its great heart was throbbing in the calm; and methought I saw\nthe precious blood of Jesus in heaven, throbbing that hour with real\nhuman love of me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d murmured Tom Hammond, \u201cafter all, to be saved by such a Saviour\nis a greater, higher, holier thought than the mere knowledge that one is\nsaved, or of the realization of what that salvation comprises.\u201d\n\nIn every way that night was one never to be forgotten by Tom Hammond. He\nneeded, too, all the strength born of his new communion with God to meet\nwhat awaited him with the coming of the new day\u2019s daily papers.\n\nThe paper whom whose staff he had been practically dismissed in our first\nchapter (the editor of which was his bitterest enemy) had found how to\nuse \u201cthe glass stiletto.\u201d\n\nSome of the most scurrilous paragraphs ever penned appeared in his\nenemy\u2019s columns that morning. It is true that the identity of the man\nslandered (Tom Hammond) was veiled, but so thinly\u2014so devilishly\u2014that\nevery journalist, and a myriad other readers, would know against whom the\nscurrilous utterances were hurled.\n\nTom Hammond would not have been human if the reading of the paragraphs\nhad not hurt him. And he would not have been \u201cpartaker of the Divine\nnature,\u201d as he now was, if he had not found a balm in the committal of\nhis soreness to God.\n\n\u201cThat is the work of that fellow Joyce,\u201d he told himself.\n\nTwenty-four hours before, if this utterance had had to have been made by\nhim, he would have said,\n\n\u201cThat beast Joyce!\u201d But already, as a young soldier of Christ, the\npromised watch was set upon his lips. In the strength of the two great\nloves that had come into his life\u2014the love of Christ and the love of\nZillah Robart\u2014the scurrilous paragraphs affected him comparatively\nlittle.\n\nWhen he had skimmed the papers, attended to his correspondence, and to\none or two other special items, he took pen and paper and began to write\nto his betrothed.\n\nHis pen flew over the smooth surface of the paper, but his thoughts were\neven quicker than his pen. His whole being palpitated with love. It was\nthe love of his highest ideal. The love which he had sometimes dared to\nhope might some day be his, but which he had scarcely dared to expect.\n\nThe memory of his passing fancy for Madge Finisterre crossed his mind,\nonce, as he wrote. He paused with the pen poised in his fingers, and\nsmiled that he should ever have thought it possible that he was beginning\nto love her. \u201cI liked her, admired her,\u201d he mused. \u201cI enjoyed her frank,\nopen friendship, but love her\u2014no, no. The word cannot be named in the\nsame breath as my feeling for Zillah.\u201d\n\nHe put his pen to the paper again, and poured out all the wealth of\nthe love of his heart to his beautiful betrothed. When he had finally\nfinished the letter, he sent it by special messenger to Zillah.\n\nHe had not forgotten that Major H\u2014\u2014\u2019s second meeting was that day. Three\no\u2019clock found him again in the hall. This time it was quite full. There\nwas a new sense of interest, of understanding, present within him as he\nentered the place. This time he bowed his head in real prayer.\n\nThe preliminary proceedings were almost identically like those of the\nprevious occasion, except that the hymn sung\u2014though equally new to\nHammond\u2014was different to either of those sung at the first meeting. But,\nif anything, he was more struck by the words than he had been with those\nof the other hymns.\n\nAnd how rapturously the people sang:\n\n    \u201c\u2018Till He come!\u2019 Oh, let the words\n    Linger on the trembling chords;\n    Let the \u2018little while\u2019 between\n    In their golden light be seen;\n    Let us think how heaven and home\n    Lie beyond that \u2018Till He come!\u2019\u201d\n\nThis time a lady, a returned Chinese missionary, led prayer, and then the\nmajor resumed his subject.\n\n\u201cWe saw, dear friends, at our last meeting,\u201d the grand old\nsoldier-preacher began, \u201cwhat were some of the prophesied signs of our\nLord\u2019s second coming and how literally these signs were being fulfilled\nin our midst to-day. This afternoon, God willing, and time permitting, I\nwant us to see how He will come; what will happen to the believer; and\nalso what effect the expectancy of His coming should have upon us, as\nbelievers.\n\n\u201cFirst of all, how will He come? While Jesus, who had led His disciples\nout of the city, was in the act of blessing them, He suddenly rose\nbefore their eyes, and a cloud received Him out of their sight. Have\nyou ever thought of this fact, beloved, that the cloud itself was a\nmiracle? Whoever heard of a cloud at that special period of the year, in\nPalestine? And I very much doubt if anyone, save the apostles, in all the\ncountry round about, saw that cloud. If you ask me what I think the cloud\nwas, I should be inclined to refer you to the 24th Psalm, and say that\nthe cloud was composed of the angel-convoy, who, like a guard of honour,\nescorted the Lord back to glory, crying, as they neared the gates of the\ncelestial city, \u2018Lift up your heads, oh, ye gates, and let the King of\nGlory come in!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe went away in a cloud. The angels, addressing the amazed disciples\ndeclared to them that \u2018He would so come in like manner as ye have seen\nHim go.\u2019\n\n\u201cIt may be that to the letter that will be fulfilled, and that our Lord\u2019s\nreturn for His Church will be in an actual cloud. I think it is probable\nit will. Anyway, we know that He will come \u2018in the air,\u2019 for Paul, to\nwhom was given, by God, the privilege of revealing to His Church the\ngreat mystery of the second coming of our Lord, and who said, in this\nconnection:\n\n\u201c\u2018Behold, I show you a mystery: we shall not all sleep, but we shall all\nbe changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,\u2019 when writing more\nexplicitly to the church at Thessalonica, said:\n\n\u201c\u2018For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are\nalive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which\nare asleep. For the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout,\nwith the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God, and the dead\nin Christ shall rise first. Then we which are alive and remain shall be\ncaught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air;\nand so shall ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with\nthese words.\u2019\n\n\u201cNow, beloved, can any words be plainer, simpler, than these of Paul\u2019s,\nforming, as they do, the climax to all that has gone before in the New\nTestament. Jesus had Himself said,\n\n\u201c\u2018I will come again and receive you unto Myself.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe angels said,\n\n\u201c\u2018In like manner as ye have seen Him go, He shall come again,\u2019 and now\nPaul amplifies this manner of His coming, while, at the same time, he\nemphasizes the fact of that return.\n\n\u201cNow let us look, dear friends, at the separate items of that detailed\ncoming. We have already, more than once, alluded to the secrecy of the\nreturn of our Lord for His people, and people are puzzled over the\nlanguage used by Paul\u2019s description of the return. \u2018The Lord shall come\nwith a shout.\u2019 Then the world at large will hear Him coming? No; we think\nnot. Or, if they hear a sound, they will not understand it.\n\n\u201cThe Lord\u2019s voice in His spiritual revelations is never heard save by the\nLord\u2019s people. But there is the voice of the archangel\u2014how about that?\nThe same rule applies to that, we think.\n\n\u201cThere were godly shepherds watching their flocks at night, near\nBethlehem, and there was a whole host of angels singing, but the\nBethlehemites did not hear. No one appears to have heard or seen anything\nsave the godly shepherds. The same, we believe, applies to the \u2018trump,\u2019\nthe call of God.\n\n\u201cIn this connection it is interesting to note a fact that probably was\nin the mind of Paul when he wrote thus to the Thessalonians. The Roman\narmy used three special trumpet-calls in connection with departure\u2014with\nmarching.\n\n\u201cThe first meant, \u2018Pull down tents.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe second, \u2018Get in array.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe third, \u2018Start.\u2019\n\n\u201cDid Paul, moved by the Holy Ghost, translate these three clarion notes\nin the topic of 1 Thess. iv. 16, after this fashion:\n\n\u201c1. \u2018The Lord Himself.\u2019\n\n\u201c2. \u2018Voice of the archangel.\u2019\n\n\u201c3. \u2018The trump of God.\u2019\n\n\u201cBut leaving that, again I would emphasize this truth, that it is only\nthe trained ear of the spiritually-awakened soul which ever hears the\ncall of God. We believe that all Scripture teaches the secrecy as well as\nthe suddenness of the rapture of the church.\n\n\u201cIn all the many appearances of the risen, resurrected Lord Jesus, during\nthe many weeks between the resurrection and the ascension, even though,\non one occasion, at least, He was seen by 500 disciples at once, yet\nthere is no hint, either in the Word of God or in the records of history\nof that time, that Jesus was ever seen by the eye of an unbeliever. And\ndepend upon it, no eye will see, no ear will hear Him, when He comes\nagain, save those who are in Christ.\n\n\u201c\u2018The world seeth Me no more\u2019 our Lord said, \u2018but ye see Me.\u2019 \u2018Him God\nraised up the third day, and gave Him to be made manifest, not to all the\npeople, but unto witnesses that were chosen before God, even to us who\ndid eat and drink with Him after He rose from the dead.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhen the voice of the Father came from heaven, witnessing to Jesus\u2019\ntruth, the people that stood by failed to hear it as a voice, but\nexclaimed,\u2014\u2018It thunders.\u2019 In the case of Paul on the way to Damascus,\nthose with him heard nothing understandable.\n\n\u201cEnoch was taken secretly. Noah was shut into the ark before the flood\ncame. Only Israel, at Sinai, and not the surrounding nations, understood\nthose awful physical manifestations of God\u2019s power. Elijah was taken\nsecretly. The nation neither saw nor heard anything of it.\n\n\u201cWhen will He come? I do not know; no one knows exactly; but this we do\nknow, from the Word of God\u2014that nothing remains to be fulfilled before\nHe comes. He may come before this meeting closes. Again we know by every\nsign of the times that His coming can not now be delayed much longer.\n\n\u201cNow to a very important feature as to the truth of the second coming of\nthe Lord. There are many who argue that such teaching will tend to make\nthe Christian worker careless of his work, his life, etc. There was never\na more foolish argument advanced.\n\n\u201cFirst take a concrete illustration that gives the flat denial to\nit\u2014namely, that the most spiritual-minded workers, at home and abroad,\nare those whose hearts (not heads only) are saturated with, not the\ndoctrine merely, but the expectancy of their Lord\u2019s near return. Then,\ntoo, every such worker finds an incentive to redoubled service in the\nremembrance that every soul saved through their instrumentality brings\nthe Lord\u2019s return nearer\u2014\u2018hasting His coming\u2019\u2014since, when the last unit\ncomposing His Church has been gathered in, He will come.\n\n\u201cScripture, dear friends, is most plain, most emphatic, in its statements\nthat the effect of living in momentary expectancy of our Lord\u2019s return\ntouches the spiritual life and service at every point. \u2018We know,\u2019 wrote\nJohn, \u2018that when He shall appear we shall be like Him, for we shall see\nHim as He is. And every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself,\neven as He is pure.\u2019 That, beloved, is the general statement. Now let us\nlook at some of the separate particular statements.\n\n\u201cWriting to the Philippians, Paul connects heavenly mindedness with the\nreturn of the Lord for His Church saying, \u2018For our conversation\u2019\u2014our\nmanner of living, our citizenship\u2014\u2018is in heaven; from whence also we\nlook for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.\u2019 To the Colossians the\ngreat apostle showed how the coming of the Lord was to be the incentive\nto mortification of self. \u2018When Christ, who is our life, shall appear,\nthen shall ye also appear with Him in glory. Mortify, therefore, your\nmembers which are upon the earth,\u2019 etc. James taught that the real cure\nfor impatience was this dwelling in the hope and expectancy of our Lord\u2019s\ncoming again. \u2018Be ye also patient,\u2019 he wrote; \u2018stablish your hearts; for\nthe coming of the Lord draweth nigh!\u2019 We live in an age which is cursed\nwith impatience\u2014children, young men and women, parents, business people,\ndomestic people, pastors, Christian workers, Sunday-school teachers, all\nalike have their spiritual lives and their work marred by impatience. A\nreal, moment-by-moment heart-apprehension of the possible coming of Jesus\nin the next moment of time, is the only real cure for this universal\nimpatience in the Christian Church.\n\n\u201cThen take another great sin in the Church, beloved\u2014censoriousness. Oh,\nthe damage it does to the one who indulges in it, and the suffering it\ncauses to the one who is the victim of it. But here, again, a full,\na constant realization of the near coming of our Lord will check\ncensoriousness. Writing to the Corinthians, in his first epistle, Paul\nsays, \u2018Therefore, judge nothing before the time, until the Lord come, who\nboth will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and make manifest\nthe counsels of the hearts.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe great quickener, too, of Christian diligence is to be found in the\ncoming of the Lord. Peter writes to us saying, \u2018But the day of the Lord\nwill come as a thief in the night, ... seeing then that these things\nshall be, ... what manner of persons ought we to be in all holy living\nand godliness; looking for and hasting the coming.... Wherefore, beloved,\nseeing that ye look for such things, be diligent that ye may be found of\nHim in peace, without spot, and blameless.\u2019\n\n\u201cMay I say, too, in all gentleness and love, that it has seemed to me,\nfor years, that the missing link in nearly all \u2018holiness\u2019 preaching (so\ncalled) is this much-neglected expectancy of our Lord\u2019s return. Paul\nconnects holiness and the second coming of Christ, in his first epistle\nto the Thessalonians, saying, \u2018The God of peace sanctify you wholly; and\nI pray God your spirit, soul and body be preserved blameless unto the\ncoming of our Lord Jesus Christ.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe scoff of the world, dear friends, against us, as Christians, is that\nthe professed bond of love is absent from our life. And here again God\u2019s\nWord shows us that a real living in expectancy of our Lord\u2019s return would\nteach us to love one another. In that same epistle I have just quoted,\nPaul says, \u2018The Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward\nanother, and toward all men, even as we do toward you: to the end He may\nstablish your hearts unblameable in holiness before God, even our Father,\nat the coming of our Lord with all His saints.\u2019\n\n\u201cI have only time, this afternoon, for but one more of these references,\nand that is a very elementary though a very essential one. Paul, in that\nsame epistle, teaches that to be saved means that we are saved to serve.\n\u2018Ye turned to God,\u2019 he says, \u2018to serve ... and to wait for His Son from\nheaven.\u2019\n\n\u201cI must close, friends. But before I do, do let me beseech every\nChristian here this afternoon to go aside with God, and with His plain,\nunadulterated Word. Assure yourself that Jesus is coming again, that He\nis coming soon, and that you are so living that you shall \u2018not be ashamed\nat His coming.\u2019 Should He tarry till Thursday next, and He is willing to\nsuffer me to meet you here again, we will continue this great subject on\nthe line of the three judgments. Let us close our meeting by singing hymn\nnumber 308.\u201d\n\nLike one in a strange, delicious dream, Tom Hammond rose with the others\nand sang:\n\n    \u201cJesus is coming! Sing the glad word!\n    Coming for those He redeemed by His blood,\n    Coming to reign as the glorified Lord!