BOOK II-THE ENCOUNTER
CHAPTER
I
I
Oliver Brand was
seated at his desk, on the evening of the next day, reading the leading article
of the New People, evening edition.
* * * * *
"We have had time," he read, "to
recover ourselves a little from the intoxication of last night. Before
embarking on prophecy, it will be as well to recall the facts. Up to yesterday
evening our anxiety with regard to the Eastern crisis continued; and when
twenty-one o'clock struck there were not more than forty persons in London -
the English delegates, that is to say - who knew positively that the danger was
over. Between that moment and half-an-hour later the Government took a few
discreet steps: a select number of persons were informed; the police were
called out, with half-a-dozen regiments, to preserve order; Paul's House was cleared;
the railroad companies were warned; and at the half hour precisely the
announcement was made by means of the electric placards in every quarter of
London, as well as in all large provincial towns. We have not space now to
adequately describe the admirable manner in which the public authorities did
their duty; it is enough to say that not more than seventy fatalities took
place in the whole of London; nor is it our business to criticise the action of
the Government, in choosing this mode of making the announcement.
"By
twenty-two o'clock Paul's House was filled in every corner, the Old Choir was
reserved for members of Parliament and public officials, the quarter-dome
galleries were filled with ladies, and to the rest of the floor the public was
freely admitted. The volor-police also inform us now that for about the
distance of one mile in every direction round this centre every thoroughfare
was blocked with pedestrians, and, two hours later, as we all know, practically
all the main streets of the whole of London were in the same condition.
"It was an
excellent choice by which Mr. OLIVER BRAND was selected as the first speaker.
His arm was still in bandages; and the appeal of his figure as well as his
passionate words struck the first explicit note of the evening. A report of his
words will be found in another column. In their turns, the PRIME MINISTER, Mr.
SNOWFORD, the FIRST MINISTER OF THE ADMIRALTY, THE SECRETARY FOR EASTERN
AFFAIRS, and LORD PEMBERTON, all spoke a few words, corroborating the extraordinary
news. At a quarter before twenty-three, the noise of cheering outside announced
the arrival of the American delegates from Paris, and one by one these ascended
the platform by the south gates of the Old Choir. Each spoke in turn. It is
impossible to appreciate words spoken at such a moment as this; but perhaps it
is not invidious to name Mr. MARKHAM as the orator who above all others
appealed to those who were privileged to hear him. It was he, too, who told us
explicitly what others had merely mentioned, to the effect that the success of
the American efforts was entirely due to Mr. JULIAN FELSENBURGH. As yet Mr.
FELSENBURGH had not arrived; but in answer to a roar of inquiry, Mr. MARKHAM
announced that this gentleman would be amongst them in a few minutes. He then
proceeded to describe to us, so far as was possible in a few sentences, the
methods by which Mr. FELSENBURGH had accomplished what is probably the most
astonishing task known to history. It seems from his words that Mr. FELSENBURGH
(whose biography, so far as it is known, we give in another column) is probably
the greatest orator that the world has ever known—we use these words
deliberately. All languages seem the same to him; he delivered speeches during
the eight months through which the Eastern Convention lasted, in no less than
fifteen tongues. Of his manner in speaking we shall have a few remarks to make
presently. He showed also, Mr. MARKHAM told us, the most astonishing knowledge,
not only of human nature, but of every trait under which that divine thing
manifests itself. He appeared acquainted with the history, the prejudices, the
fears, the hopes, the expectations of all the innumerable sects and castes of
the East to whom it was his business to speak. In fact, as Mr. MARKHAM said, he
is probably the first perfect product of that new cosmopolitan creation to
which the world has laboured throughout its history. In no less than nine
places - Damascus, Irkutsk, Constantinople, Calcutta, Benares, Nanking, among
them - he was hailed as Messiah by a Mohammedan mob. Finally, in America, where
this extraordinary figure has arisen, all speak well of him. He has been guilty
of none of those crimes - there is not one that convicts him of sin - those
crimes of the Yellow Press, of corruption, of commercial or political bullying
which have so stained the past of all those old politicians who made the sister
continent what she has become. Mr. FELSENBURGH has not even formed a party. He,
and not his underlings, have conquered. Those who were present in Paul's House
on this occasion will understand us when we say that the effect of those words
was indescribable.
