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diff --git a/old/69050-0.txt b/old/69050-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 77958bc..0000000 --- a/old/69050-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9326 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The coming, by J. C. (John Collis) -Snaith - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The coming - -Author: J. C. (John Collis) Snaith - -Release Date: September 26, 2022 [eBook #69050] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was made using scans of - public domain works put online by Harvard University - Library's Open Collections Program.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMING *** - - - - - - _The_ - COMING - - BY - J. C. SNAITH - AUTHOR OF “THE SAILOR,” “ANNE FEVERSHAM,” ETC. - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - NEW YORK 1917 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - - Printed in the United States of America - - - - -THE COMING - - - - -I - -He came to his own and his own knew him not. - - -THE vicar of the parish sat at his study table pen in hand, a sheet of -paper before him. It was Saturday morning already and his weekly sermon -was not yet begun. On Sundays, at the forenoon service, it was Mr. -Perry-Hennington’s custom to read an old discourse, but in the evening -the rigid practice of nearly forty years required that he should give -to the world a new and original homily. - -To a man of the vicar’s mold this was a fairly simple matter. His -rustic flock was not in the least critical. To the villagers of -Penfold, a hamlet on the borders of Sussex and Kent, every word of -their pastor was gospel. And in their pastor’s own gravely deliberate -words it was the gospel of Christ Crucified. - -There had been a time in the vicar’s life when his task had sat lightly -upon him. Given the family living of Penfold-with-Churley in October, -1879, the Reverend the Honorable Thomas Perry-Hennington had never -really had any trouble in the matter until August, 1914. And then, -all at once, trouble came so heavily upon a man no longer young, that -from about the time of the retreat from Mons Saturday morning became a -symbol of torment. It was then that a dark specter first appeared in -the vicar’s mind. For thirty-five years he had been modestly content -with a simple moral obligation in return for a stipend of eight hundred -pounds a year. He had never presumed to question the fitness of a -man with an Oxford pass degree for such a relatively humble office. -A Christian of the old sort, with the habit of faith, and in his own -phrase “without intellectual smear,” he had always been on terms with -God. And though Mr. Perry-Hennington would have been the last to claim -Him as a tribal deity, in the vicar’s ear He undoubtedly spoke with -the accent of an English public school, and used the language of Dr. -Pusey and Dr. Westcott. But somehow August, 1914, had seemed to change -everything. - -It was now June of the following year and Saturday morning had grown -into a nightmare for the vicar. Doubt had arisen in the household of -faith, a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, but only a firm will and a -stout heart had been able to dispel it. Terrible wrong had been done to -an easy and pleasant world and God had seemed to look on. Moreover it -had been boldly claimed that not only was he a graduate of a foreign -university, but that he had justified the ways of Antichrist. - -After grave and bitter searchings of heart, Mr. Perry-Hennington had -risen, not only in the pulpit but in the public press, to rebut the -charge. But this morning, seated in a charming room, biting the end of -a pen, a humbler, more personal doubt in his mind. Was it a man’s work -to be devoting one’s energies to the duties of a parish priest? Was it -a man’s work to be addressing a few yokels, for the most part women and -old men? As far as Penfold-with-Churley was concerned Armageddon might -have been ages away. In fact Mr. Perry-Hennington had recently written -a letter to his favorite newspaper in very good English to say so. - -For the tenth time that morning the vicar dipped his pen in the ink. -For the tenth time it hung lifeless, a thing without words, above a -page thirsting to receive them. For the tenth time the ink grew dry. -With a faint sigh, which in one less strong of will would have been -despair, he suddenly lifted his eyes to look through the window. - -The room faced south. Sussex was spread before him like a carpet. Fold -upon fold, hill beyond hill, it flowed in curves of inconceivable -harmony to meet the distant sea. To the right a subtle thickening of -sunlight marked the ancient forest of Ashdown; straight ahead was -Crowborough Beacon; far away to the