\n            Jesus is coming again!\u201d\n\nAs he left the hall, and thought, \u201cHow Zillah would have enjoyed, how she\nwould have been helped, by this meeting!\u201d he muttered.\n\n\u201cHow senseless of me not to have told her of it when I wrote this\nmorning.\u201d\n\nHe smiled a little to himself as he murmured:\n\n\u201cMay I take this bit of remissness as a sign that the Divine love was\npredominant within me, rather than the human? Or was it that I am not yet\nsufficiently taught in the school of human love?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIXa.\n\n\u201cMY MENTOR.\u201d\n\n\nIt was about the hour that Tom Hammond entered the Hall to listen to the\nMajor\u2019s second address. Cohen, the Jew, was in his workshop, his brain\nbusy with many problems, while his hands wrought out that wondrous Temple\nwork.\n\nThe door opened, quietly, and Zillah entered. She often came for a\ntalk with him at this hour, as she was mostly sure of an uninterrupted\nconversation. Her sister, to a large extent, lived to eat, and always\nslept for a couple hours or more after her hearty two o\u2019clock dinner.\n\nThe young Jew gave the beautiful girl a pleasant greeting. Then, after\nthe exchange of a few very general words, the pair were silent. Zillah\nbroke the silence at last.\n\n\u201cAbraham,\u201d she began, \u201cI want to talk to you on\u2014on\u2014well\u2014I\u2019ve something\nimportant to say.\u201d\n\nHe eyed her curiously, a tender little smile moving about among the lines\nof his mouth. There was a new note in her voice, a new light in her eyes.\nHe had caught glimpses of both when they had met at breakfast, and again\nat dinner, but both were more marked than ever now.\n\nHe had laid down his tool at her first word of address. Now she laid one\nof her pretty plump hands on his, as she went on:\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201cYou could not have been kinder, truer, dear Abraham, if you had been my\nown brother, _after the flesh_. I have looked upon you _as_ a brother, as\na friend, as a protector, and I have always felt that I could, and would\nmake a confidant of you, should the needs-be ever arise.\u201d\n\nThe gentle smile in his eyes as well as his mouth encouraged her, and she\nwent on:\u2014\n\n\u201cA gentleman has asked me to marry him, Abraham\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nCohen gave a quick little start, but in her eagerness she did not notice\nit.\n\n\u201cI have promised,\u201d she continued, \u201cfor I love him, and he loves me as\nonly\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is he, Zillah?\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Hammond, dear!\u201d\n\nHis eyes flashed with the mildest surprise. But, to her astonishment, she\nnoticed that he showed no anger.\n\nIn spite of all his usual gentleness she had half expected a little\noutburst, for to marry _out_ of the Jewish faith, was equal in shame\nalmost to turning Meshumed, and usually brought down the curse of one\u2019s\nnearest and dearest.\n\n\u201cHe is of the Gentile race, Zillah!\u201d Cohen said quietly.\n\nShe noticed that he said _race_, and not _faith_, and she unconsciously\ntook courage from the fact.\n\nShe was silent for a moment. Her lips moved slightly, but no sound came\nfrom her. Watching her, he wondered. She was praying!\n\nSuddenly she lifted her head, proudly almost. She suffered her great\nlustrous eyes,\u2014liquid in their love-light\u2014to meet his, as she said, with\na ringing frankness:\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201cAbraham! I have found the Messiah! He whom the Gentiles call the Christ;\nThe man-God, Jesus, _is_ the Messiah!\u201d\n\nHis eyes dwelt fixedly upon her face. She wondered that there was neither\nanger nor indignation in them.\n\n\u201cMay I tell you why I think, why I _know_ He is the Messiah, Abraham?\u201d\nshe asked.\n\n\u201cDo, Zillah!\u201d\n\nHe spoke very gently, and she wondered more and more. She made no remark,\nhowever, on his toleration, but began to pour out her soul in the words\nof the Old Testament scriptures, connecting them with their fulfillment\nin the New Testament.\n\nCohen, watching her, thought of Deborah, for all her beautiful form\nseemed suddenly ennobled under the power of the theme that fired her.\n\n\u201cNow I know, dear Abraham,\u201d she presently cried, \u201cHow it is that Jehovah\nis allowing our Rabbis\u2014you told me, you know, the other day, of the one\nat Safed\u2014to be led to dates that prove that Messiah is coming soon? _Now_\nI know why God has allowed our nation to be stirred up,\u2014the Zionist\nmovement, the colonization of Jerusalem and its neighbourhood, and all\nelse of this like\u2014yes, it is because the Christ _is_ coming.\n\n\u201cOnly, dear brother, it is not as the Messiah of the Jews that He comes\nsoon\u2014He came thus more than 1,900 years ago\u2014this time, when He comes, He\nwill come for His church, His redeemed ones\u2014Jew and Gentile alike who\nare washed in His blood that was shed on Calvary for all the human race.\nFor He was surely _God\u2019s_ Lamb, and was slain at the Great, the last real\nPassover, dear Abraham, if only we all\u2014our race\u2014could see this. What the\nblood of that first Passover lamb, in Egypt, was in type, to our people\nin their bondage and Blood-deliverance, so Jesus was in reality.\u201d\n\nMoses, of old, wist not how his face shone. And this lovely Jewish\nmaiden, as she talked of her Lord, wist not how all her lovely face\nwas transformed as she talked\u2014_glorified_ would not be too strong a\ndescription of the change her theme had wrought in her countenance.\n\n\u201cAnd now, dear Abraham,\u201d she went on, \u201cthat same Jesus has not only\nblotted out all my sin, for His name\u2019s sake, but he bids me look for\nHim to come again. When _next_ He comes\u2014it may be before even this day\ncloses\u2014\u201d\n\nCohen shot a quick, puzzled glance at her. She did not notice it but went\non:\u2014\n\n\u201cI have learned many things from the scriptures since I have been going\nto the little Room at Spitalfields, and from the _Word_ of Jehovah,\nHimself, I have learned that Jesus may now come at any moment.\n\n\u201cHe will come _in the air_, and will catch away all His believing\nchildren. Then, as the teachers show from the _Word_ of God, when the\nchurch is gone, there shall arise a terrible power, a man who will be\nSatan\u2019s great agent to lead the whole world astray\u2014_Anti_christ, the\nWord of God calls him\u2014then, during a period, probably about seven years\naltogether, there shall be an ever growing persecution of those who shall\nwitness boldly for Jesus, and\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201c_Who_ will _they_ be, Zillah,\u201d he interrupted, \u201cif all the \u2018Church,\u2019 as\nyou say, will be taken out of the world at the coming of Christ?\u201d\n\n\u201cOne of the teachers, the other night, Abraham,\u201d she replied, said, \u201cthat\nthe natural consequence of the sudden taking away of the Believers from\nthis earth would probably be, at first, a mighty revival, a turning to\nGod. If this be so, then these converts will be the witnesses to Jesus\nduring the awful seven years, which the Word of God calls The Great\nTribulation.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen too, one of the teachers at the Room said, \u2018it is possible that\nnot all Christians will be caught up in the air at the coming again of\nJesus, but _only_ those faithful ones who are found watching, expecting\nHis coming. If that be so\u2014and no one dare dogmatise about so sacred and\nsolemn a thing\u2014then there will be thousands of Christians left behind who\nwill have to pass through the awful time of Antichrist\u2019s Tribulation.\u2019\u201d\n\nHer face glowed with holy light, as inspired by the thought in her soul,\nshe went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cAt first, dear Abraham, our own race will return to Jerusalem, and to\nall the land of our Father, still believing in the coming of the Messiah.\nThe temple\u2014that wondrous Temple for which you are working\u2014will be reared\nto Jehovah. The morning and evening sacrifices will be resumed. Then\npresently the Antichrist will make our people believe that he is the\nMessiah. Pretending to be Israel\u2019s friend and protector he will deceive\nthem at first, but, by and by, he will try to force idolatry upon them,\nhe will want to set up in our glorious Temple, (which will have been\nreared to Jehovah,) an idol, an abomination.\n\n\u201cThe teacher whom I have heard, Abraham,\u2014and many of them are of our own\nrace\u2014see from scripture that the great mass of our people, in the land of\nour fathers, will blindly accept this hideous idol worship.\n\n\u201cBut Jehovah will not let Antichrist have all his own way. Jesus, with\nall those who were caught up with Him into the air, will come to the\ndeliverance of our people. He will come, _this_ time, to the earth. He\nwill fight against Antichrist, will overcome him, His feet shall stand on\nthe Mount of Olives.\n\n\u201cOur poor deluded, suffering people will see Him, as our own prophets\nhave said:\u2014\u201c_I will pour out upon the House of David and upon the\ninhabitants of Jerusalem, the spirit of grace and of supplication, AND\nTHEY SHALL LOOK UPON ME WHOM THEY HAVE PIERCED, AND THEY SHALL MOURN FOR\nHIM, as one mourneth for his only son, and shall be in bitterness for\nHim, as one that is in bitterness for his first-born_.\u201d\n\nShe paused abruptly, struck by Cohen\u2019s quietude of manner, where she had\nexpected a storm. Gazing up wonderingly into his face she cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cAbraham, why are you thus quiet? Why have you not cursed me for a\nMeshumed, dear? Can it be that you, too, know aught of these glorious\ntruths?\u201d\n\nThere was sadness and kindness in his eyes as he returned her pleading\nglance. But there was no trace of anger.\n\n\u201cI wonder why, little sister,\u201d he began, \u201cI am not angry, as the men of\nIsrael\u2019s faith usually are with a Meshumed, even though the defaulter\nshould be as beautiful as Zillah Robart?\u201d\n\nHis glance grew kinder, as he went on:\u2014\u201cI began to wonder where my\nlittle sister went, twice a week, in the evenings, and, anxious about\nher, lest she, in her innocence of heart and ignorance of life, should\nget into trouble, I followed her one night, and saw that she entered a\nhall, which I knew to be a preaching-place for Jews.\u201d\n\nZillah\u2019s eyes were very wide with wonder. But she did not interrupt him.\n\n\u201cI did not enter the place myself,\u201d he went on, \u201cbut that very first\nnight, while waiting about for a few minutes, I met an old friend, a\nJew like myself, by _race_, but a Christian by faith. He talked with\nme, pointed to _our_ scriptures, quoted from the Gentile New Testament,\nshowed, from them, how, in every detail, the birth, the life, the death\nof Jesus, the Nazarene, fulfilled the prophecies of our father, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you, Abraham\u2014\u201d Zillah laid her hand on the Jew\u2019s wrist, in a swift\ngesture of excitement, \u201cyou, dear,\u201d she cried, \u201csee that Jesus was the\nMessiah?\u201d\n\nSlowly, almost sorrowfully it seemed to the eager girl, he shook his head.\n\n\u201cI cannot say all that, Zillah,\u201d he went on, \u201cI sat in a seat, last\nnight, in that Hall, where I could see you and Hammond, where I could\nhear all that was said upon the platform, but where I knew that neither\nyou nor Hammond would be able to see me. All that I heard, last night,\ndear, has more than half convinced me, but\u2014well, I cannot rush through\nthis matter, I have to remember that it has to do with the life beyond,\nas well as this life.\u201d\n\nHe sighed a little wearily.\n\n\u201cI saw the meeting between Hammond and you, Zillah,\u201d he went on. \u201cI had\nbefore begun to scent something of Hammond\u2019s probable feeling for you,\nand I had seen you look at him in a way that, though you did not yourself\nprobably realize it, meant, I knew, a growing feeling for him warmer\nthan our maidens usually bestow on a Gentile. I saw you enter the cab\ntogether, and drive off, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe sighed again. Then without finishing his sentence, he said:\n\n\u201cPerhaps I shall see with you, Zillah, soon. Meanwhile, dear\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe lifted his hands, let them rest upon her head, and softly, reverently,\ncried:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord make his face shine upon\nthee, and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon\nthee, and give thee peace.\u201d\n\nThe sweet old Nazarite blessing never fell more tenderly upon human ears\nthan it did upon Zillah Robart. Jehovah _had_ been very gracious to her.\nShe had feared anger, indignation from her brother-in-law, she received\nblessing instead.\n\nAs he slowly lifted his hands from her head, she caught them in hers,\nlifted them to her lips, and kissed them gratefully.\n\n\u201cMay that blessing fall back upon your own head, upon your heart, your\nlife, dear Abraham?\u201d she cried.\n\nStill holding his hands, she lifted her head. An eager light filled all\nher face, as she added:\u2014\n\n\u201cIt wants but a few days to Passover, dear, I shall pray God that He\nwill reveal Jesus fully to you before that!\u201d\n\nShe dropped his hands, and made for the door. \u201cI hear the children from\nschool,\u201d she cried. Then she was gone.\n\nCohen did not turn to his work. But taking a New Testament from his\npocket, began to study anew the Passion of Jesus, as recorded in the\nGospels.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nTHE PLACARD.\n\n\nRiding back to his office from that meeting Tom Hammond asked\nhimself:\u2014\u201cOught I to begin to make this near Return of our Lord for His\nchurch, the subject of my \u2018Prophet\u2019s Chamber Column\u2019 for to-morrow\u2019s\nissue?\u201d\n\n\u201cI must seek special guidance about this,\u201d he presently decided.\n\nThe cab was nearing the office when he suddenly murmured:\u2014\u201cHE might come\n_to-day_!\u201d\n\nEven as he murmured the words his eyes seemed to see a striking way of\nexhibiting his new-found faith in the Return of his Lord, and he came to\na rapid decision.\n\nLifting the flap in the roof of the cab, he told the driver to go on to\na certain Sign and Ticket writer\u2019s. Arrived at the place, he explained\nto the writer that he wanted a card three feet six inches long,\nproportionate in width, very _boldly_, handsomely written with just the\ntwo words upon it, in the order of his sketch.\n\nHe had taken an odd piece of card from the man\u2019s scrap heap, and with his\npencil he drew out his idea, thus:\u2014\n\n                              +------------+\n                              |   TO-DAY?  |\n                              |  PERHAPS!  |\n                              +------------+\n\n\u201cHow soon can I have it?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cIn a couple of hours, sir!\u201d\n\n\u201cPack it carefully and I will send a messenger for it!\u201d\n\nHammond was turning from the counter, when the man said:\u2014\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, sir, but if it is not too bold a question, may I ask\nwhat the two words mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey mean,\u201d smiled Tom Hammond, \u201cthat Jesus Christ, God\u2019s son, may come\nsuddenly to-day, before even you have time to finish the work upon my\norder!\u201d\n\nThe man\u2019s face wore a puzzled look. Then suddenly it brightened a little,\nas he said:\u2014\n\n\u201cAh! I sees, its somethink religious. That aint in my line, not a bit,\nsir. I aint built that way. Now, my misses is! She\u2019s the best wife a man\never had, I can\u2019t find a speck o\u2019 fault wi\u2019 her, but, there it is, yer\nknow, she\u2019s gone, fair gone, sir, on religious things!\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you love her? Would you like to lose her?\u201d asked Hammond.\n\n\u201cLike to lose her, sir? why, no, sir! I believes I should\u2014I should\u2014well I\ndon\u2019t know what I should do, if she wur took!\u201d\n\nThere was a note of deep gravity in Tom Hammond\u2019s voice, as he said:\u2014\n\n\u201cThen let that motto warn you, as you prepare to write it, that even\nbefore you can finish it, the Christ who is to come again, who _will_\nsurely come now very soon, may come. Then, when you go to look for your\nwife, when you are perhaps expecting her to call you to your tea, she\nwill be missing. You will call her, search for her, yet never find her.