"When Mr.
MARKHAM sat down, there was a silence; then, in order to quiet the rising
excitement, the organist struck the first chords of the Masonic Hymn; the words
were taken up, and presently not only the whole interior of the building rang
with it, but outside, too, the people responded, and the city of London for a
few moments became indeed a temple of the Lord.
"Now indeed
we come to the most difficult part of our task, and it is better to confess at
once that anything resembling journalistic descriptiveness must be resolutely
laid aside. The greatest things are best told in the simplest words.
"Towards the
close of the fourth verse, a figure in a plain dark suit was observed ascending
the steps of the platform. For a moment this attracted no attention, but when
it was seen that a sudden movement had broken out among the delegates, the
singing began to falter; and it ceased altogether as the figure, after a slight
inclination to right and left, passed up the further steps that led to the
rostrum. Then occurred a curious incident. The organist aloft at first did not
seem to understand, and continued playing, but a sound broke out from the crowd
resembling a kind of groan, and instantly he ceased. But no cheering followed.
Instead a profound silence dominated in an instant the huge throng; this, by
some strange magnetism, communicated itself to those without the building, and
when Mr. FELSENBURGH uttered his first words, it was in a stillness that was
like a living thing. We leave the explanation of this phenomenon to the expert
in psychology.
"Of his
actual words we have nothing to say. So far as we are aware no reporter made
notes at the moment; but the speech, delivered in Esperanto, was a very simple
one, and very short. It consisted of a brief announcement of the great fact of
Universal Brotherhood, a congratulation to all who were yet alive to witness
this consummation of history; and, at the end, an ascription of praise to that
Spirit of the World whose incarnation was now accomplished.
"So much we
can say; but we can say nothing as to the impression of the personality who
stood there. In appearance the man seemed to be about thirty-three years of
age, clean-shaven, upright, with white hair and dark eyes and brows; he stood
motionless with his hands on the rail, he made but one gesture that drew a kind
of sob from the crowd, he spoke these words slowly, distinctly, and in a clear
voice; then he stood waiting.
"There was
no response but a sigh which sounded in the ears of at least one who heard it
as if the whole world drew breath for the first time; and then that strange
heart-shaking silence fell again. Many were weeping silently, the lips of thousands
moved without a sound, and all faces were turned to that simple figure, as if
the hope of every soul were centred there. So, if we may believe it, the eyes
of many, centuries ago, were turned on one known now to history as JESUS OF
NAZARETH.
"Mr. FELSENBURGH
stood so a moment longer, then he turned down the steps, passed across the
platform and disappeared.
"Of what
took place outside we have received the following account from an eye-witness.
The white volor, so well known now to all who were in London that night, had
remained stationary outside the little south door of the Old Choir aisle,
poised about twenty feet above the ground. Gradually it became known to the
crowd, in those few minutes, who it was who had arrived in it, and upon Mr.
FELSENBURGH'S reappearance that same strange groan sounded through the whole
length of Paul's Churchyard, followed by the same silence. The volor descended;
the master stepped on board, and once more the vessel rose to a height of
twenty feet. It was thought at first that some speech would be made, but none
was necessary; and after a moment's pause, the volor began that wonderful
parade which London will never forget. Four times during the night Mr.
FELSENBURGH went round the enormous metropolis, speaking no word; and
everywhere the groan preceded and followed him, while silence accompanied his
actual passage. Two hours after sunrise the white ship rose over Hampstead and
disappeared towards the North; and since then he, whom we call, in truth, the
Saviour of the world, has not been seen.
"And now
what remains to be said?