left were dark masses of gorse, -masking the delicate verdure of the weald of Kent. There was not a -cloud in the sky. The sun of June, a generous, living warmth, was -everywhere. But as the vicar gazed solemnly out of the window he had -not a thought for the enchantment of the scene. - -Suddenly he rose a little impatiently and opened the window still -wider. If he was to do his duty on the morrow he must have more light, -more air. A grizzled head was flung forth to meet the strong, keen -sun, to snuff the magic air. A clean wind racing by made his lips and -eyelids tingle, and then, all at once, he remembered his boy on the -_Poseidon_. - -But he must put the _Poseidon_ out of his mind if he was to do his -pastoral duty on the morrow. Before he could draw in his head and -buckle to his task, an odd whirr of sound, curiously sharp and loud, -came on his ear. There was an airplane somewhere. Involuntarily he -shaded his eyes to look. Yes, there she was! What speed, what grace, -what incomparable power in the live, sentient thing! How feat she -looked, how noble, as she rode the blue like some fabled roc of an -eastern story. - -“Off to France,” said the vicar. He took off his spectacles and wiped -them, and then put them on again. - -But the morrow’s sermon was again forgotten. He had remembered his -boy in the air. The graceless lad whom he had flogged more than once -in that very room, who had done little good at Marlborough, who had -preferred a stool in a stockbroker’s office to the University, was now -a superman, a veritable god in a machine. A week ago he had been to -Buckingham Palace to be decorated by the King for an act of incredible -daring. His name was great in the hearts of his countrymen. This lad -not yet twenty, whom wild horses would not have dragged through the -fourth Æneid, had made the name of Perry-Hennington ring throughout the -empire. - -From this amazing Charley in his biplane, it was only a step in the -father’s mind to honest Dick and the wardroom of the _Poseidon_. The -vicar recalled with a little thrill of pride how Dick’s grandfather, -the admiral, had always said that the boy was “a thorough Hennington,” -the highest compliment the stout old sea dog had it in his power to pay -him or any other human being. And then from Dick with his wide blue -eyes, his square, fighting face and his nerves of steel the thoughts -of the father flew to Tom, his eldest boy, the high-strung, nervous -fellow, the Trinity prize man with the first-class brain. Tom had left -not only a lucrative practice and brilliant prospects at the Bar, but -also a delicate wife and three young children in order to spend the -winter in the trenches of the Ypres salient. Moreover, he had “stuck -it” without a murmur of complaint, although he was far too exact a -thinker ever to have had any illusions in regard to the nature of -war, and although this particular war defied the human imagination to -conceive its horror. - -Yes, after all, Tom was the most wonderful of the three. Nature had -not meant him for a soldier, the hypersensitive, overstrung lad who -would faint over a cut finger, who had loathed cricket and football, or -anything violent, who in years of manhood had had an almost fanatical -distrust of the military mind. Some special grace had helped him to -endure the bestiality of Flanders. - -From the thought of the three splendid sons God had given him the mind -of the vicar turned to their begetter. He was only just sixty, he -enjoyed rude health except for a touch of rheumatism now and again, -yet here he was in a Sussex village supervising parish matters and -preaching to women and old men. - -At last, with a jerk of impatience that was half despair, he suddenly -withdrew his head from the intoxicating sun, the cool, scented wind of -early June. “I’ll see the Bishop, that’s what I’ll do,” he muttered as -he did so. - -But as he sat down once more at his writing table before the accusing -page, he remembered that he had seen the Bishop several times already. -And the Bishop’s counsel had been ever the same. Let him do the duty -next him. His place was with his flock. Let him labor in his vocation, -the only work for which one of his sort was really qualified. - -Bitterly this soldier of God regretted now that he had not chosen -in his youth the other branch of his profession. Man of sixty as he -was, there were times when he burned to be with his three boys in the -fight. His own father, a fine old Crimean warrior, had once given him -the choice of Sandhurst or Oxford, and the vicar was now constrained -to believe that he had chosen the lesser part. By this time he might -have been on the General Headquarters Staff, whereas he was not even -permitted to wear the uniform of the true Church Militant. - -At