\nBecause, if she is a true child of God, she, with all _true_ Christians,\nwill have been snatched away unseen from the world, caught up to meet\ntheir Lord in the air.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood gracious, sir! yer give me the creeps!\u201d gasped the man.\n\n\u201c\u2018Seek ye the Lord\u2019\u2014your good wife\u2019s Lord,\u2014\u2018while He may be found,\u2019 my\nfriend.\u201d With this parting word Tom Hammond left the shop.\n\nTwo hours and a half later the splendid bit of sign writing hung upon the\nwall of Hammond\u2019s room.\n\nIt was a most striking placard. The first letter of each word nearly\neight inches in length, and in brilliant crimson, the other letters six\ninches long in deep, purple black.\n\nAs he sat back and regarded it where it hung, Tom Hammond mused on all\nthat he had heard that afternoon, of the effects upon the lives of those\nwho possessed a real heart apprehension of the truth of the near Return\nof the Lord.\n\n\u201cOne can scarcely conceive,\u201d he murmured, \u201cwhat London, what all the\ncivilized, and so-called Christian world, would be like, if every man\nand woman, who _professes_ to be a christian, lived in the light of the\ntruth that the Lord\u2019s return was near, was imminent. \u2018Every man\u2019 (he was\nrecalling the truth quoted that afternoon), \u2018_Who hath this Hope in him,\npurifieth himself even as He (Jesus) is pure._\u2019\u201d\n\nThe rest of the day was a busy one. Many callers came in. Everyone\nnoticed the strange placard. Some asked what it meant. Modestly, but with\nstrong purpose, and with perfect frankness, Hammond told each and all who\nenquired, of his change of heart, and how possessed with the fact that\nChrist\u2019s return was imminent, he had had the placard done for his own,\nand for others quickening and reminder.\n\nPeople smiled indulgently, but entered into no argument with him. He was\ntoo important a man for that, and, equally, they dare not _pooh-pooh_ his\ntestimony, wild as it appeared to most, if not all of them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nWAS HE MAD?\n\n\nMadge, a wife of barely eighteen hours, found her husband\u2019s church packed\nin every nook and corner when she entered it on the Sunday morning.\n\nThe news of her sudden return, and equally sudden marriage, had helped to\nfill the church, though the knowledge that the Rev. Doig was to preach\nwould, in itself, have been sufficient to have gathered an unusually\nlarge congregation.\n\nDuring the pastor\u2019s sickness the pulpit had been supplied by various good\nmen, secured by the deacons from all over the county. Doig had preached\ntwice before, and was already a great favourite with the people.\n\nThe pastor had not been well enough to be present at any service for many\nweeks, and as he entered the church this morning, leaning heavily upon\nhis wife\u2019s arm, he received quite an ovation from the people.\n\nIn spite of the curiosity and excitement over Madge\u2019s appearance, the\ncongregation speedily settled down to quiet worship. There was something\nsubducing, quieting in the preacher\u2019s manner. Just before the address,\nthe people sang:\u2014\n\n    \u201cLo! God is here! let us adore,\n      And own how dreadful is this place!\n    Let all within us feel His power,\n      And silent bow before His face;\n    Who know His power, His grace who prove,\n    Serve Him with awe, with reverence, love.\u201d\n\nWith the singing of this hymn a deep, deep solemnity came down upon the\nassembly. It deepened as the preacher unfolded the wonders of the Bible\nrevelation relating to the Lord\u2019s second coming.\n\nMadge forgot her husband, as, absorbed by the wonder of the revelation,\nshe drank in the glorious truth. Had she been more alert in watching the\npastor, she would have seen how restless he grew! How angrily his eyes\nflashed! How scowling his beetling brows became.\n\nSome of the people noticed their pastor\u2019s evident displeasure, and so did\none or two of the deacons. But no one dreamed that he would dare to utter\nany dissent to the service.\n\nWas he mad? Perhaps he was, for the time, as many men and women become,\nwho nurse a groundless, senseless anger and jealousy! He was jealous of\nthis man\u2019s hold upon the people. He had not dreamed that any man could\nhold his congregation, as this man was holding them. He was angry, too,\nat the doctrine preached.\n\nWith a startling suddenness he leaped to his feet, forgetting his\nweakness, as he cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cI will not have that lying, senseless nonsense\u2014worse than\nnonsense\u2014preached in _my_ church, Mr. Doig. You will either announce\nanother text, and take a different subject, sir, or you must cease to\npreach!\u201d\n\nA slight flush rose into the cheeks of the preacher, as he half turned to\nthe pastor, and in low, but firm voice, heard everywhere amid the sudden\nstrained silence, he said:\u2014\n\n\u201cDear Pastor, if you insist, (you have the _legal_ right to do so, as\n_pastor_ of this church, I suppose) I will desist. But I cannot, if I\npreach on, do other than declare all that God would have me do. Why,\neven as we are here, our Loving Lord may come, and if I faltered in my\ntestimony I should have to meet Him ashamedly\u2014and\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cRot!\u201d muttered the pastor. The word was heard by everyone, and a murmur\nof strong dissent ran through the place.\n\nWith a white angry face, and flashing savage eyes, the Pastor walked\nto the table, and leant upon it heavily in his weakness, as he cried\nhoarsely, \u201cThis service is now concluded. While I hold the pastorate, no\nsuch sentimental rubbish, as Mr. Doig seems bent upon giving us, shall be\nvoiced from this platform.\u201d\n\nOne of the deacons protested. The pastor was firm. Passion had rendered\nhim temporarily irresponsible. Another of the deacons, who had been\nconferring with Doig\u2014who had whispered the facts of the pastor\u2019s evident\ntemporary irresponsibility\u2014now urged the people to disperse quietly.\n\nDoig walked down to his host, and whispered, \u201cif I go at once, it will\nhelp matters.\u201d The pair then left the church. The congregation followed\nquickly. The deacons remained behind to confer together over the\nsituation, which was of a hitherto unheard of character.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe pastor had left by the side door, and leaning more heavily than ever\nupon Madge, they made their way to the house of Thaddeus Finisterre,\nMadge\u2019s father. They were staying there. They took a private way,\nby which they were spared the unpleasantness of meeting any of the\ncongregation.\n\nFour minutes took them to the house. Neither of them spoke during the\nbrief journey. For the first time in her life Madge knew what it was\nto feel the touch of fear. She had married the man by her side knowing\ncomparatively little of his real character and temperament.\n\n\u201cThere may be insanity in his family,\u201d she mused, as she walked by his\nside. She had already told herself that nothing but a temporary touch of\nmadness could have led to his outburst in the church.\n\nArrived at the house, the pastor went straight to his room, this gave\nMadge an opportunity to confer with her father and mother a moment.\n\n\u201cHis long anxious illness has unsettled his brain a little!\u201d the mother\nsaid. \u201cThe best thing will be to take no notice, let us all be as\ncheerful, as much like our ordinary selves, as we can. Then, if we can\npersuade him to go away to-morrow, I guess the best thing for you to do,\nMadge, will be to get a good doctor to examine him, and to prescribe for\nhim.\u201d\n\nThe dinner-meal which followed, presently, was fairly free of constraint.\nAfter dinner Mr. and Mrs. Finisterre slipped away and left the husband\nand wife to themselves.\n\nAlmost immediately the pair were left, the pastor began to abuse the\npreacher of the morning, and to denounce the teaching of the Lord\u2019s\nsecond coming.\n\n\u201cBut, my dear,\u201d cried Madge, \u201cit is evidently almost the most prominent\ndoctrine in the New Testament. There are more direct references to it in\nthe New Testament, Mr. Doig said, than to any other revealed doctrine.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut its not _my_ doctrine,\u201d snapped the pastor, \u201cnot the doctrine of\n_our_ church. It was scoffed at at our college, when _I_ was a student,\nand\u2014and\u2014\u201d\n\nMadge gazed wonderingly at him. His argument seemed so puerile, if not\nactually sinful.\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d she cried, \u201cI don\u2019t see how that argument holds. To me, it\nsounds like blasphemy, almost, to say _I_, as a _minister_, and _we_\nas a _church_, will not preach the most prominent doctrine of the New\nTestament, because of the foolish abuse of the teaching by here and there\na wild visionary who lets his fancy and whim run away with his judgment.\nSuppose, dear Homer, some church or minister should say, \u2018We won\u2019t preach\nthe doctrine of the Atonement,\u2019 would that save them from the charge of\nblasphemy, when God says:\n\n\u201c\u2018If any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy,\nGod shall take away his part out of the Book of Life, and out of the Holy\nCity, and from the things which are written in his Book.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe pastor gazed at her in amazement. Her fashion of putting the matter\ngave him small opportunity of replying, so he took refuge in the coarse\nsneer:\u2014\n\n\u201cHave you turned _Doigite_?\u201d\n\nWith a quick flush in her cheeks, and sudden flashing of eye, Madge\nreplied:\u2014\n\n\u201cIf by that you mean, do I see, and have I accepted the revelation of\nthe Word of God, as to the near coming of Christ, then I say \u2018_yes_.\u2019 I\nam _not_ a Doigite, but I am, thank God, a Christian! A very young one,\na very poor and inexperienced one, \u2019tis true, but still I am one, and am\ndesirous to live to the Lord to whom I have given myself, and, after all\nI heard from the preacher this morning, I am more than ever determined to\nserve Christ wholly, and I can quite see how this wondrous _fact_ of the\nnear Return of our Lord will be a new and mighty force to revolutionize\nall my life.\u201d\n\nAn ugly snarl curled the lips of the amazed, discomfited pastor, and he\nwas just beginning a cruel little speech, when one of the Deacons was\nannounced.\n\nMadge left the two men alone. As she passed on to her own room there was\na terrible pain at her heart, for the hideous thought came to her:\u2014\u201cCan\nHomer be truly converted? If he is, how can it be that he flatly refuses\nto believe what God has so plainly revealed?\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nFROM THE PROPHET\u2019S CHAMBER.\n\n\nTom Hammond was alone in his editorial office. He had come to the day,\nthe moment at last, when he felt constrained to write out of his full\nheart, to the readers of his paper, all that he yearned that the world\nshould know of the imminence of the Return of the Lord.\n\nBefore he put pen to paper to write on this supreme theme in his\n\u201cProphet\u2019s Chamber\u201d column, he bowed his head on his desk and prayed for\nguidance and help. Then he began to write out his heart fully, telling\nfirst of his conversion, and of the wondrous meetings conducted by Major\nH\u2014\u2014.\n\nHis whole being was fired with holy purpose. \u201cHad ever a preacher such a\npulpit as has the editor of \u201cThe Courier?\u201d he wrote. \u201cHad any preacher\never so mighty a privilege, so great a responsibility as is mine to-day?\nThis paper circulates through more than a million people\u2019s hands, even\nallowing that only the one person purchasing the paper, reads it\u2014though\none might almost safely double that million, since there are very few of\nthe papers which will not be read by _two_, or more persons.\n\n\u201cThis \u2018Prophet\u2019s Column\u2019 will likely overflow all its ordinary banks, as\ndoes the Great Nile in its season, but if my overflowing but carry life\non its tide, as does the tide of the overflowing Nile, then, all will be\nwell.\n\n\u201cAs a converted Editor of a great daily, I have put my hand, my pen, my\nmind into the mighty, unerring hand of God, praying that I may write\nonly that which will reach the _hearts_ of my readers. And the question\ncomes to me, \u2018what word does London, does England most need to-day?\u2019\n\n\u201cThis\u2014that all the world should know, and realize, that any day, aye, any\nhour, Christ may return\u2014not to the earth but _into the air_\u2014\u201d\n\nHere followed the teaching of the Gospel and Epistles, as he had learned\nit from Major H\u2014\u2014, and from his own subsequent personal study of the Word\nof God.\n\n\u201cI appeal to the most thoughtful of my readers, I appeal to the\nunthinking, as I say, \u2018do you not see how a real belief, in this near\ncoming of Christ would revolutionize all our national, commercial,\ndomestic, and church life. How, too, it would immediately settle every\nsocial problem.\u2019\n\n\u201cIf our legislators, sitting in council at St. Stephens, realized that\nbefore the present Parliamentary session could end in the ordinary way,\nthat Christ might come, what a speedy end they would seek to put to every\nnational iniquity.\n\n\u201cThe hideous drink traffic would be swept, root and branch, from our\nland. And, in sweeping that curse away, the awful problem of the\nunemployed, the homeless, the starving, all that inures to our national\npoverty would be swept away.\n\n\u201cThe shameful opium traffic with China; the national Greed for territory;\nthe Traffic in White Slaves; and every other national iniquity would be\nabolished.\n\n\u201cChristian churches, (so-called) would become worthy of the name\n_Christian_. All those bits of devilish device used to extract, and\nextort money from the pockets of the people would end, as by magic.\nTheatricals would be left to the theatres; nigger entertainments would\nbe left to the music-halls; the church would leave all these things to\ntheir master\u2014_the Devil_.\n\n\u201cIn _social_ life, people would pay their debts; the wild, mad, sinful\nextravagance that marks the life of to-day, would cease. Christians\nwould love one another. Every Evangelical denomination would be\n_inter_-denominational in the truest sense, and be _one_ wholly in their\nCrucified, Risen, coming Lord. A love for the poor fallen world, such\nas has never been since our Lord spent Himself in service, would be the\norder of the day, and not the vision of a few. Every missionary society\nwould have more men and women and money than they actually needed.\n\n\u201cBut, even as I pen this millennium-like picture, I know, from the Word\nof God, that it _cannot_ be _before_ Christ comes. But I seek to arouse\nevery _Christian_ to God\u2019s call to them on this matter. You, who profess\nto be Christ\u2019s, dare not refuse this truth, save at the peril of losing\nthe _Crown_ of Life.\n\n\u201cThe vast bulk of the churches, I know, preach, that the world will\ncontinually improve until the earth shall be fit for Christ to come\nand reign. But I defy any cleric or layman to show me a single word\nof scripture that gives the faintest colour to that belief, or\nstatement\u2014unless the person wrests the passage so advanced from its\ndistinctly marked _dispensational_ setting.\n\n\u201cThings (spiritual) are growing worse and worse. There is a wholesale\ndown-gradeism, too awful to contemplate. \u2018Priest and people have erred\nalike!\u2019 I take up the official organ of a section of the church that\nhas ever been regarded as the most out-an-out, in all that pertains to\nEvangelical truth, and I find its great head saying \u2018The Bible is _not_\nthe sole spiritual guide for the christian, for, practically, the Bible\nis a _dead_ book!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe chief leader-writer of that same paper\u2014himself usually regarded\nas the soundest of Believers, the most trenchant of all Evangelical\npreachers, writes in one of a series of articles, \u2018That the so-called\n_Finished work_ of Christ, is a doctrine not to be found in scripture,\u2019\nand glories in the fact that \u2018_we_ never have, and, I trust, we never\nshall, preach this doctrine.