"Comment is
useless. It is enough to say in one short sentence that the new era has begun,
to which prophets and kings, and the suffering, the dying, all who labour and
are heavy-laden, have aspired in vain. Not only has intercontinental rivalry
ceased to exist, but the strife of home dissensions has ceased also. Of him who
has been the herald of its inauguration we have nothing more to say. Time alone
can show what is yet left for him to do.
"But what
has been done is as follows. The Eastern peril has been for ever dissipated. It
is understood now, by fanatic barbarians as well as by civilised nations, that
the reign of War is ended. 'Not peace but a sword,' said CHRIST; and bitterly
true have those words proved to be. 'Not a sword but peace' is the retort,
articulate at last, from those who have renounced CHRIST'S claims or have never
accepted them. The principle of love and union learned however falteringly in
the West during the last century, has been taken up in the East as well. There
shall be no more an appeal to arms, but to justice; no longer a crying after a
God Who hides Himself, but to Man who has learned his own Divinity. The
Supernatural is dead; rather, we know now that it never yet has been alive.
What remains is to work out this new lesson, to bring every action, word and
thought to the bar of Love and Justice; and this will be, no doubt, the task of
years. Every code must be reversed; every barrier thrown down; party must unite
with party, country with country, and continent with continent. There is no
longer the fear of fear, the dread of the hereafter, or the paralysis of
strife. Man has groaned long enough in the travails of birth; his blood has
been poured out like water through his own foolishness; but at length he
understands himself and is at peace.
"Let it be
seen at least that England is not behind the nations in this work of
reformation; let no national isolation, pride of race, or drunkenness of wealth
hold her hands back from this enormous work. The responsibility is
incalculable, but the victory certain. Let us go softly, humbled by the
knowledge of our crimes in the past, confident in the hope of our achievements
in the future, towards that reward which is in sight at last - the reward
hidden so long by the selfishness of men, the darkness of religion, and the
strife of tongues - the reward promised by one who knew not what he said and
denied what he asserted - Blessed are the meek, the peacemakers, the merciful,
for they shall inherit the earth, be named the children of God, and find
mercy."
* * * * *
Oliver, white to the lips, with his wife kneeling
now beside him, turned the page and read one more short paragraph, marked as
being the latest news.
"It is
understood that the Government is in communication with Mr. Felsenburgh."
II
"Ah! it is
journalese," said Oliver, at last, leaning back. "Tawdry stuff! But -
but the thing!"
Mabel got up,
passed across to the window-seat, and sat down. Her lips opened once or twice,
but she said nothing.
"My
darling," cried the man, "have you nothing to say?"
She looked at him
tremulously a moment.
"Say!"
she said. "As you said, What is the use of words?"
"Tell me
again," said Oliver. "How do I know it is not a dream?"
"A
dream," she said. "Was there ever a dream like this?"
Again she got up
restlessly, came across the floor, and knelt down by her husband once more,
taking his hands in hers.
"My
dear," she said, "I tell you it is not a dream. It is reality at
last. I was there too - do you not remember? You waited for me when all was
over - when He was gone out - we saw Him together, you and I. We heard Him - you
on the platform and I in the gallery. We saw Him again pass up the Embankment
as we stood in the crowd. Then we came home and we found the priest."
Her face was
transfigured as she spoke. It was as of one who saw a Divine Vision. She spoke
very quietly, without excitement or hysteria. Oliver stared at her a moment;
then he bent forward and kissed her gently.
"Yes, my
darling; it is true. But I want to hear it again and again. Tell me again what
you saw."
"I saw the
Son of Man," she said. "Oh! there is no other phrase. The Saviour of
the world, as that paper says. I knew Him in my heart as soon as I saw Him - as
we all did - as soon as He stood there holding the rail. It was like a glory
round his head. I understand it all now. It was He for whom we have waited so
long; and He has come, bringing Peace and Goodwill in His hands. When He spoke,
I knew it again. His voice was as - as the sound of the sea - as simple as that
as - as lamentable - as strong as that. - Did you not hear it?"
Oliver bowed his
head.