last with a groan of vexation the vicar dipped his pen again. And -then something happened. Without conscious volition, or overt process -of the mind, the pen began to move across the page. Slowly it traced -a succession of words, whose purport he didn’t grasp until an eye had -been passed over them. “Let us cast off the works of darkness, let us -put on the armor of light.” - -Sensible at once of high inspiration he took a vital force from the -idea. It began to unseal faculties latent within him. His thoughts came -to a point at last, they grew consecutive, he could see his way, his -mind took wings. And then suddenly, alas, before he could lay pen to -paper, there came a very unfortunate interruption. - - - - -II - - -THERE was a knock on the study door. - -“Come in,” called the vicar rather sharply. - -The whole household knew that on Sunday morning those precincts were -inviolable. - -His daughter Edith came hurriedly into the room. A tall, thin, -eager-looking girl, her large features and hook nose were absurdly like -her father’s. Nobody called her handsome, yet in bearing and movement -was the lithe grace the world looks for in a clean-run strain. But -lines of ill-health were in the sensitive face, and the honest, rather -near-sighted eyes had a look of tension and perplexity. An only girl, -in a country parsonage, thrown much upon herself, the war had begun to -tell its tale. Intensely proud that her brothers were in it, she could -think of nothing else. Their deeds, hazards, sacrifices were taken for -granted as far as others could guess, but they filled her with secret -disgust for her own limited activities. Limited they must remain for -some little time to come. It had been Edith’s wish to go to Serbia with -her cousin’s Red Cross unit. And in spite of the strong views of her -doctor she would have done so but for a sharp attack of illness. That -had been three months ago. She was not yet strong enough for regular -work in a hospital or a munition factory, but as an active member of -a woman’s volunteer training corps, she faithfully performed certain -local and promiscuous duties. - -There was one duty, however, which Edith in her zeal had lately imposed -upon herself. Or it may have been imposed upon her by that section -of the English press from which she took her opinions. For the past -three Saturday mornings it had been carried out religiously. Known -as “rounding up the shirkers,” it consisted in making a tour of the -neighboring villages on a bicycle, and in presenting a white feather to -male members of the population of military age who were not in khaki. - -The girl had just returned from the fulfillment of the weekly task. She -was in a state of excitement slightly tinged with hysteria, and that -alone was her excuse for entering that room at such a time. - -At first the vicar was more concerned by her actual presence than for -the state of her feelings. - -“Well, what is it?” he demanded impatiently, without looking up from -his sermon. - -“I’m so sorry to disturb you, father”--the high-pitched voice had -a curious quiver in it--“but something _rather_ disagreeable has -happened. I felt that I must come and tell you.” - -The vicar swung slowly round in his chair. He was an obtuse man, -therefore the girl’s excitement was still lost upon him, but he had -a fixed habit of duty. If the matter was really disagreeable he was -prepared to deal with it at once; if it admitted of qualification it -must wait until after luncheon. - -There was no doubt, however, in Edith’s mind that it called for her -father’s immediate attention. Moreover, the fact was at last made clear -to him by a mounting color, and an air of growing agitation. - -“Well, what’s the matter?” A certain rough kindness came into the -vicar’s tone as soon as these facts were borne in upon him. “I hope -you’ve not been overtaxing yourself. Joliffe said you would have to be -very careful for some time.” - -The attempt of a somewhat emotional voice to reassure him on that point -was not altogether a success. - -“Then what is the matter?” The vicar peered at her solemnly over his -spectacles. - -Edith hesitated. - -The vicar mobilized an impatient eyebrow. - -“It’s--it’s only that wretched man, John Smith.