\u2019\n\n\u201cAll this but proves the truth of the New Testament prophecies,\n\u2018_Perilous_ times shall come,\u2019 \u2018Evil men and seducers shall wax worse\nand worse, _deceiving_, and _being deceived_.\u2019 If only we could all be\ninduced to read the signs of the times in the light of scripture! we\nshould then realize that we were in the thickest darkness of the world\u2019s\nblackest night, the darkness immediately preceding the dawn, and we\nshould be looking for \u2018the Morning Star.\u2019\u201d\n\nHere, writing with swift, eager pen, he went over the ground covered by\nMajor H\u2014\u2014, as regarded the signs of the coming of the Lord\u2014the movement\namong the Jews; their excitement, as a race, over the date discovery\n5,666; the preparations for the rebuilding of the Temple. Then the\nincreased effort in the Foreign Mission fields. The growth of the spirit\nof lawlessness in the world, and in the church. The multiplicity of\nspiritualistic devices\u2014_doctrine of Devils_. The awakening of all real,\ntrue, spiritually-minded Bible _students_ to the fact of Christ\u2019s near\nReturn. And the great, but often disregarded sign, \u201cthe scoffers who\nshall say where is the promise of His coming? for, since the Fathers fell\nasleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of creation.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut He _will_ come! He is near at hand! Every sign of the times\nproclaims this! It is NIGHT, now, and He will come as a thief in the\nnight. At any moment now we may look for Him. Before this news-sheet,\ndamp from the press, is in the hands of my readers, Christ _may_ have\ncome and taken away _every one_ of His own Believing people\u2014_I_ shall be\nmissing, another here, and another there will be missing.\n\n\u201cAnd when a puzzled, troubled London shall be gathering in business,\nthat saying shall have come to pass, \u2018_The one shall be taken, the other\nleft!_\u2019 (For though this word is _primarily Jewish_ in its application,\nit will yet have a measure of meaning for the world, when the Church is\ntaken away).\n\n\u201cMay every _Christian_ be ready to meet His Lord, when He shall come, and\nevery unready, unsaved soul who reads these \u2018Prophet\u2019s Chamber\u2019 columns,\nseek the face of God through faith in the Atoning work of Jesus Christ.\nFor, believe me, His Return is very near, to some of us the sound of His\nfootfalls is even now in our ears.\u201d\n\nHe bent his head over the written sheets, praying God to bless the\nmessage. Then an interruption came. A knock at the door, and his sub,\nRalph Bastin entered.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nPASSOVER!\n\n\nCohen, the Jew, blew out the candle, and set the stand aside. The knees\nof his trousers were pressed and dusty. He had just been over the whole\nhouse, lighted candle in hand, and had searched every nook and crannie,\nevery cupboard, every shelf, under the edge of every carpet, looking\nfor the faintest sign of leaven in the form of bread, cake, or biscuit\ncrumb. He had found nothing, and went to his room to bathe and change his\nclothing.\n\n\u201cWhat of you, Zillah?\u201d he had asked the lovely girl, earlier in the day.\n\u201cWith your newly-espoused faith in the Nazarene, shall you partake of the\nlamb with us?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, I will,\u201d she replied, \u201c_only_ I shall take the meal more in\nthe spirit of the Lord\u2019s Supper, of the Christian Church. And Abraham\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHer eyes, as they were lifted to his, swam with tender, pitying tears, as\nshe added:\n\n\u201cAll the time I shall be praying that you may meet the Christ of\nGod, Jesus of Nazareth; and while you seek to remember our people\u2019s\ndeliverance from the land of Bondage, I shall be praying that you, dear\nAbram, may be delivered from the bondage of the legalism of our race.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Passover table was spread in Cohen\u2019s house. The arrangement of that\ntable was a curious mixture of Mosaic and Rabbinical command. In the\ncase of all but really very pious Jews of this day, the real and actual\nPassover is not kept.\n\nPassover\u2014(_chag Appesach_ of the Jews) _must_ have a lamb roasted to make\nit the _real_ feast, the ordinary Jew to-day, contents himself with an\negg, and a burnt shank-bone of mutton, and unleavened cakes.\n\nCohen\u2019s Passover Feast always included a small lamb. Still, Rabbinical\nlore and Bible command were curiously mixed in the Cohen celebration.\n\nThe table, to-night, had an egg according to Rabbinical order, but there\nwas a tiny roast lamb as well. There was the glass dish of bitter herbs;\nthe salt water, typifying the tears of Israelitish misery in Egypt; a\ndish of almonds, apples, and other fruit, chopped and mixed, represented\nthe lime and mortar of the Brick-making in the Land of Bondage.\n\nChervil and parsley were there, and lettuce. A large pile of unleavened\ncakes, a big coloured glass ewer with unfermented wine and water, and\nmany other items considered to be the orthodox thing at the Feast.\n\nAll the Cohen household was there. Zillah, radiant with the glow of the\nnew life in Christ that had come to her.\n\nRachel, her sister, was red-eyed and sullen. Zillah had been pleading\nwith her to open her mind, and her heart to the Christian teaching of\nthe Messiah who had come, and who had atoned for _all_ the race, Jew and\nGentile alike.\n\nAngry and sullen, the wife had said hard things of Zillah. Her frivolous,\nirresponsible nature was more than satisfied with the barest _form_ of\nthe faith of her race.\n\nThe two children were full of suppressed excitement, the elder\u2014the\nboy\u2014especially.\n\nCohen, the head of the house, was singularly quiet and grave. His eyes\nhad a far-away look in them. He looked like a man moving in a trance.\n\nPresently the boy, (he had been carefully coached) asked, according to\nthe usual formula:\n\n\u201cWhat mean ye, father, by this Service?\u201d\n\nCohen\u2019s eyes stared over the head of his son, and in a voice very unlike\nits usual tones, replied:\u2014\n\n\u201c_It is the Sacrifice of Jehovah\u2019s Passover, who halted by the\nblood-sprinkled houses of our fathers in Egypt, that the destroying angel\nshould come not nigh, when He smote the Egyptians, but preserved our\nfathers._\u201d\n\n\u201cWill our people _ever_ do this, father?\u201d queried the boy.\n\n\u201cTill Messiah come, they will, dear son.\u201d The strained gaze of Cohen, as\nhe answered, was as though he was trying to pierce Time\u2019s veil, and see\nthe coming Messiah approaching.\n\n\u201c_When_ will Messiah come, father?\u201d continued the boy.\n\n\u201c_To-night_, perhaps, my son. Set His chair! Open the door!\u201d\n\nSwiftly, but with remarkable quietude, for a child, the boy placed a\nchair at the table, then, stepping briskly, silently to the door, he set\nit wide open, and left it thus, and returned to his place by the table.\n\nRachel took the ewer and poured out a little wine and water into each\nglass. In her sullenness, as she came to Zillah\u2019s glass, she slopped the\nwine over the edge. The children glanced curiously from the spilled wine\nto the face of their aunt, then at their father\u2019s face.\n\nZillah\u2019s face flushed; Cohen\u2019s grew pale, and set in a sharp spasm of\npain. No word was said, each took up their glass, and drank the _first_\ncup of blessing.\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s pause, then Cohen spread his hands, bowed his head,\nand repeated \u201cThe Blessing:\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201c_The Lord bless us and keep us; the Lord make His face shine upon us and\nbe gracious unto us. The Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon\nus and give us peace._\u201d\n\nUnder her breath, yet distinctly heard by Cohen, in the solemn hush that\nfollowed the Blessing, Zillah murmured:\u2014\n\n\u201c_But now, in Christ Jesus, ye who sometimes were afar off, are made nigh\nby the blood of Christ._ FOR HE IS OUR PEACE.\u201d\n\nCohen glanced quietly at her. She met the glance with one of intense\nyearning. He translated it rightly, as meaning \u201cIf _only_ you could see\nthis truth?\u201d\n\nThere were two bowls of water set on a side-board. Cohen and his wife\nrinsed their hands in one bowl, Zillah and the two children in the other.\n\nAddressing himself to his son, more than to the others, Cohen, when they\nhad returned to the table, as the head of the house was instructed to do,\nexplained why they sat at the Feast:\u2014\n\n\u201cOur Fathers, when they took the Feast for the _first_ time in Egypt, my\nson, took it _standing_, with their loins girt, and their staff in hand,\nfor _they_ were starting on that great journey that eventually lasted\nforty years. But we, their descendants, eat the feast to-day, _sitting_\nat our ease, as a symbol that our people have been delivered from the\ncruel bondage.\u201d\n\nThen the _first_ Hallel was repeated.\u2014Psalms 113, and 114. The _second_\ncup of Blessing was taken by each. Then Cohen asked a Blessing on _each_\nkind of food on the table. Then he carved a portion of lamb for each one,\nthey took their seats, and the meal began.\n\nThe children were excused from eating the stinging bitter herbs. But\nCohen, Rachel, and Zillah, each took a little with their lamb and\nunleavened bread.\n\nConversation became fairly general over the meal, except that Rachel\u2019s\nsullen anger increased, and she kept silent.\n\nAt the conclusion of the meal, the _third_ cup of Blessing was drunk, and\nCohen repeated the 115, 116, 117, 118, Psalm. At the close of the Hallel,\nthe _fourth_, and last cup of Blessing was taken. The Feast was over.\n\nA sudden silence fell upon them all. No one moved, no one spoke, for a\nmoment. Suddenly Zillah broke the dead silence. She had a glorious voice,\nand she let it ring out in that wondrous song:\u2014\n\n        \u201cNot all the blood of beasts\n        On Jewish altars slain\n    Could give the guilty conscience peace,\n        Or wash away our stain.\u201d\n\nNo one interrupted. Cohen _could_ not, for the thrall of some strange,\nnew power was upon him. His wife was furious\u2014but kept her fury bottled\nup. The children were delighted, they loved to hear their aunt sing, and\nto the amaze of their father and mother\u2014they joined in the singing, for,\nwith other children, they had often of late been to the evening meeting\nfor Jewish children. And Zillah, who had talked with them, believed that\nthey loved the Christ.\n\nWithout a break, the three voices sang on:\n\n        \u201cBut Christ the Heavenly Lamb,\n        Takes all our sins away;\n    A sacrifice of nobler name,\n        And richer Blood than they.\n\n        \u201cMy faith would lay her hand\n        On that meek head of Thine,\n    While as a penitent I stand,\n        And here confess my sin.\n\n        \u201cMy soul looks back to see\n        The burden Thou didst bear\n    When hanging on the accursed tree,\n        And knows her guilt was there.\n\n        \u201cBelieving we rejoice\n        To feel the curse remove;\n    We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice,\n        And trust His bleeding love.\u201d\n\nAgain, for full thirty seconds, as the glorious song finished, there was\nan absolute silence, save for the ricketting of Rachel\u2019s chair, as she\nmoved in pettish anger on her seat.\n\nZillah had kept her eyes fixed upon Cohen\u2019s face all the time she was\nsinging, and had seen a strangely wondrous light slowly gather in his\neyes. She had known, for days, that he was very, very near to the point\nof acceptance of Christ. Even as they had gathered at the table of the\nPassover, she was not sure, but that in all but profession and testimony,\nhe was a Christian.\n\nNow he suddenly broke the silence.\n\n\u201cSing the last two verses again, Zillah\u201d he said.\n\n        \u201c_My_ soul looks back to see\n        The burden Thou didst bear\n    When hanging on the accursed tree,\n        And knows her guilt was there.\u201d\n\nZillah\u2019s glorious voice rang out. And now, even to _her_ wonder, Cohen\u2019s\ndeeper tones joined hers. Her heart leaped as she noted the emphasis he\nput upon the \u201c_My_ soul.\u201d\n\nShe sang on. His voice sang on too. Then came the last verse, and in a\nperfect burst of triumph, his voice rang out:\u2014\n\n        \u201cBelieving _I_ rejoice\n        To feel the curse remove;\n    _I_ bless the Lamb with cheerful voice,\n        And trust His bleeding love!\u201d\n\nIt was a strangely ecstatic moment for Zillah. Tears flooded her eyes,\nshe tried to speak, but her emotion choked her.\n\nCohen stood up. His face was ablaze with the wonder of the revelation\nthat had come to him. He spread his hands upward, and his eyes were\nlifted in the same direction, as he cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cThou loving Christ! Thou Precious Jesus! I am _Thine_\u2014THINE\u2014THINE\u2014!\u201d\n\nThen he remembered his wife.\n\n\u201cRachael, dear heart,\u201d he cried, as he moved to her side. \u201cMachael, wife\nof my heart. Jesus _is_ the Messiah!\u201d\n\n\u201cBah!\u201d she cried. With a thrust of her hand and foot, she kept him from\nher. Then in tones of withering scorn and disgust, she cried:\n\n\u201cMehusmed!\u201d\n\nHe bent over her very tenderly, stooping to meet her eyes, and trying to\ntake her hand.\n\nThe two children clung to Zillah, and the boy suddenly began to pipe out,\nin his clear treble, the hymn so beloved of Jewish children who attend\nthe mission meetings.\n\n    \u201cCome to the Saviour, Make no delay,\u201d\n\nRachael shot a fiercely angry glance in the boy\u2019s direction, then without\nlooking at her husband, she thrust at him, to prevent his taking her\nhand, as she cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cAccursed! Mehusmed! Don\u2019t touch _me_!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Rachael!\u201d he began tenderly.\n\nShe flung herself sharply round upon him and spat full in his face. Then\nshe turned sharply from him again.\n\nA full half minute went by. The room grew so eerily still that it\nstartled her. She turned to gaze where the quartette had been.\n\nThe room was empty save for herself!\n\nWith a cry she started to her feet. They could not have gone out of the\ndoor for her chair had all the time stood right in the way. What was this\nthen that had happened?\n\nHer breath came hot and laboured. Her eye-balls bulged horribly! A\nreeling sickness began to steal over her. She dropped back, terrified, in\nher chair, gasping:\u2014\n\n\u201cZillah said this morning \u201cThe Christ will come _soon, suddenly_, then\nthose who are His, will be taken, unseen, unheard, from the world!\u201d\n\nWith a sharp, anguished cry, she let her bulging, terror-filled eyes\nsweep the room again as she cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd my _children_, too!\u201d\n\nHer eyes were tearless, but dry, hard sobs shook all her frame.\n\nThe next moment a kind of frenzy seized her. She rushed to the front\ndoor, and into the street. She would find out if any one else was missing.\n\nA little crowd was on the pavement. A hansom cab stood by the curb. The\nfare was standing on the front board. He was a minister of some kind. He\nwore a M.B. waistcoat, a clerical collar, a soft, wide-brimmed, black\nfelt hat. He glanced up at the driver\u2019s seat, as he cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cBut _some_ one, _surely_, must have seen what became of him. If he fell\noff his box in a fit, where is his body?\u201d\n\n\u201cI seed him one hinstant,\u201d cried a voice from the crowd, \u201cI wur lookin\nstraight at \u2019im, \u2019cos I sed to myself, taint often as yer see a kebby\nwear a white \u2019at, now-a-days. Then, while I wur starin\u2019 at \u2019im, he sort\no\u2019 disappeared, the reins fell on the roof o\u2019 the keb, the \u2019oss stopped,\nan\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s gone!\u201d shrieked a woman\u2019s voice.\n\nIt was Rachael. Bare-headed, dressed in all her festal finery, she had\njust rushed down the steps of the house, and heard the question and\nanswer as to the disappearance of the hansom driver. The crowd turned and\nfaced her, her shrill tones had startled them.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s gone to Jehovah!\u201d she screamed again. \u201cMy husband, my sister, my\ntwo children\u2014we were at Passover\u2014we\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nWith a piercing shriek she flung up her arms, laughed hideously and fell\nin a huddled heap on the bottom step of the flight.