"I can trust
Him for all the rest," went on the girl softly. "I do not know where
He is, nor when He will come back, nor what He will do. I suppose there is a
great deal for Him to do, before He is fully known - laws, reforms - that will
be your business, my dear. And the rest of us must wait, and love, and be
content."
Oliver again
lifted his face and looked at her.
"Mabel, my
dear -"
"Oh! I knew
it even last night," she said, "but I did not know that I knew it
till I awoke to-day and remembered. I dreamed of Him all night… Oliver, where
is He?"
He shook his head.
"Yes, I know
where He is, but I am under oath -"
She nodded
quickly, and stood up.
"Yes. I
should not have asked that. Well, we are content to wait."
There was silence
for a moment or two. Oliver broke it.
"My dear,
what do you mean when you say that He is not yet known?"
"I mean just
that," she said. "The rest only know what He has done - not what He
is; but that, too, will come in time."
"And
meanwhile -"
"Meanwhile,
you must work; the rest will come by and bye. Oh! Oliver, be strong and
faithful."
She kissed him
quickly, and went out.
* * * * *
Oliver sat on without moving, staring, as his habit
was, out at the wide view beyond his windows. This time yesterday he was
leaving Paris, knowing the fact indeed - for the delegates had arrived an hour
before - but ignorant of the Man. Now he knew the Man as well - at least he had
seen Him, heard Him, and stood enchanted under the glow of His personality. He
could explain it to himself no more than could any one else - unless, perhaps,
it were Mabel. The others had been as he had been: awed and overcome, yet at
the same time kindled in the very depths of their souls. They had come out - Snowford,
Cartwright, Pemberton, and the rest - on to the steps of Paul's House,
following that strange figure. They had intended to say something, but they
were dumb as they saw the sea of white faces, heard the groan and the silence,
and experienced that compelling wave of magnetism that surged up like something
physical, as the volor rose and started on that indescribable progress.
Once more he had
seen Him, as he and Mabel stood together on the deck of the electric boat that
carried them south. The white ship had passed along overhead, smooth and
steady, above the heads of that vast multitude, bearing Him who, if any had the
right to that title, was indeed the Saviour of the world. Then they had come
home, and found the priest.
That, too, had
been a shock to him; for, at first sight, it seemed that this priest was the
very man he had seen ascend the rostrum two hours before. It was an
extraordinary likeness - the same young face and white hair. Mabel, of course,
had not noticed it; for she had only seen Felsenburgh at a great distance; and
he himself had soon been reassured. And as for his mother - it was terrible
enough; if it had not been for Mabel there would have been violence done last
night. How collected and reasonable she had been! And, as for his mother - he
must leave her alone for the present. By and bye, perhaps, something might be
done. The future! It was that which engrossed him - the future, and the
absorbing power of the personality under whose dominion he had fallen last
night. All else seemed insignificant now - even his mother's defection, her
illness - all paled before this new dawn of an unknown sun. And in an hour he
would know more; he was summoned to Westminster to a meeting of the whole
House; their proposals to Felsenburgh were to be formulated; it was intended to
offer him a great position.
Yes, as Mabel had
said; this was now their work - to carry into effect the new principle that had
suddenly become incarnate in this grey-haired young American - the principle of
Universal Brotherhood. It would mean enormous labour; all foreign relations
would have to be readjusted - trade, policy, methods of government - all
demanded re-statement. Europe was already organised internally on a basis of
mutual protection: that basis was now gone. There was no more any protection,
because there was no more any menace. Enormous labour, too, awaited the
Government in other directions. A Blue-book must be prepared, containing a
complete report of the proceedings in the East, together with the text of the
Treaty which had been laid before them in Paris, signed by the Eastern Emperor,
the feudal kings, the Turkish Republic, and countersigned by the American
plenipotentiaries... Finally, even home politics required reform: the friction
of old strife between centre and extremes must cease forthwith - there must be
but one party now, and that at the Prophet's disposal... He grew bewildered as
he regarded the prospect, and saw how the whole plane of the world was shifted,
how the entire foundation of western life required readjustment. It was a
Revolution indeed, a cataclysm more stupendous than even invasion itself; but
it was the conversion of darkness into light, and chaos into order.