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington gave a little start of annoyance at the mention of -the name. - -“He’s quite upset me.” - -“What’s he been doing now?” The vicar’s tone was an odd mingling of -scorn and curiosity. - -“It’s foolish to let a man of that kind upset one,” said Edith rather -evasively. - -“I agree. But tell me----?” - -“It will only annoy you.” Filial regard and outraged feelings had begun -a pitched battle. “It’s merely weak to be worried by that kind of -creature.” - -“My dear girl”--the tone was very stern--“tell me in just two words -what has happened.” And the vicar laid down his pen and sat back in his -chair. - -“I have been insulted.” Edith made heroic fight but the sense of -outrage was too much for her. - -“How? In what way?” The county magistrate had begun to take a hand in -the proceedings. - -A little alarmed, Edith plunged into a narrative of events. “I had -just one feather left on my return from Heathfield,” she said, “and -as I came across the Common there was John Smith loafing about as he -so often is. So I went up to him and said: ‘I should like to give you -this.’” - -A look of pained annoyance came into the vicar’s face. “It may be right -in principle,” he said, “but the method doesn’t appeal to me. And I -warned you that something of this kind might happen.” - -“But he ought to be in the army. Or working at munitions.” - -“Maybe. Well, you gave him the feather. And what happened?” - -“First of all he kissed it. Then he put it in his buttonhole, and -struck a sort of attitude and said--let me give you his exact -words--‘And lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the Spirit -of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon him.’” - -The vicar jumped up as if he had been stung. “The fellow said that! But -that’s blasphemy!” - -“Exactly what I thought, father,” said Edith in an extremely emotional -voice. “I was simply horrified.” - -“Atrocious blasphemy!” Seething with indignation the vicar began to -stride about the room. “This must be carried further,” he said. - -To the lay mind such an incident hardly called for serious notice, -even on the part of the vicar of the parish whose function it was to -notice all things seriously. But with a subtlety of malice that Mr. -Perry-Hennington deeply resented it had searched out his weakness. -For some little time now, John Smith had been a thorn in the pastoral -cushion. Week by week this village wastrel was becoming a sorer -problem. Although the man’s outrageous speech was of a piece with the -rest of his conduct, the vicar immediately felt that it had brought -matters to a head. He had already foreseen that the mere presence in -his parish of this young man would sooner or later force certain issues -upon him. Let them now be raised. Mr. Perry-Hennington felt that he -must now face them frankly and fearlessly, once and for all, in a -severely practical way. - -His imperious stridings added to Edith’s alarm. - -“Somehow, father,” she ventured, “I don’t _quite_ think he meant it for -blasphemy. After all he’s hardly that kind of person.” - -“Then what do you suppose the fellow did mean?” barked the vicar. - -“Well, you know that half crazy way of his. After all, he may not have -meant anything in particular.” - -“Whatever his intention he had no right to use such words in such a -connection. I am going to follow this matter up.” - -Edith made a second rather distressed attempt to clear John Smith; the -look in her father’s face was quite alarming. - -But Mr. Perry-Hennington was not to be appeased. “Sooner or later -there’s bound to be serious trouble with the fellow. And this is an -opportunity to come to grips with him. I will go now and hear what -he has to say for himself and then I must very carefully consider the -steps to be taken in a highly disagreeable matter.” - -Thereupon, with the resolution of one proud of the fact that action is -his true sphere the vicar strode boldly to the hatstand in the hall. - - - - -III - - -AS Mr. Perry-Hennington surged through the vicarage gate in the -direction of the village green, a rising tide of indignation swept the -morrow’s discourse completely out of his mind. This was indeed a pity. -Much was going on around and its inner meanings were in themselves a -sermon. Every bush was afire with God. The sun of June was upon gorse -and heather; bees, birds, hedgerows, flowers, all were touched with -magic; larks were hovering, sap was flowing in the leaves, nature in -myriad aspects filled with color, energy and music the enchanted air. -But none of these things spoke to the vicar. He was a man of wrath. -Anger flamed within him as, head high-flung, he marched along a steep, -bracken-fringed path, in quest of one whom he could no longer tolerate -in his parish. - -For some little time now, John Smith had been a trial. To begin with -this young man was an alien presence in a well-disciplined flock. -Had he been native-born, had his status and position been defined by -historical precedent, Mr. Perry-Hennington would have been better able -to deal with him. But, as he had complained rather bitterly, “John -Smith was neither fish, flesh nor well-boiled fowl.” There was no niche -in the social hierarchy that he exactly fitted; there was no ground, -except the insecure one of personal