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\u201cTHIS SAYING SHALL COME TO PASS.\u201d\n\n\nTom Hammond greeted his _sub_ most heartily. Ralph had been away, in\nParis, for a fortnight, partly on business, partly for a change.\n\nAs soon as their greetings were exchanged, he turned eagerly to Hammond,\nas he said:\u2014\n\n\u201cBut I say, old man, what on earth is all this jargon you wrote me about,\nthe return of the Christ, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe paused suddenly. His eyes had just caught sight of the great placard.\nHis gaze was riveted on it. He read the two words aloud:\u2014\n\n\u201cTO-DAY? PERHAPS!\u201d\n\nIn a voice of wondering amaze, he gasped:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s _that_, Tom? What _does_ it mean?\u201d\n\nTom Hammond repeated, in a few sentences, what he had previously written\nto his friend, as to his conversion, then, passing on to the subject of\nthe Lord\u2019s second coming, he said:\n\n\u201cI am so impressed, Ralph, with the imminence of our Lord\u2019s return, that\nI have had that placard done to arrest the attention of callers upon\nme, and give me an opportunity of speaking to them about their eternal\ndestiny. To-day, too, I have been impressed so with the necessity of\nspeaking to the world\u2014\u201cThe Courier\u2019s\u201d world, I mean of course\u2014on this\ngreat, this momentous subject, that I have made it the subject of my\n\u2018Prophet\u2019s Chamber\u2019 column.\u201d\n\nHe gathered up the sheets of his M.S. he had written, and passed them\nover the table to Ralph Bastin.\n\n\u201cYou will see, I have written it in the most simple, almost colloquial\nstyle, Ralph,\u201d he said. \u201cI wanted it to be a man\u2019s quiet, earnest, simple\nutterance to his fellow man, and not a journalist\u2019s article.\u201d\n\nRalph Bastin\u2019s eyes raced over the papers. His face was a strange study,\nwhile he read, reflecting a score of different, ever-changing emotions,\nbut amid them all never losing a constant deepening amaze.\n\nAs he finished the last sheet, he looked Tom Hammond hard and searchingly\nin the face.\n\n\u201cMy dear Tom,\u201d he began. His voice was very grave, very serious. \u201cYou\u2019ll\nruin The Courier! You will ruin yourself! The world will call you mad\u2014\u2014!\u201d\n\n\u201cThey called my Lord mad, Ralph, and they have called His servants mad,\nover and over again, ever since.\u201d\n\nThere was not a shadow of cant in his voice and manner, as he went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe word of our God, Ralph\u2014which is the _only real_ rule of life, tells\nus that Christ, whose name I profess, said:\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018Whosoever shall confess me, before men, him will I confess also before\nmy Father which is in Heaven.... If any man will come after Me, _let\nhim deny himself_, and take up his cross _daily_, and follow Me. For\nwhosoever will save his life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his\nlife, for My sake, the same shall save it. For what is a man advantaged,\nif he gain the whole world and lose his own soul....\n\n\u201c\u2018For whosoever shall be ashamed of me _and of My words_.\u2019 (\u2018_Surely I\ncome quickly_,\u2019 Ralph, is one of _His very last_ recorded words,) \u2018of him\nshall the Son of Man be ashamed, when He shall come in His own glory,\nand in His Father\u2019s, and of the holy angels.\u2019\u201d\n\nTom Hammond leant forward in his chair to lay his hand on the wrist\nof the other, to plead with him. But, with an exclamation of angry\nimpatience, Ralph, cried:\n\n\u201cHang it, old man, you must be going dotty!\u201d\n\nWith an expression of annoyance, almost amounting to disgust, he swung\nround on his heel.\n\n\u201cLook here, Tom,\u201d he began.\n\nHe swirled back to meet his friend face to face.\n\nThen, with a startled cry, he stared at the chair, in which, an instant\nbefore, Tom Hammond had been sitting.\n\nThe chair was empty!\n\n\u201cGood God!\u201d he gasped.\n\nInstinctively he knew what had happened! Involuntarily his eyes travelled\nto the Placard, and in the same moment he recalled the closing words of\nTom Hammond\u2019s M.S. which he had just read:\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018_Then shall it come to pass, that which is written_, \u201cONE SHALL BE\nTAKEN, THE OTHER LEFT.\u2019\u201d\n\nA strange, unnatural trembling seized him. He dropped into the chair he\nhad been occupying, and stared at the empty revolving chair opposite.\n\n\u201cGood\u2014\u2014God!\u201d He slowly repeated the words. There was no thought of\nirreverence in the utterance. It was the unconscious acknowledgment of\nGod\u2019s Presence and Power.\n\nFor a time\u2014he never knew how long\u2014he sat still and silent like a man\nstunned. Then, as his eyes travelled slowly to where the sheets of M.S.\u2019s\nlay, he smiled wearily, drew them towards him, and took his stylo from\nhis pocket. Putting the most powerful pressure of his will upon himself,\nhe began to write after the last works penned by his translated chief:\u2014\n\n\u201cP.S.\u2014Written by the sub-editor of \u201cThe Courier.\u201d By the time this\nprinted sheet is being read, the world will have learned that a section\nof the community has been suddenly taken from our midst. The Editor of\nThe Courier, the giant mind and kindly heart of Tom Hammond, have been\ntaken from us.\n\n\u201cThe writer of this postscript, who was in the room, when the \u201cProphet\u201d\nof The Courier was taken, was in the act of scorning his message as to\nthe nearing of the great translation. \u201cIn a moment, in the twinkling of\nan eye\u201d he was gone.\n\n\u201cThe writer has not left the room since, and has no means of knowing\nwho else among those known to him are missing,\u2014not many _personal_\nacquaintances, he fears, since one\u2019s personal clique has never shown any\nvery marked signs of what one has _hitherto_ considered an _ultra_ type\nof Christianity, a condition of \u201c_righteous overmuch_.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen we pass out of this room, presently, and touch the great outside\nworld once more, what shall we find? How soon will it be generally known\nthat a section of the community\u2014a larger section, maybe, than we conceive\npossible\u2014has been silently, suddenly, secretly taken from our midst? What\nwill follow? Where are the prophets who shall teach us where we are, and\nwhat we may expect? Does the end of the world follow next? Is there any\norder of events, specified in the Bible, that follows this mysterious\ntranslation, if so, what is it? Who will show us these things?\n\n\u201cAgain, since I, the writer of this postscript, am left, while my friend,\nHammond, is taken, _why am I left_, and why shall I find\u2014as of course\nI shall when I begin to go abroad among mine acquaintance\u2014hundreds of\nothers _left_? I have been christened, confirmed, have occasionally\n\u2018communicated,\u2019\u2014this is the clerical term, though as I write, it\noccurs to me that there must have been some flaw, somewhere, in the\n\u2018_communicating_.\u2019\n\n\u201cI have always supposed myself a Christian by virtue of these things,\nto which a clean, decent life has been added. Thousands upon thousands,\nI feel sure, will be puzzled by this same contemplation, when this\nwonderful Translation becomes generally known.\n\n\u201cIf we are not made Christians by christening, confirmation,\ncommunicating, why have we always been taught so, by our clergy? How many\nof these same clergy shall we find _left_ behind.\n\n\u201cAnd I suppose there will have been some kind of kindred process at work\namong the Nonconformists bodies\u2014in pulpit and pew, alike. For ourselves,\nwe have come little in contact with Nonconformity, but, if what is\naccepted generally, to-day, as to the religious situation, be true\u2014that\nthe curse of the Ritualism of the \u2018Establishment,\u2019 finds its parallel in\nthe Rationalism, Unitarianism, Socialism, etc., of Nonconformity\u2014then I\nshall expect to find as many Nonconformists, lay and ministerial, _left_\nbehind from this mysterious, spiritual translation, as churchmen.\u201d\n\nThere came a tap at the door. The messenger boy Charley, appeared. He\nglanced towards the empty Editor\u2019s chair, then stammered.\n\n\u201cI beg pardon, sir, I thought Mr. Hammond was here, sir. They have jest\nblown up the tube to know if the \u2018Prophet\u2019s\u2019 column was ready.\u201d\n\nRalph Bastin noticed that the eyes of the boy flitted from his face to\nthe placard.\n\n\u201cKnow what that means, Charley?\u201d Bastin asked.\n\n\u201cYus, sir, leastways, I knows what Mr. Hammond means by it! E sez that\nJesus Christ\u2019s comin\u2019 back, an\u2019 goin\u2019 to take all the real Christians\nout \u2019er the world, an\u2019 nobody wont see \u2019em go, nor nothink. I \u2019eard Mr.\nHammond \u2019splainin\u2019 it all to a gent, t\u2019other day.\u201d\n\nCurious to know if the boy himself had thought seriously at all of the\nmatter, Bastin said:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat do _you_ think of it, Charley?\u201d\n\n\u201cWal, it\u2019s like this, sir, I aint been to no Sunday School since I wus\nquite a young \u2019un, \u2019bout eight perhaps. An\u2019 I never goes to no Church nor\nChapel, cos why? Why \u2019cos Sunday\u2019s the only day\u2014\u2019cepts my \u2019olidays\u2014when I\ngits any chance fur any rickreation or fresh hair. So I aint up much in\n\u2019ligious things. But my sister, Lulu, she walks out wi\u2019 a chap as teaches\nin a Sunday School\u2014leastways, he oosed to afore he took up wi\u2019 our Lulu,\nbut now \u2019e wants \u2019is Sunday School time fur spoonying, an\u2019 \u2019e can spoon,\nsir, there\u2019s no error\u2014well, knowin\u2019 as \u2019e oosed to do summat at \u2019ligion,\nI ups an\u2019 arsks \u2019im about what Mr. Hammond said, about that takin\u2019 away\nbusiness, an \u2019e (Jimmy Doubleyou, Lulu\u2019s chap, I mean, sir,) larfed,\nan\u2019 said, \u201cDon\u2019t yer b\u2019lieve any sich rot! D\u2019yer think Gawd \u2019ud go an\u2019\n_kidnap_ all \u2019Is people like that?\u201d[1]\n\n    [1] At a Bible-Reading in Malvern in the house of one of God\u2019s\n    choicest saints, Miss Ann Boobbyer, where the precious truth of\n    \u201c_The Rapture_\u201d was being unfolded, a minister present, who was\n    much used of God, as an evangelist, started up, and cried,\n\n    \u201cWhat! My Lord coming to _Kidnap_ all His people? Never! Never!\n    I\u2019ll not believe that!\u201d\n\nRalph Bastin would have smiled, at any other time, at this curious\nreply. But, to-night, his soul was too sobered. Gathering up the sheets\nof M.S.\u2019s, he clipped them together, stamped them with Hammond\u2019s\nmechanical imprimatur, and handed the sheaf to the lad, giving him\ninstructions to deliver them in the Composing Room.\n\nAs the lad left the room, he sat back in his chair, and tried to think\nout the position of affairs. He had hardly settled himself down, before\nthe messenger boy returned.\n\n\u201c\u2019Scuse me, sir,\u201d the lad began, \u201cbut summat curious hev \u2019appened.\nThere\u2019s two \u2018holy Joes,\u2019 in the Composing room, an\u2019 one in the Sterio\nroom\u2014leastways, they oosed to be\u2014an\u2019 they\u2019s all three bunked off,\nsomewheres, nobody seed \u2019em go, an their coats an\u2019 \u2019ats is \u2019ung hup where\nthey ussally is, an\u2019 some o\u2019 the chaps says as they\u2019s translated. Alf\nCharman, one o\u2019 the comp\u2019s, oosed to talk like Mr. \u2019Ammond did, sir\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThe boy looked a trifle fearsomely at the empty editor\u2019s chair, as he\nadded.\n\n\u201cMr. \u2019Ammond, sir, I\u2014er\u2014I suppose as\u2014\u2019e\u2014\u2019e aint\u2014\u2014.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Hammond has gone out!\u201d Bastin rapped out the words quite sharply.\nAll this talk of the missing men was getting on his nerves.\n\n\u201cThat will do, Charley!\u201d he added.\n\nThe lad walked slowly to the door, his eyes fixed on the placard, his\nlips moving to the words, \u201c_To-day?\u201d \u201cPerhaps!_\u201d\n\n\u201cCoorius!\u201d he muttered as he passed out of the room.\n\nRalph Bastin tried again to settle himself down for a quiet think.\nSuddenly he started to his feet, wild of eye, and with horror in his face.\n\n\u201cViola?\u201d he muttered. \u201cMy beautiful little Viola? She has talked\ncontinuously of the Christ of late. Has she been\u2014\u2014?\u201d\n\nHe seized his hat, and with a crushed down sob of literal fear, he rushed\naway.\n\nOutside the office he came upon a hansom. He leaped into it, shouting the\nBloomsbury address to the man.\n\n\u201cDrive for your life!\u201d he yelled. \u201cA sovereign for you if you get me\nthere quickly!\u201d\n\nThe man\u2019s horse was fresh. They rushed through the streets. Arriving\nat the house, he tossed the driver his promised sovereign, and letting\nhimself in with his latch key, he dashed into the drawing room. It was\nempty!\n\nHe was leaving the room hurriedly, when he encountered the landlady.\n\u201cMiss Viola has gone to bed, sir, she overtired herself, visiting the\nsick-poor with her flowers, and all that, to-day, and she\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cThanks!\u201d with a hurried nod he raced up the stairs. The child\u2019s bedroom\nwas next to his own. He entered it without knocking. He was too much\nagitated to stand upon ceremony.\n\nThe room was in darkness, he struck a match, laid it to the gas nipple,\nthen shot a quick glance at the bed. In that first glance, he saw that it\nwas empty. He went close up to the bed, it had been occupied, he could\nsee that. He thrust his hand well down under the clothes. There was faint\nbody warmth left in the bedding\u2014or it seemed so to him.\n\n\u201cGod help me?\u201d he groaned. And two great tears fell glittering from his\neyes.\n\n\u201cViola! Viola! my precious darling!\u201d he moaned. \u201cYou were my life, my\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHis emotion choked him. He was dropping into the chair by the bedside,\nwhen he noticed that the back and seat of the chair were strewn with the\nunder-clothing, which the child had evidently placed there when disrobing.\n\nWith eyes blinded with tears, he lifted the dainty garments in a pile,\nand laid them on the foot of the bed. Then he dropped back into the\nchair, buried his face in the pillow\u2014the impress of the lost, beautiful\nhead was left in the pillow\u2014and wept.\n\nFor five minutes he remained thus. Then rousing himself, he muttered:\u2014\u201cI\nmust play the man! and get back to the office and lay hold of things.\u201d\n\nHe left the room, and managed to clear the house without encountering his\nlandlady. Lucky in finding a hansom, he had himself driven first to the\ncentral News Agency. He wanted to find out if anything of the mystery was\ngenerally known.\n\nThe careless-minded, light-hearted tapists, clerks and journalists, were\nlaughing over the few vague rumours of the translation that had reached\nthem.\n\nHe said nothing of what he knew, and drove on to the office.\n\n\u201cIf the world has to go on, for a time, just as it _has_ been going, in\nspite of this wonderful thing,\u201d he muttered, \u201cthen, as acting editor of\nthe Courier, I had better stifle every feeling, save the professional,\nand give London\u2014England\u2014the best morning issue under the new condition of\nthings.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nFOILED!\n\n\nThin and pale, but with the likeness of God shining in her dark\neyes\u2014there was the bruise-like colour of great exhaustion under each\neye\u2014Mrs. Joyce sat wearily stitching at her warehouse needle-work.\n\nJem Joyce, the drunken, reprobate husband, was serving a six weeks\nsentence for his old crime, drunken disorderliness in the streets, and\nassaulting the police. His time would soon be up. The fearsome wife had\nrecalled the fact, that very day, though she could not be sure of the\n_actual_ date.\n\nAs she worked now her voice whispered low in song:\u2014\n\n    \u201cIt may be in the evening,\n      When the work of the day is done,\n    And you have time to sit in the twilight\n      And watch the sinking sun,\n    When the long, bright day dies slowly\n      Over the sea,\n    And the hour grows quiet and holy\n      With thoughts of Me;\n    While you hear the village children\n      Passing along the street,\n    Among those thronging footsteps\n      May come the sound of _My_ feet.