He drew a deep
breath, and so sat pondering.
* * * * *
Mabel came down to him half-an-hour later, as he
dined early before starting for Whitehall.
"Mother is
quieter," she said. "We must be very patient, Oliver. Have you
decided yet as to whether the priest is to come again?"
He shook his
head.
"I can think
of nothing," he said, "but of what I have to do. You decide, my dear;
I leave it in your hands."
She nodded.
"I will talk
to her again presently. Just now she can understand very little of what has
happened… What time shall you be home?"
"Probably
not to-night. We shall sit all night."
"Yes, dear.
And what shall I tell Mr. Phillips?"
"I will
telephone in the morning… Mabel, do you remember what I told you about the
priest?"
"His
likeness to the other?"
"Yes. What
do you make of that?"
She smiled.
"I make
nothing at all of it. Why should they not be alike?"
He took a fig
from the dish, and swallowed it, and stood up.
"It is only
very curious," he said. "Now, good-night, my dear."
III
"Oh,
mother," said Mabel, kneeling by the bed; "cannot you understand what
has happened?"
She had tried
desperately to tell the old lady of the extraordinary change that had taken
place in the world - and without success. It seemed to her that some great
issue depended on it; that it would be piteous if the old woman went out into
the dark unconscious of what had come. It was as if a Christian knelt by the
death-bed of a Jew on the first Easter Monday. But the old lady lay in her bed,
terrified but obdurate.
"Mother,"
said the girl, "let me tell you again. Do you not understand that all
which Jesus Christ promised has come true, though in another way? The reign of
God has really begun; but we know now who God is. You said just now you wanted
the Forgiveness of Sins; well, you have that; we all have it, because there is
no such thing as sin. There is only Crime. And then Communion. You used to
believe that that made you a partaker of God; well, we are all partakers of
God, because we are human beings. Don't you see that Christianity is only one
way of saying all that? I dare say it was the only way, for a time; but that is
all over now. Oh! and how much better this is! It is true - true. You can see
it to be true!"
She paused a
moment, forcing herself to look at that piteous old face, the flushed wrinkled
cheeks, the writhing knotted hands on the coverlet.
"Look how
Christianity has failed - how it has divided people; think of all the cruelties
- the Inquisition, the Religious Wars; the separations between husband and wife
and parents and children - the disobedience to the State, the treasons. Oh! you
cannot believe that these were right. What kind of a God would that be! And
then Hell; how could you ever have believed in that?… Oh! mother, don't believe
anything so frightful… Don't you understand that that God has gone - that He never
existed at all - that it was all a hideous nightmare; and that now we all know
at last what the truth is… Mother! think of what happened last night - how He
came - the Man of whom you were so frightened. I told you what He was like - so
quiet and strong - how every one was silent - of the - the extraordinary
atmosphere, and how six millions of people saw Him. And think what He has done
- how He has healed all the old wounds - how the whole world is at peace at
last - and of what is going to happen. Oh! mother, give up those horrible old
lies; give them up; be brave."
"The priest,
the priest!" moaned the old woman at last.
"Oh! no, no,
no - not the priest; he can do nothing. He knows it's all lies, too!"
"The priest!
the priest!" moaned the other again. "He can tell you; he knows the
answer."
Her face was
convulsed with effort, and her old fingers fumbled and twisted with the rosary.
Mabel grew suddenly frightened, and stood up.
"Oh!
mother!" She stooped and kissed her. "There! I won't say any more
now. But just think about it quietly. Don't be in the least afraid; it is all
perfectly right."
She stood a
moment, still looking compassionately down; torn by sympathy and desire. No! it
was no use now; she must wait till the next day.
"I'll look
in again presently," she said, "when you have had dinner. Mother!
don't look like that! Kiss me!"