faith, upon which the vicar of the -parish could engage him. - -The cardinal fact in a most difficult case was that the young man’s -mother was living in Penfold. Moreover, she was the widow of a -noncommissioned officer in a line regiment, who in the year 1886 had -been killed in action in the service of his country. John, the only -and posthumous child of an obscure soldier who had died in the desert, -had been brought to Penfold by his mother as a boy of ten. There he -had lived with her ever since in a tiny cottage on the edge of the -common; there he had grown up, and as the vicar was sadly constrained -to believe, into a freethinker, a socialist and a generally undesirable -person. - -These were hard terms for Mr. Perry-Hennington to apply to anyone, but -the conduct of the black sheep of the fold was now common talk, if not -an open scandal. For one thing he was thought to be unsound on the -war. He was known to hold cranky views on various subjects, and he had -addressed meetings at Brombridge on the Universal Religion of Humanity -or some kindred high-flown theme. Moreover, he talked freely with the -young men of the neighborhood, among whom he was becoming a figure of -influence. Indeed, it was said that the source of a kind of pacifist -movement, faintly stirring up and down the district, could be traced to -John Smith. - -Far worse, however, than all this, he had lately acquired a reputation -as a faith-healer. It was claimed for him by certain ignorant people -at Grayfield and Oakshott that by means of Christian Science he had -cured deafness, rheumatism and other minor ills to which the local -flesh was heir. The vicar had been too impatient of the whole matter -to investigate it. On the face of it the thing was quite absurd. -In his eyes John Smith was hardly better than a yokel, although -a man of superior education for his rank of life. Indeed, in Mr. -Perry-Hennington’s opinion, that was where the real root of the -mischief lay. The mother, who was very poor, had contrived, by means of -the needle, and by denying herself almost the necessities of life, to -send the lad for several years to the grammar school at the neighboring -town of Brombridge, where he had undoubtedly gained the rudiments of an -education far in advance of any the village school had to offer. John -had proved a boy of almost abnormal ability; and the high master of -the grammar school had been sadly disappointed that he did not find -his way to Oxford with a scholarship. Unfortunately the boy’s health -had always been delicate. He had suffered from epilepsy, and this fact, -by forbidding a course of regular study, prevented a lad of great -promise obtaining at an old university the mental discipline of which -he was thought to stand in need. - -The vicar considered it was this omission which had marred the boy’s -life. None of the learned professions was open to him; his education -was both inadequate and irregular; moreover, the precarious state of -his health forbade any form of permanent employment. Situations of a -clerical kind had been found for him from time to time which he had -been compelled to give up. Physically slight, he had never been fit for -hard manual labor. Indeed, the only work with his hands for which he -had shown any aptitude was at the carpenter’s bench, and for some years -now he had eked out his mother’s slender means by assisting the village -joiner. - -The unfortunate part of the matter was, however, that the end was -not here. Mentally, there could be no doubt, John Smith, a man now -approaching thirty, was far beyond the level of the carpenter’s bench. -His mind, in the vicar’s opinion, was deplorably ill-regulated, but -in certain of its aspects he was ready to admit that it had both -originality and power. The mother was a daughter of a Baptist minister -in Wales, a fact which tended to raise her son beyond the level of -his immediate surroundings; but that apart, the village carpenter’s -assistant had never yielded his boyish passion for books. He continued -to read increasingly, books to test and search a vigorous mind. -Moreover, he had an astonishing faculty of memory, and at times wrote -poetry of a mystical, ultra-imaginative kind. - -The case of John Smith was still further complicated for Mr. -Perry-Hennington by the injudicious behavior of the local squire. -Gervase Brandon, a cultivated, scholarly man, had encouraged this -village ne’er-do-well in every possible way. There was reason to -believe that he had helped the mother from time to time, and John, at -any rate, had been given the freedom of the fine old library at Hart’s -Ghyll. There he could spend as many hours as he wished; therefrom he -could borrow any volume that he chose, no matter how precious it might -be; and in many delicate