\n    Therefore I tell _you_: Watch\n      By the light of the evening-star,\n    When the room is growing dusky\n      As the clouds afar;\n    Let the door be on the latch\n      In your home,\n    For it may be through the gleaming\n      I will come.\u201d\n\nLow, soft, yearning in its passionate longing for her Lord\u2019s Return,\nshe began again to hum her lay, when a step sounded somewhere near.\nSo keenly had her imagination been aroused by her song, and by her\nlong, yearning-dwelling on the theme of the song, that she, almost\nunconsciously to herself, rose to her feet, her work and needle held\nlightly in her hand, her face turned towards the door. For one instant,\nher imagination had suggested the step to have been her Lord\u2019s.\n\nThe next moment she turned deadly pale. She had recognized the step. It\nwas her husband\u2019s.\n\nShe had just time to drop back into her chair, and, tremblingly, to\nresume her work, when the brute entered. He was drunk\u2014viciously,\nmurderously drunk.\n\nHe began to curse her, the moment he crossed the threshold. He called her\nfoul names that brought the flush of a great shame\u2014for _him_, not for\nherself\u2014to her cheeks. He sneered at her religion, and blasphemed the\nname of her Lord.\n\nHer lips moved, but no sound came from them. She prayed for grace to be\nsilent, for she feared to aggravate him. Suddenly, he shook his fist in\nher face, and hissed:\u2014\n\n\u201cCurse you! You \u2014\u2014! Do you know I\u2019ve only come back to you to settle all\nmy scores. I\u2019ve come to\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHis foaming, blaspheming rage choked him, and he leaped forward, (she had\ndrawn back from his clenched fist) and caught her by the throat.\n\nShe could not cry out. She thought his purpose was to strangle her. He\nglared murderously back into her eyes, which his awful grip was forcing\nfrom their sockets. He shook her fiercely, hurling hideous blasphemies at\nher all the time. Then he essayed to put his real purpose in view, and\ndrawing himself up, and drawing her, at the same time, towards himself,\nhe hurled himself forward to dash her head against the wall of the room.\n\nIt was _his_ head that struck the wall. His hands clutched air. He fell\nhead-long stunned, bleeding, and\u2014presently, he was dead.\n\nThe room was very still. Awesomely silent.\n\nMargaret Joyce was _in the air_, with her Lord!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nA CASTAWAY.\n\n\nMadge and her husband left Albany on the Monday morning, ostensibly for\na brief honey-moon, but, chiefly, with a view to recruit her husband\u2019s\nhealth. They had gone to a tiny little house among the Catskills, kept by\na coloured woman named \u201cJulie.\u201d The pastor had been there before, and had\nhimself chosen this quiet retreat for their marriage trip.\n\nThe heart of Madge was broken, for her husband would not be friendly with\nher. He was barely civil when he spoke to her, and answered her in short,\nsharp monosyllables only. All the old natural pride, with which she would\nhave met this treatment a fortnight ago, or less, was, fortunately, for\n_him_, swallowed up in her new found faith _in_, and her utter surrender\n_to_ God. And with this there had come to her the patience and purifying,\nborn of the Hope of the near return of the Lord, whom she now loved.\n\nShe had been alone, thinking over the whole position, for a couple of\nhours. The situation had become intolerable. She determined to make an\nappeal to him, though it hurt her natural pride even to contemplate it.\n\n\u201cHelp me! Teach me! Guide me!\u201d she cried unto her God. And in the\nstrength of the divine promises of upholding and guidance, she decided to\ngo to her husband.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe was alone, with a book before him on the table. But he was not\nreading. He was not even thinking. His mind was in a confused whirl,\nborn of the inward rage of a much discomfited man. He had made a fool of\nhimself, in public. He knew it, and he had been too proud to apologize.\nHe had spurned and snubbed the woman, for whom he had professed to be\ndying of love, and who had made the greatest sacrifice any honest woman\ncan make to man\u2014since she had offered herself to him, in marriage.\n\nHe knew that, in the eyes of his wife, and in the eyes of the little\nworld he had lived and laboured in, that he had lowered himself, had\nproved himself less than ordinarily human.\n\nSome of his own recent platform and pulpit utterances, returned to his\nmind, and they stung him by their reproach. The very last sermon he had\npreached, before his breakdown of health, had had for its text, \u201cTo him\nthat overcometh, will I give\u2014\u2014.\u201d\n\nIn the course of his address he had alluded to the shame of some of\nlife\u2019s failures, and had quoted William S. Walsh\u2019s \u201cIchabod.\u201d\n\nNow, as he sat brooding over his own fall, the lines returned to him.\nThey mocked him, gibed at him, becoming, to his brooding imagination,\nsentient things with laughing, mocking, sneering voices, that somehow\ncontrived to fling back into his ears, the very tones of his own voice,\nas he had declaimed the verses from his platform, weeks ago:\n\n    \u201cAlas, for the lofty dreaming,\n      The longed-for high emprise,\n    For the man whose outer seeming\n      His inner self belies!\n\n    \u201cI looked on the life before me\n      With purpose high and true,\n    When the passions of youth surged o\u2019er me,\n      And the world was strange and true.\n\n    \u201cWhere the hero-soul rejoices\n      I would play the hero\u2019s part;\n    My ears were attuned to the voices\n      That speak to the poet\u2019s heart.\n\n    \u201cI would conquer a place in story,\n      With a soul unsmirched by sin;\n    My heart should be crowned with glory,\n      My heart be pure within.\n\n    \u201c_But the hour that should have crowned me,_\n      _Cast all high hope adown,_\n    _And the time of trial found me,_\n      _A sinner, coward, clown._\u201d\n\nThe thought that many of those who heard him declaim those lines, would\nbe now recalling them, and perhaps be applying them to himself, half\nmaddened him. And it was at this worst of all moments for her mission of\nreconciliation, that Madge entered the room.\n\nWith a rare gentleness she began to plead with him, reminding him of\nall the passionate love he had expressed for her up to the very moment,\nalmost, when they entered the church together for that Sunday morning\nservice.\n\nHe answered her coldly, sullenly at first. Then he grew pettishly angry\nwith her, and snapped sharply at her, contradicting her in nearly all she\nsaid:\n\n\u201cBut, Homer,\u201d she pleaded again, and in the deep yearning heart to win\nhim back to his old loving self, she knelt before him, and tried to take\nhis hand.\n\nWith an angry exclamation, he rose sharply to his feet and thrust her\naway with his foot, as he cried:\u2014\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want you! You go your way, I\u2019ll go mine, and\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nHe stopped suddenly. With a sharp cry of agony, he stretched his hands\nout into the empty space, where an instant before, she had knelt\u2014for, in\none flashing moment, she had disappeared from before his eyes.\n\n\u201cMadge! Madge, dear love, dear love, dear wife!\u201d he cried.\n\nThe sound of his own voice struck chilly upon his soul. Deep, deep down\nin his heart he knew what had happened\u2014_only he would not own it to\nhimself_.\n\nHe flashed a swift glance at the window and door. Both were fast shut.\n\n\u201cThis is what Doig preached! What Madge believed would come to pass!\u201d he\ncried, hoarsely.\n\nThere was a strange look of terror in his eyes.\n\n\u201cJulie will have gone, too, if it _is_ the\u2014the\u2014.\u201d\n\nHe did not finish his muttered thought. Like a man walking in his sleep,\nhe moved to the door, opened it, and called, loudly:\u2014\u201cJulie!\u201d\n\nThere came no reply. An eerie stillness was in the house.\n\nHe moved on into the kitchen, the room was empty. A saucepan of milk was\nboiling over on the hot-plate of the grate!\n\nHe hurried into the garden, calling \u201cMadge! Julie!\u201d There was no response.\n\nHe went back to the house. The turkeys had strayed into the kitchen,\nthere being no one to drive them back. He made a hurried, fearsome tour\nof the house. Every room was empty!\n\nHe went back to where he had been, when Madge was taken, with a groan he\ndropped into his chair, staring into space with horror-stricken eyes.\n\nSuddenly, as though a living voice uttered them, the words of scripture\nsounded in his ears.\n\n\u201c_Lest, that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself\nshould be a castaway!_\u201d\n\nA mortal agony filled his eyes, as he groaned:\u2014\n\n\u201cGod help me! I know now that I have only been a _minister_, by training\nand by profession, I have never been a son of God by conversion, by the\nNew Birth!\u201d\n\nHis untaught soul had misinterpreted the real inwardness of that passage\nof Paul\u2019s. But it was true, in the sense _he_ meant it, he _was_ \u201ca\ncastaway.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nA STRICKEN CITY.\n\n\nIt was not really until business time next morning, that London, that the\nwhole country, really fully awoke to the fact of the great event of the\nprevious night. Suburbans, in many cases, only heard the strange news on\ntheir arrival at their particular railway stations. Even then, a hundred\nrumours were the order of the moment. Everything reported was vague and\nshadowy. There were a few rank unbelievers of the garbled stories of\nthe translation, who laughed sceptically, then began to grumble at the\nstrange disorganization of the Railway traffic.\n\nMore than one annoyed, belated traveller, remarked in similar terms to\nthe utterance of a commercial traveller, at Surbiton station:\u2014\n\n\u201cIf there is _any_ actual truth in this story of the secret translation\nof a number of religious people, then the mysterious taking away of so\nmany signal-men, and engine-men, will be an eye-opener to the travelling\npublic, who never, somehow, suppose that Christianity is a strong factor\nin the lives of railway men.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a revelation in another way,\u201d remarked a second, \u201csince it\nsuggests _why_ we have hitherto had so few railway accidents, _compared\nwith other nations_.\u201d\n\nThe tens and hundreds of thousands, the millions, poured into London as\nusual. But the snap had gone out of most of them. A horrible sense of\nforeboding, was upon the spirits of the travellers. As the newspapers\nmore fully confirmed the news, London approached perilously near the\nverge of a general panic.\n\nThe newspapers were bought up with phenomenal eagerness. \u201cSouf Efriken\nWar worn\u2019t in it, fur clearin\u2019 out peepers!\u201d a street seller remarked.\n\nBut few of the morning papers, (except the \u201cCourier\u201d) had anything\nspecial to say on the great event. Most of them, in fact, were absolutely\nsilent.\n\nThere were weather prophecies, political prophecies, financial\nprophecies, social prophecies, sporting prophecies, commercial\nprophecies,\u2014but no prophecy of the Coming of the Christ.\n\nThe \u201cCourier\u2019s\u201d rival had a brief note to the effect:\u2014\n\n\u201cSome wild, senseless rumours were abroad in London last night, as to\nthe sudden, mysterious disappearance of numbers of the _ultra_ religious\npersons of London, and elsewhere. Some people talked wildly of the end of\nthe world. We therefore despatched special commissioners, to ascertain\nwhat truth there was in all this.\n\nOur representative returned an hour and a half later, after having\nvisited all the chief places of amusement and principal restaurants. But\neverywhere managers told the same story, \u2018there has been no signs of the\nend of the world in _our_ place. We are fuller than ever.\u2019\n\nThe genial manager of the \u2014\u2014 Theatre, assured our Representative, that no\nlater than last Sunday morning, he heard it repeated at his Church, that\n\u2018as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, _world without\nend_, Amen.\u2019 So that, for the life of him, he could not conceive any one\nbeing such a fool as to talk of the end of the world.\u201d\n\nBut the note of the \u201cCourier\u2019s\u201d clarion call had no uncertain sound.\nBesides all that we have already seen written in the office by the\ntranslated Tom Hammond, and afterwards by Ralph Bastin, the latter had\nadded to his postscript, another. It was a solemn, a pathetic word, and\nran as follows:\n\n\u201cOur sheets must go to press in a few moments, if the \u201cCourier\u201d is to be\nin the hands of its readers at the usual hour. But before we print, we\nfeel compelled to add a word or two more to what we wrote two hours ago.\n\n\u201cDuring the last two hours, we have made many discoveries, not the\nleast of which, from the _personal_ standpoint, is the fact, that the\nnearest and dearest being to our own heart and life, one whose life and\nthought, of late, has been strangely taken up by the Christ of God, is\nmissing. She has shared in the glory and joy of the wondrous, mysterious,\nand\u2014to _most_ of us, to _all_ of us surely who are _left_\u2014_unexpected_\ntranslation.\n\n\u201cWe have no wish or intention to parade our own personal griefs before\nour readers, but dare to say that no journalist ever worked with a more\nbroken, crushed sense of life, than did we during the two hours we\nafterwards spent in searching London for facts.\n\n\u201cOne curious fact which we speedily discovered, was, that no one had\nbeen taken in this wondrous translation, from any of the Theatres or\nmusic-halls. In the old days\u2014four _hours_ ago, seems, to look back to,\nlike four centuries\u2014before this awfully solemn event, discussions arose,\nperiodically, in certain religious and semi-religious journals, as to\nwhether _true_ Christians could attend the theatre and music-hall.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe fact that no one appears to have been translated from any of these\nLondon houses of amusement, answers, we think, that question, as it has\nnever been answered before.\u201d\n\nHere followed a brief _resume_ of his experiences in other quarters. Then\nin big black type he asked the question:\u2014\n\n\u201cWHAT FOLLOWS, (ACCORDING TO THE BIBLE PROGRAM) THIS STUPENDOUS\nEVENT?\u2014The Bible, evidently, (when read aright) told those, who have been\ntaken from our midst, that this translation was approaching, then it must\nsurely give some hint of what we may expect to follow so startling an\nepisode as that of to-night. The question is, _what_ follows?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere must surely be many clergymen and ministers who knew _about_ this\ngreat translation, who though not living in the spirit of what they knew,\nand being therefore left behind, like the common ruck of those of us,\nwho were carelessly ignorant\u2014there must be many such ministers left, who\ncould teach us _now, what_ to expect _next_, and _how_ to prepare for the\nnext eruption\u2014whatever form it may take.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe therefore propose to any such ministers, that they gather us into\nthe Albert Hall, Agricultural Hall, St. Paul\u2019s Cathedral, Spurgeon\u2019s\nTabernacle, Whitfields\u2014why not, in fact, into every church, chapel,\nSalvation Army Barracks, or even in the great open spaces such as Hyde\nPark, and other Parks, Primrose Hill, Hampstead Heath, etc., and teach\nus, who are left behind from the wondrous Translation, that has just\noccurred, how to be prepared for the next mighty change, for we believe\nthe bulk of us are absolutely in the dark.\u201d\n\n\u201cMeanwhile, are there no houses in Paternoster Row, and its\nneighbourhood, where books and pamphlets on these momentous subjects can\nbe obtained, or are all such publishers translated with those of whom we\nhave been writing?\u201d\n\nOne effect of the last suggestion, in Bastin\u2019s _second_ postscript, was\nto send thousands of people to Paternoster Row, the Square, Ivy Lane,\nand all the neighbourhood. Some of the publishers of books on the Lord\u2019s\nSecond Coming, _had_ been _left_ behind, had _not_ shared in the Rapture\nof which they had printed and published.