It was
astonishing, she told herself that evening, how any one could be so blind. And
what a confession of weakness, too, to call only for the priest! It was
ludicrous, absurd! She herself was filled with an extraordinary peace. Even
death itself seemed now no longer terrible, for was not death swallowed up in
victory? She contrasted the selfish individualism of the Christian, who sobbed
and shrank from death, or, at the best, thought of it only as the gate to his
own eternal life, with the free altruism of the New Believer who asked no more
than that Man should live and grow, that the Spirit of the World should triumph
and reveal Himself, while he, the unit, was content to sink back into that
reservoir of energy from which he drew his life. At this moment she would have
suffered anything, faced death cheerfully - she contemplated even the old woman
upstairs with pity - for was it not piteous that death should not bring her to
herself and reality?
She was in a
quiet whirl of intoxication; it was as if the heavy veil of sense had rolled
back at last and shown a sweet, eternal landscape behind - a shadowless land of
peace where the lion lay down with the lamb, and the leopard with the kid.
There should be war no more: that bloody spectre was dead, and with him the
brood of evil that lived in his shadow - superstition, conflict, terror, and
unreality. The idols were smashed, and rats had run out; Jehovah was fallen;
the wild-eyed dreamer of Galilee was in his grave; the reign of priests was
ended. And in their place stood a strange, quiet figure of indomitable power
and unruffled tenderness… He whom she had seen - the Son of Man, the Saviour of
the world, as she had called Him just now - He who bore these titles was no
longer a monstrous figure, half God and half man, claiming both natures and
possessing neither; one who was tempted without temptation, and who conquered
without merit, as his followers said. Here was one instead whom she could
follow, a god indeed and a man as well - a god because human, and a man because
so divine.
She said no more
that night. She looked into the bedroom for a few minutes, and saw the old
woman asleep. Her old hand lay out on the coverlet, and still between the
fingers was twisted the silly string of beads. Mabel went softly across in the
shaded light, and tried to detach it; but the wrinkled fingers writhed and
closed, and a murmur came from the half-open lips. Ah! how piteous it was,
thought the girl, how hopeless that a soul should flow out into such darkness,
unwilling to make the supreme, generous surrender, and lay down its life
because life itself demanded it!
Then she went to
her own room.
* * * * *
The clocks were chiming three, and the grey dawn
lay on the walls, when she awoke to find by her bed the woman who had sat with
the old lady.
"Come at
once, madam; Mrs. Brand is dying."
IV
Oliver was with
them by six o'clock; he came straight up into his mother's room to find that
all was over.
The room was full
of the morning light and the clean air, and a bubble of bird-music poured in
from the lawn. But his wife knelt by the bed, still holding the wrinkled hands
of the old woman, her face buried in her arms. The face of his mother was
quieter than he had ever seen it, the lines showed only like the faintest
shadows on an alabaster mask; her lips were set in a smile. He looked for a
moment, waiting until the spasm that caught his throat had died again. Then he
put his hand on his wife's shoulder.
"When?"
he said.
Mabel lifted her
face.
"Oh!
Oliver," she murmured. "It was an hour ago… Look at this."
She released the
dead hands and showed the rosary still twisted there; it had snapped in the
last struggle, and a brown bead lay beneath the fingers.
"I did what
I could," sobbed Mabel. "I was not hard with her. But she would not
listen. She kept on crying out for the priest as long as she could speak."
"My dear…
" began the man. Then he, too, went down on his knees by his wife, leaned
forward and kissed the rosary, while tears blinded him.
"Yes,
yes," he said. "Leave her in peace. I would not move it for the
world: it was her toy, was it not?"
The girl stared
at him, astonished.
"We can be
generous, too," he said. "We have all the world at last. And she - she
has lost nothing: it was too late."
"I did what
I could."
"Yes, my
darling, and you were right. But she was too old; she could not
understand."
He paused.
"Euthanasia?"
he whispered with something very like tenderness.