\n\nStorekeepers, packers, masters, clerks, were most of them reading up the\ncontents of their own wares. Business system among them, at first, seemed\nan unknown quantity. Deadness, amaze, fear, uncertainty, all of these\nthings held and dominated them.\n\nBut they had to wake up. Their counters were besieged. Hordes of people\nthronged the doors. In twenty minutes after the first great influx, there\nwas not a tract, a booklet, or a volume, on the \u201cLord\u2019s coming, and the\nevents to follow,\u201d left in the \u201cRow.\u201d\n\nAt any other time those in command of the stores, would have tried to\nget the printing presses at work, to run off some hundreds of thousands\nof the briefest of the \u201cSecond Advent\u201d literature. But, to-day, fear,\nnameless fear held every one in thrall.\n\nThe \u201cRow\u201d put up shutters, and went home\u2014or at least got away from\nbusiness.\n\nBusiness, everywhere, was at a standstill. By eleven o\u2019clock most of\nthe city houses were closed. Some of the banks never opened at all.\nThrogmorton Street and the Stock Exchange were in a state of dazed\nincredulity. A few members were missing, and these were known to be\n\u201cExpectants\u201d of the Translation.\n\n\u201cSalvation S\u2014\u2014, is gone!\u201d some one called out.\n\n\u201cAye!\u201d cried another, \u201cI\u2019d give all I possess, or ever hoped to possess,\nto be where he is now. I remember how he tried and prayed to persuade me\nonce to\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThere was a rush of members across \u201cThe Floor\u201d at that moment. Some one\nhad a proposition to make, namely a trip to 101 Queen Victoria Street, to\nsee if there were any Salvationists left there. A little band, about a\ndozen, responded, and the silk-hatted, excited little crowd swept away on\ntheir curious quest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\u201cHALLELUJAH LASS.\u201d\n\n\nThere was one \u201cHallelujah Lass,\u201d in the front shop, at the\n\u201cHeadquarters.\u201d She was bonnetless, but the big, navy-blue head-dress\nlaid on a glass show-case. She wore a finely-knitted crimson jersey and\nbraided blue skirt. Her eyes were red with weeping. She was strangely\ndistraught. There was no lilt of the song upon her lips:\u2014\n\n    \u201cOh! the peace my Saviour gives,\n    Peace I never knew before.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot all translated then?\u201d began the leader of the Stock Exchange band,\naddressing her.\n\nThere was nothing flippant, nothing sneering in his tone or manner.\n\nThe girl essayed a reply, but at first it ended in a sob only. Presently\nshe recovered herself enough to say:\u2014\n\n\u201cNo, we\u2019re not _all_ translated! You see, sir, the Army, as a body, never\nquite admitted the truth of _this_ Second coming of our Lord. It has\nalways preached that we, as an Army of Salvation, were raised up by God\nto get _all the world_ converted. A lady in the train, as I came up to\nbusiness, only yesterday\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThe girl sighed wearily, as she interpolated, \u201cYesterday seems as far off\nas Wesley\u2019s times. But, only yesterday, this lady, in the train talked to\nme about the \u2018Lord\u2019s near return\u2019\u2014that is how _she_ put it\u2014and said, \u2018God\nis undoubtedly using the Army in evangelizing the distant heathen, and\nthus allowing them to fulfil His purpose in calling out those who are to\nform the Bride of the Heavenly Bridegroom\u2014but, believe me, my dear, the\nworld will never be converted _before_ Christ comes for His Church.\u2019\n\n\u201cShe talked to me very beautifully, and simply, only, as she said, one\ncould only grasp these truths in proportion as one kept clear in their\nminds the things which belonged to the separate dispensations.\n\n\u201c\u2018If,\u2019 she said, \u2018The Lord came to-night\u2019\u2014how little she or I dreamed\nthat He actually would\u2014\u2018this dispensation would be closed, and a new one\nwould begin to-morrow.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe girl looked around in a bewildered way, almost as though she was\nlooking for something she had lost.\n\n\u201cI have never known anything about the dispensations, and their bearing\non the Bible,\u201d she went on. \u201cThe Army has always taught us that we should\n_all_ die, lie in our graves until \u201cthe _last Day_,\u201d then appear before\nthe Great White Throne, and be judged according to our lives, and all\nthat. The lady who spoke to me yesterday\u2014yesterday? oh, how far off it\nseems\u2014explained to me, _from the Bible_, that true Christians would\n_never_ appear before the Great White Throne.\n\n\u201cThat when the Great White Throne shall be set, the real Christian will\nbe seated in glory _with_ Jesus, the Judge. And only the wicked, unsaved\ndead will be judged there. The sin of the _true_ Christian, she said, is\ndone with, settled, put away at the Cross.\n\n\u201c\u2018There is therefore _now no_ condemnation (_judgment_) to them who are\n_in_ Christ Jesus.\u2019 \u2018He that heareth, and believeth on Jesus, _hath_\neverlasting life, and _shall not come into the judgment_, but _is_\npassed from death unto life.\u2019\n\n\u201cShe told me that the true Christian, who might be living, when the Lord\nshould Return, would be caught up _into the air_, with all the Christian\ndead, who will rise from their graves; and, that then the only judgment\nthat can ever come to the Christian, will take place. That will be at\nChrist\u2019s judgment _of Rewards_. She said that eternal life did not enter\ninto the question. That was settled once and for ever, but at Christ\u2019s\nReward-judgment, the Christian\u2019s _work_ would be tried.\u201d\n\nSome of the silk-hatted listening men began to fidget. All this talk was\nforeign and uninteresting to them.\n\n\u201cThe lady,\u201d the girl went on, \u201cpromised to meet me this morning at the\nstation, at the same time as we met yesterday, \u2018_Should the Lord Tarry_\u2019\nshe said. But I saw nothing of her this morning. She had been \u2018_caught\nup_,\u2019 of course, to meet her Lord in the air, and I\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThe girl\u2019s voice broke, her eyes streamed with tears. One of the youngest\nof the stock-brokers asked:\u2014\n\n\u201cBut why, if Salvationists are Christians, are _you_ here? Why were _you_\nnot translated?\u201d\n\n\u201cGod help me!\u201d she cried, \u201cI know _now_, now that it is too late, that\nI was never converted. I was drawn into an Army meeting by reports I\nheard of the singing and music. The Army\u2019s methods fascinated me\u2014the\nyoung officer who came to our town, was a very taking fellow. He talked\nto me in an after-meeting, I wept with the many emotions that were at\nwork within me; I went to the penitent form\u2014and\u2014and\u2014afterwards joined the\nSalvation Army\u2014but I know _now_, I was not really saved.\u201d\n\nShe caught her breath in a quick sob, then a little glow suddenly filled\nher face, as she added:\u2014\n\n\u201cBut I have settled the matter this morning. I have yielded,\nintelligently to Christ, and I know that\n\n    \u201cJesus with me is united,\n      Doubting and fears they are gone;\n    With Him now my soul is delighted,\n      I and King Jesus are one.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd,\u201d she cried, her eyes flashing with a holy light, \u201cIf witnessing for\nJesus means martyrdom, then, by God\u2019s grace, I\u2019ll show by my death that\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAre there many Salvationists left?\u201d interrupted one of her listeners.\n\nA quick flush dyed her cheek; as she replied:\u2014\n\n\u201cI _can\u2019t_ say! There are some here at head-quarters, whom I should not\nhave thought would have been _left behind_, but who are. Though I don\u2019t\nbelieve there will be more, if so many Salvationists, as other sects, _in\nproportion_, be found to be left behind, or\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nThe sound of thousands of tramping feet broke into the girl\u2019s speech. The\nlittle crowd of Stock-brokers rushed to the door.\n\nA dense mass of men and women were marching up the street. Every face was\nset and serious. There were many clergymen and ministers in the crowd, if\nthe clerical collar and ministerial garb gave true indication of their\ncalling.\n\n\u201cTo St. Paul\u2019s! To St. Paul\u2019s!\u201d a stentorian voice was shouting.\n\nThe stock-brokers joined the mighty crowd, which, grim, resolute, silent,\nswept on.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy midnight, or soon after, a few hours only after the great Translation,\nthe hordes of the vicious that festered in the slums\u2014women, as well as\nmen, _aliens_ and British alike\u2014had heard something of what had happened,\nand creeping from their filthy lairs, began, at once to become a menace\nto public life and property.\n\nMany of the police beats were unprotected, the men who had been\npatrolling them sharing in the sudden glorious Rapture of their Lord\u2019s\nreturn. By midnight, the whole police service had become temporarily\ndisorganized, if not actually demoralized.\n\nScotland Yard heads of departments were missing, as well as local\nSuperintendents, Sergeants, etc. In many cases there was no one to give\norders, or to maintain control. And where leaders _were_ left, they were\noften too scared and unnerved to exercise a healthful authority.\n\nUnder these circumstances the hordes of vicious, and out of work grew\nbolder every hour. They had no fear of the Spiritual character of the\nstrange situation, for God, to them, was a name only to blaspheme. Hell\nwas a merry jest to them, a synonym for warmth and rest,\u2014a combination\nwhich had been all too rare with them on earth. Besides, Hell had no\nshadow of terror to people who, for years, had suffered the torments of a\nlife in a literal hell in London.\n\nShops, and private houses, and some of the larger business houses had\nbeen openly burgled. A rumour got abroad, that the Banks were to be\nraided.\n\nRalph Bastin, passing the Bank of England, found that the guard of\nSoldiers had been quadrupled, and this too for the _day_-time. Curious to\nknow how the Translation of the night before had affected the army, he\nasked one of the privates if any of the London soldiers were missing?\n\n\u201cAll the \u2018blue-lights,\u2019 (as we calls the Christians, sir,) is missin\u2019.\nYer see, sir, if a feller perfesses to be a Chrishun in the Army, an\u2019\naint real, \u2019e soon gits the perfession knocked outer \u2019im. On the other\nhan\u2019 if \u2019e\u2019s real, why all the persekushun on\u2019y drives \u2019is \u2019ligion deeper\ninter \u2019im. Yes, all the \u2018blue-lights\u2019 is gone, sir, an\u2019 any amount o\u2019\nofficers.\n\n\u201cThese, as is gone, is mos\u2019ly the middle-age an\u2019 ole ones, an\u2019 those\nwot\u2019s been in India, Malta, an\u2019 other furrin stations. I\u2019ve knowed\nlots o\u2019 that sort o\u2019 officer, as oosed to hev Bible-Readin\u2019s at their\nBungalows. Ah, they wur _right_, they wur, the other wur wrong, an\u2019 the\nwrong \u2019uns knows to-day as they\u2019s out o\u2019 luck!\n\n\u201cIf yer arsks my erpinun, ser, I sez, that London\u2019s full o\u2019 fools,\nto-day, fur if we\u2019d all been doin\u2019 an\u2019 thinkin\u2019 as we\u2019d oughter, why we\u2019d\nbe now up in Glory wi Jesus. I\u2019ve yeard the truth at So\u2019dger Homes, an\u2019\nsich places, an\u2019 I\u2019ve sung wi\u2019 lots o\u2019 others:\u2014\n\n    \u201cBlessed are those whom the Lord finds watching;\n      In his glory they shall share:\n    If He shall come at the dawn or midnight,\n      Will He find us watching there?\u201d\n\n    \u201cO, can we say we are ready, brother?\u2014\n      Ready for the soul\u2019s bright home?\n    Say, will He find you and me still watching,\n      Waiting, waiting, when the Lord shall come?\u201d\n\nThe man suddenly straightened himself, and glanced away from Bastin. An\nofficer was approaching.\n\nRalph Bastin walked away, the thought that filled his mind, was of the\nstrange mood that had suddenly come over _every_one, since to-day,\neverybody seemed ready to talk freely of religious things.\n\nHe moved on up Cheapside, his destination being St. Paul\u2019s Cathedral.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nIN ST. PAUL\u2019S.\n\n\nThe cathedral was packed, packed out to the doors. The aisles, and every\nother inch of standing-room was a solid Jam. The whole area of the\ninterior showed one black mass of silent waiting, expectant people\u2014it was\ncurious to note that almost every woman had donned black, in some form or\nother.\n\nThe great organ was silent. No one dreamed of singing. The choir seats\nwere full of strangers. The stalls were filled with an indiscriminate\ncrowd. There was no rule, no discipline to-day.\n\nSuddenly the tall, square-built form of a certain well-known Bishop, rose\nnear the pulpit. He had linked his arm in that of one of London\u2019s most\npopular Nonconformist preachers, and almost dragged him to his feet.\n\nThere was evidently a controversy going on between the two men as to\nwhich of them should address the people, each urging the other to lead\noff. The same thought was in the minds of nearly all who were in view of\nthe pair, _namely_, \u201chow comes it that a Bishop, and a popular preacher\nlike the Rev. \u2014\u2014, have been left behind?\u201d\n\nA strange new tenseness, a deepening silence, settled upon the mighty\nmass gathered under that great dome. Suddenly the silence was broken by a\nvoice calling:\n\n\u201cBishop \u2014\u2014.\u201d Another voice immediately cried, \u201cNo! The Rev. \u2014\u2014.\u201d\n\nA momentary clamour of voices ensued. The voices were not shrill in their\neagerness, but sullen, sombre, almost savage, in fact. A moment, and the\nBishop slowly entered the pulpit. He bowed his head in prayer.\n\nLike the slow, rushing sound of the letting loose of some distant water,\nthe noise of thousands of bending forms filled the place, for everyone\nbowed the head.\n\nA moment later, the heads were raised. The silence almost of a tomb\nfilled the place, when the first momentary rustle of the uprearing had\nsubsided.\n\nThe voice of the Bishop broke the silence, crying:\u2014\n\n\u201cMen and women of London, fellows with me in the greatest shame the world\nhas ever known\u2014the shame of bearing the name Christian, and yet of being\nthe rejected of Christ,\u2014we meet to-day under awful, solemn circumstances.\n\n\u201cWe are face to face with the most solemnly awful situation the human\nrace has ever known, if we except the conditions under which, during\nthose three hours of blackness at Calvary, the people of Jerusalem were\nfound, while the Crucified Christ hung mid-air, on the Fatal Tree.\n\n\u201cIt may be said that our position bears some likeness to that of the\npeople who were destroyed at the Flood. Those antediluvians had one\nhundred and twenty years warning, we, as professing Christians, have had\nnearly two thousand years warning, yet, London, England and the whole\nworld has by last night\u2019s events, been proved practically heathen\u2014or\natheist, atheist will perhaps best fit our character.\n\n\u201cThe moment came when God called Noah and his family into the ark. But\nwhat never occurred to me, until this morning, was the significant fact,\nthat God did not shut the door of the ark, or send the flood, until\n_seven days later_, thus giving the unbelievers another opportunity to be\nsaved.\n\n\u201cAnd God has given London, England, America, the world, this same extra\nopportunity of being prepared for the Return of the Lord, and the\nTranslation of His Church.\n\n\u201cFor, for some years, now, conferences, and conventions, addresses,\nBible-Readings, etc., where this subject of the Second Coming of Christ\nhas been specially taught, has been multiplied mightily. I have been\npresent at some of these gatherings, but, smiling amusedly at what I\ntermed the wild utterances of visionaries, I neglected my opportunity.\n\n\u201cYet, of all men, _I_ ought to have been prepared for this Coming of\nthe Lord. I have held ministerial office in a church that taught the\ndoctrine, plainly, in many of its prayers and collects. But I see,\nnow, that all through my life, I have been blinded by the _letter_ of\nthings, and have mistaken christening, confirmation, communicating, for\nconversion, and for life in Christ.\n\n\u201cI see, to-day, that I entered the established church of this realm, and\nnot the family of God, and the service of Christ. I have never really\nbeen God\u2019s, by the New Birth, until last night, when my dear wife, in\ncompany with all the waiting, longing church, was suddenly called up to\nbe with her Lord. Not by death, dear friends\u2014she saw no death\u2014but by that\nsudden translation, that has startled us all so.\u201d\n\nA low sobbing sound ran through all the building. The gathered thousands,\nalmost to a man, realised that they, with the speaker, were equally\nlifeless, spiritually.\n\n\u201cI was in the room when my wife disappeared,\u201d the Bishop went on. \u201cShe\nhad been very ill. It became necessary to perform a critical operation on\nher. I insisted on being present. I see the scene now.\n\n\u201cThe nurses standing by the antiseptic baths with the sponges and clips\nimmersed. In the eerie silence of that room, no sound came save the voice\nof the great surgeon, as he cried \u2018clip\u2019\u2014\u2018iodoform\u2019\u2014\u2018bandages.\u2019 Suddenly,\nas he half turned to take a bandage of the nurse, the form of my precious\nwife disappeared from the operating table. One of the nurses at the\nantiseptic bowl, was gone also.\n\n\u201cAnd I, a _professed_ servant of the Christ who had called the translated\nones, was _left_, with the great surgeon, and others, as you, dear\nfriends, many, _most_ perhaps, members of some Christian church, have\nbeen left.\n\n\u201c\u2018Sister Carrie gone too!\u2019 cried the great surgeon, \u2018then you may depend,\nBishop, that Christ has come for all His real church, for Nurse Carrie\nlived in daily, hourly expectation of some kind of translation.\u2019 With a\npuzzled look upon his face, he said, suddenly:\n\n\u201c\u2018But, Bishop, how is it that you are left behind, who, of all men in our\nmidst, one would have thought would have gone?\u2019\n\n\u201cI had to say last night to him, dear friends, what, with shame and\nregret, I have to say to you now, that I _ought_ to have known the Truth,\nand have been prepared, but because I was unconverted, I had failed to\napprehend the fact of the Lord\u2019s near Return.\n\n\u201cYet, how often, on the third Sunday in Advent, have I, with many of you,\nrepeated the _Great Truth_, in the collect:\u2014\n\n\u201c\u2018O Lord Jesus Christ, who, at Thy first coming, didst send Thy messenger\nto prepare Thy way before Thee; Grant that the ministers and stewards\nof Thy mysteries, may likewise so prepare and make ready Thy way, by\nturning the hearts of the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, that at\nThy _second_ coming to judge the world, we may be found an acceptable\npeople in Thy sight, who livest and reignest with the Father, and the\nHoly Spirit, ever one God, world without end. Amen.\u2019\n\n\u201cIn the burial of our dead, too, how often have I recited, and have heard\nthe words,\n\n\u201c\u2018Beseeching Thee that it may please Thee, of Thy gracious goodness,\n_shortly to accomplish the number of Thine elect_, and to hasten Thy\nKingdom; that we, _with_ all those that are departed in the True faith of\nThy Holy Name, may have our perfect consummation and bliss, both in body\nand soul, in Thy eternal and everlasting glory; through Jesus Christ our\nLord.\u2019\n\n\u201cAgain, the words of Paul in the matter of the Lord\u2019s Supper \u2018TILL HE\nCOME!\u2019 ought to have opened my eyes. But I confess, with shame, I have\nbeen blind, a blind leader of the blind\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nVisible emotion checked the Bishop\u2019s speech, for a moment. Recovering\nhimself, he went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cA blind leader of the blind, because unborn of God. I _ought_ to have\nknown that Christ\u2019s Return was near. I _should_ have known it, had I been\nspiritually-minded, by the signs of the Apostasy which, (prophesied to\nprecede the Second Coming of the Lord) have been having their fulfillment\nall around us for years.\n\n\u201cSince last night, I have lived a whole life-time. I have read the\nwhole of the Gospels and Epistles, and, taking my true place as a lost\nsoul before God, I have been born of God. And now, here, in this solemn\nmoment, I bring to you the Spirit-taught knowledge that has been given to\nme.\u201d\n\nFor a few minutes, he traversed ground already covered in these pages,\nthen, continuing, he said:\u2014\n\n\u201cLast Sunday, when, in all the pride of my office, I preached\u2014preached in\nmy unconscious unbelief\u2014I quoted those lines of the poet:\u2014\n\n    \u201c\u2018They pass me like shadows, crowds on crowds,\n    Dim ghosts of men, that hover to and fro,\n    Hugging their bodies round them like their shrouds\n      Wherein their souls were buried long ago;\n    They trampled on their youth, and faith and love,\n    With Heaven\u2019s clear messages they madly strove,\n    And conquered\u2014and their spirits turned to clay....\n    Alas! poor fools, the anointed eye may trace\n    A dead soul\u2019s epitaph in every face.\u2019\n\n\u201cTo-day, friends, I know that \u2018the anointed eye\u2019 must have traced \u2018The\ndead soul\u2019s epitaph,\u2019 in my _life_, if not in my face.\n\n\u201cNow let us face our present position, as those who are _left_! What is\nthe future to be? This is what you need to know, what I need to know!\n_First_, let me say, the next thing for each to do is to seek the Lord,\nto cry unto Him for mercy and pardon, while all our hearts are shocked\nand startled, and our thoughts are turned God-wards. For unless we close\nwith God, become His, and live out the future to Him, our portion will be\nan Eternal Hell.\u201d\n\nAn awful hush rested upon the gathered thousands, as he proceeded:\u2014\n\n\u201cOne thing appears very plain from Scripture, that is, that when, last\nnight, Christ came into the air and caught up His Church, living and\ndead, that the Devil, who has been the Prince of the Power of _the air_,\nhad to descend to earth. Christ and Beelzebub can never live together in\nthe same realm.\n\n\u201cIn the re-creation of this earth, recorded in Genesis, God blessed\neverything that He created, _save the atmosphere_, He _did_ not, He\n_could_ not bless that because Satan, driven from the re-created earth,\nby the breath of the divine Spirit, had taken refuge _in the air_. He is\ntherefore called in Scripture, not only the \u2018_Prince of this World_,\u2019 but\n\u2018THE PRINCE OF THE POWER OF THE AIR.\u2019\n\n\u201cNow, beloved, the Spirit of God has left the earth. The Devil has taken\nup his abode here with all his myriad agents, and he is going to make\nearth as hot for those of us who will witness for God, as is hell itself\nto the lost.\n\n\u201cIf we will witness for God during the years we are beginning\nto-day\u2014called the years of \u2018The Great Tribulation,\u2019 they will probably\nbe seven in number, and extend therefore to the dawning moment of\nthe Millennium\u2014if we witness therefore for God, I say, during these\nintervening seven years, we may expect to meet with hideous trial and\nsuffering.\n\n\u201cAntichrist will now soon make himself known\u2014he will be a _man_, not a\nsystem, mind,\u2014he will mislead the Jews, who will now, immediately, return\nto their own land, and build their New Temple. For a time, Antichrist\nwill appear to be the friends of the Jews, but he will seek to force the\nmost awful idolatry upon them. The mass of Jewry will accept all this.\n\n\u201cWith the Jew, every Gentile will presently be compelled to accept\nAntichrist, and the Roman Beast\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nA sound of protest was heard from a seat near the pulpit, as the Bishop\nspoke of the \u201cRoman Beast.\u201d But the preacher took no note of the\ninterruption and went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe Devil will be so mad at being cast down out of heaven, and because\nhe knows such a very limited time to work against God, that he will call\nup all hell to stamp out God\u2019s people.\u201d\n\nFor one instant the Bishop paused. He leaned over the pulpit edge, his\neyes were full of the light of a holy determination, but into his voice\nthere crept a tender yearning, as he continued:\u2014\n\n\u201cAre we prepared for actual martyrdom? For this will certainly be the\nfate of many who will not bear about upon them the mark of the Beast.\u201d\n\nAgain there came a growl from that seat near the pulpit. But the most\nsolemn hush rested upon the vast mass of people.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nQuietly, giving the impression that the sense of a great shame rested\nupon him, the Rev. \u2014\u2014 \u2014\u2014 the noted popular Nonconformist minister rose\nfrom his seat and faced the congregation.\n\nMany of his own church were there. Many others, who had followed the\ncriticisms of the more spiritual-toned Christian papers, upon his pulpit\nand other utterances, were there. Every one waited breathless, wondering\nwhat contribution he would make to the great matter in hand.\n\nIt was evident that it was only by the exercise of tremendous will-power\nthat he could restrain his emotions sufficiently to speak.\n\n\u201cGod help me, dear friends!\u201d he began, \u201cfor I know now that I have been\na Judas to the Lord of Life and Glory, whose _professed_ servant I have\nbeen. I have gloried in my success; in the crowd that always filled my\nchurch; in the adulation of my intellectual powers by the Press. But\nI have never glorified Christ. In a hundred subtle ways I have denied\nmy Lord\u2014\u2014He _is_ my Lord _now_, I have found Him in the silence of the\npast awful night\u2014\u2014. I have been practically denying His deity for years,\nI have talked learnedly, when I ought to have been walking humbly,\nand\u2014and\u2014\u2014.\u201d\n\nThe strain was too much for him, tears streamed down his face, he covered\nhis face with his hands, and dropped, sobbing, into his seat.\n\nSobs broke from many of the people. Weeping is infectious. In another\nmoment the released pent-up emotions would have become a storm that none\ncould have stayed. But the Bishop\u2019s voice called out,\n\n\u201cLet us pray!\u201d\n\nEvery head was bent, and a prayer, such as London\u2019s Cathedral had never\nheard before, poured from the Bishop\u2019s lips. The conclusion of the prayer\nwas followed by a moment or two of deepest stillness.\n\nThe silence was, suddenly, sharply broken by a full, rich voice crying:\u2014\n\n\u201cSit up, dear friends! Hear ye the word of the Lord!\u201d\n\nAs the people lifted their heads a cry of amaze rang out from many\nthroats:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe Monk of \u2014\u2014!\u201d\n\nThe face of the Monk was familiar to all Londoners by his photograph,\nwhich beside being on sale in the shops, had appeared again and again\nin magazines. He had a striking figure, and there was a curious\npicturesqueness about his appearance, with his smooth, clean-shaven\nface, eagle eyes, tonsured crown, and curious purple-brown cowled habit,\ngirdled with a stout yellow cord about the waist. His bare feet were\nsandaled. His hands, long, thin, with white tapering fingers, were\noutstretched a moment, then dropped slowly as he went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cThese are times when no one of us may shrink from speaking the truth\nboldly, if the Truth has been committed to us.\n\n\u201cWith all due respect to our friend, Bishop \u2014\u2014, I would say, that all the\nsurmises abroad in London, to-day, and those that have been voiced in our\nhearing here, during this hour, are wrong!\n\n\u201cThe true meaning of the mysterious disappearance of so many\nultra-protestants, is this: The great end _is_ near! God\u2019s work was being\nfrustrated by those unholy zealots, who have been therefore graciously\nsnatched away to hell, before they could do further mischief.\u201d\n\nMurmurs of dissent and protest ran through the mass of people, like the\nlow sullen roar, at sea, of a coming storm.\n\nThe Bishop thought of his Translated wife. He knew, too, that God not\nonly indwelt himself, now, but that He had guided him in speaking to\nthe people. He rose in the pulpit to protest against the words of the\nRomanist.\n\nBut a voice cried out from the congregation:\u2014\n\n\u201cLet the Monk have his say. These are strange times, and we would hear\nall sides before we can judge.\u201d\n\nAnd the Monk went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cHis supreme Holiness, the Pontiff, had been warned of God\u2014as he is God\u2019s\nRegent on earth\u2014of the event that has happened in our midst. His priests\nwere warned a few days ago, and in most of our churches, last Sunday,\ncertain dark hints of the coming catastrophe were given. God therefore,\nnow, calls upon you all, through me, to turn to the _true_ church, the\n_real_ church, the church of St. Peter\u2019s, the church of Rome\u2014\u2014.\u201d\n\nA storm of protesting murmurs rolled up from the people.\n\nHe waited, smiling confidently a moment. Then he went on:\n\n\u201cWhen all the inhabitants of the earth bear upon them the sign of the\ntrue church\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cTHE MARK OF THE BEAST!\u201d yelled a voice.\n\nAnother instant and there would have been a hideous uproar, but that\neverything became forgotten in a new excitement.\n\nFrom outside, in the street, there rose the roar of a multitude, crying\n\u201cFire!\u201d Fortunately the packed congregation within the Cathedral, one\nand all realised that the alarming thing was _out_side, not _in_side the\nbuilding, so that there was no panic.\n\nIn a few minutes the great place was cleared. The Bishop, the Great\nNonconformist, and a dozen other ministers, and laymen, remained gathered\ntogether as by a common instinct, by the pulpit.\n\n\u201cWhat is coming, brethren?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe _power_ of Antichrist, and the manifestation of The man of Sin,\nhimself,\u201d cried the Bishop, solemnly. \u201cThe Monk of \u2014\u2014,\u201d he went on \u201chas\nbeen the first to voice the awful claims of this Man of Sin.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA week later!!!\n\nLike a sow that returneth to the mire, London, England, the world had\nreturned to its old careless life. The fever for sport, pleasure,\nmoney-getting, drinking, gambling, licentiousness, was fiercer than ever.\nEveryone aimed at forgetting what had happened a week before\u2014and the bulk\nof the people were succeeding in finding the lethal element.\n\nThere had been many conversions during the first forty-eight hours\n_after_ the Translation of the Church, but, since then, scarcely one.\nAlready there had arisen, all over the land, all over the world in fact,\nas the American, Australasian, and Foreign Press Telegrams made clear, a\nmultitude of men and women who were preaching the maddest, most dangerous\ndoctrines.\n\nAmong the most popular, and successful, of these was Spiritualism. Not\nthe comparatively mild form known _before_ the Great Translation, but an\nopen, hideous blasphemous exhibition that proved itself to be, what it\nhad really always been\u2014_demonology_.\n\nAntichrist\u2019s sway had begun. Satan was a _positive, active_, agent.\nThe restraints of the Holy Spirit were missing, for _HE_ had left the\nearth when the Church had been taken away. Other restraints were also\ntaken from the midst of the people, since, whether the world recognise\nit or not, the fact remains, that the people of God are the Salt, the\npreservative of the earth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFinal word! Whether or no, the writer has failed in the purpose he had\nwhen he set pen to paper; whether or no he has bungled his subject;\nwhether the reader is, or is not willing to accept the main statements\nof the special teaching in this book, does not really affect the real\nquestion, namely, _The Near Return of our Lord._ His word to us, whether\nwe believe and accept it, or whether we slight and reject it, is:\u2014\n\n\u201cBEHOLD I COME QUICKLY!\u201d BE YE ALSO READY, FOR IN SUCH AN HOUR AS YE\nTHINK NOT, THE SON OF MAN COMETH.\n\nFOR THE LORD HIMSELF SHALL DESCEND FROM HEAVEN.... AND THE DEAD IN CHRIST\nSHALL RISE FIRST: THEN, WE WHICH ARE ALIVE AND REMAIN, SHALL BE CAUGHT\nUP TOGETHER WITH THEM IN THE CLOUDS, TO MEET THE LORD IN THE AIR: AND SO\nSHALL WE EVER BE WITH THE LORD!\n\n                         TO-DAY?\n                             PERHAPS!\n\nThe continuation of this Book is published under the title \u201cThe Mark of\nthe Beast.\u201d","title":"\"In the twinkling of an eye\"","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":63052}