She nodded.
"Yes,"
she said; "just as the last agony began. She resisted, but I knew you
would wish it."
They talked
together for an hour in the garden before Oliver went to his room; and he began
to tell her presently of all that had passed.
"He has
refused," he said. "We offered to create an office for Him; He was to
have been called Consultor, and he refused it two hours ago. But He has
promised to be at our service… No, I must not tell you where He is… He will
return to America soon, we think; but He will not leave us. We have drawn up a
programme, and it is to be sent to Him presently… Yes, we were unanimous."
"And the
programme?"
"It concerns
the Franchise, the Poor Laws and Trade. I can tell you no more than that. It
was He who suggested the points. But we are not sure if we understand Him
yet."
"But, my
dear -"
"Yes; it is
quite extraordinary. I have never seen such things. There was practically no
argument."
"Do the
people understand?"
"I think so.
We shall have to guard against a reaction. They say that the Catholics will be
in danger. There is an article this morning in the Era. The proofs were sent to
us for sanction. It suggests that means must be taken to protect the
Catholics."
Mabel smiled.
"It is a
strange irony," he said. "But they have a right to exist. How far
they have a right to share in the government is another matter. That will come
before us, I think, in a week or two."
"Tell me
more about Him."
"There is
really nothing to tell; we know nothing, except that He is the supreme force in
the world. France is in a ferment, and has offered him Dictatorship. That, too,
He has refused. Germany has made the same proposal as ourselves; Italy, the
same as France, with the title of Perpetual Tribune. America has done nothing
yet, and Spain is divided."
"And the
East?"
"The Emperor
thanked Him; no more than that."
Mabel drew a long
breath, and stood looking out across the heat haze that was beginning to rise
from the town beneath. These were matters so vast that she could not take them
in. But to her imagination Europe lay like a busy hive, moving to and fro in
the sunshine. She saw the blue distance of France, the towns of Germany, the
Alps, and beyond them the Pyrenees and sun-baked Spain; and all were intent on
the same business, to capture if they could this astonishing figure that had
risen over the world. Sober England, too, was alight with zeal. Each country
desired nothing better than that this man should rule over them; and He had
refused them all.
"He has
refused them all!" she repeated breathlessly.
"Yes, all.
We think He may be waiting to hear from America. He still holds office there,
you know."
"How old is
He?"
"Not more
than thirty-two or three. He has only been in office a few months. Before that
He lived alone in Vermont. Then He stood for the Senate; then He made a speech
or two; then He was appointed delegate, though no one seems to have realised
His power. And the rest we know."
Mabel shook her
head meditatively.
"We know
nothing," she said. "Nothing; nothing! Where did He learn His
languages?"
"It is
supposed that He travelled for many years. But no one knows. He has said
nothing."
She turned
swiftly to her husband.
"But what
does it all mean? What is His power? Tell me, Oliver?"
He smiled back,
shaking his head.
"Well,
Markham said that it was his incorruption - that and his oratory; but that
explains nothing."
"No, it
explains nothing," said the girl.
"It is just
personality," went on Oliver, "at least, that's the label to use. But
that, too, is only a label."
"Yes, just a
label. But it is that. They all felt it in Paul's House, and in the streets
afterwards. Did you not feel it?"
"Feel
it!" cried the man, with shining eyes. "Why, I would die for
Him!"
* * * * *
They went back to the house presently, and it was
not till they reached the door that either said a word about the dead old woman
who lay upstairs.
"They are
with her now," said Mabel softly. "I will communicate with the
people."
He nodded
gravely.
"It had
better be this afternoon," he said. "I have a spare hour at fourteen
o'clock. Oh! by the way, Mabel, do you know who took the message to the
priest?"
"I think
so."
"Yes, it was
Phillips. I saw him last night. He will not come here again."
"Did he
confess it?"
"He did. He
was most offensive."
But Oliver's face
softened again as he nodded to his wife at the foot of the stairs, and turned
to go up once more to his mother's room.