ways the well-meaning if over-generous squire, -had played the part of Mæcenas. - -In the vicar’s opinion the inevitable sequel to Gervase Brandon’s -unwisdom had already occurred. A common goose had come to regard -himself as a full-fledged swan. It was within the vicar’s knowledge -that from time to time John Smith had given expression to views -which the ordinary layman could not hold with any sort of authority. -Moreover, when remonstrated with, “this half-educated fellow” had -always tried to stand his ground. And at the back of the vicar’s mind -still rankled a certain _mot_ of John Smith’s, duly reported by Samuel -Veale the scandalized parish clerk. He had said that, as the world was -constituted at present, the gospel according to the Reverend Thomas -Perry-Hennington seemed of more importance than the gospel according to -Jesus Christ. - -When taxed with having made the statement to the village youth, John -Smith did not deny the charge. He even showed a disposition to defend -himself; and the vicar had felt obliged to end the interview by -abruptly walking away. Some months had passed since that incident. But -in his heart the vicar had not been able to forgive what he could only -regard as a piece of effrontery. Henceforward all his dealings with -John Smith were tainted by that recollection. The subject still rankled -in his mind; indeed he would have been the first to own that it was -impossible now for such a man as himself to consider the problem of -John Smith without prejudice. Moreover, he was aware that an intense -and growing personal resentment boded ill for the young man’s future -life in the parish of Penfold-with-Churley. - -Sore, unhappy, yet braced with the stern delight that warriors feel, -the vicar reached the common at last. That open, furze-clad plateau -which divided Sussex from Kent and rose so sharply to the sky that -it formed a natural altar upon which the priests of old had raised a -stone was the favorite tryst of this village wastrel. As soon as Mr. -Perry-Hennington came to the end of the steep path from the vicarage -which debouched to the common, he shaded his eyes from the sun’s glare. -Straight before him, less than a hundred yards away, was the man he -sought. John Smith was leaning against the stone. - -The vicar took off his hat to cool his head a little, and then swung -boldly across the turf. The young man, who was bareheaded and clad in -common workaday clothes, looked clean and neat enough, but somehow -strangely slight and frail. Gaunt of jaw and sunken-eyed, the face was -of a very unusual kind, and from time to time was lit by a smile so -vivid as to be unforgetable. But the outward aspect of John Smith had -never had anything to say to the vicar, and this morning it had even -less to say than usual. - -For the vicar’s attention had been caught by something else. Upon the -young man’s finger was perched a little, timid bird. He was cooing to -it, in an odd, loving voice, and as the vicar came up he said: “Nay, -nay, don’t go. This good man will do you no harm.” - -But the bird appeared to feel otherwise. By the time the vicar was -within ten yards it had flown away. - -“Even the strong souls fear you, sir,” said the young man with his -swift smile, looking him frankly in the eyes. - -“It is the first time one has heard such a grandiloquent term applied -to a yellow-hammer,” said the vicar coldly. - -“Things are not always what they seem,” said the young man. “The wisdom -of countless ages is in that frail casket.” - -“Don’t talk nonsense,” said the vicar sharply. - -“Many a saint, many a hero, is borne on the wings of a dove.” - -“Transcendental rubbish.” The vicar mopped his face with his -handkerchief, and then he began: “Smith”--he was too angry to use the -man’s Christian name--“my daughter tells me you have been blasphemous.” - -The young man, who still wore the white feather in his coat, looked at -the angry vicar with an air of gentle surprise. - -“Please don’t deny it,” said the vicar, taking silence for a desire to -rebut the charge. “She has repeated to me word for word your mocking -speech when you put that symbol of cowardice in your buttonhole.” - -John Smith looked at the vicar with his deep eyes and then he said -slowly and softly: “If my words have hurt her I am very sorry.” - -This speech, in spite of its curious gentleness, added fuel to the -vicar’s anger. - -“The humility you affect does not lessen their offense,” he said -sharply. - -“Where lies the offense you speak of?” The question was asked simply, -with a grave smile. - -“If it is not clear to you,” said the vicar with acid dignity, “it -shall not be my part to explain it. I am not here to bandy words. -Nor do I intend to chop logic. You consider yourself vastly clever, -no doubt. But I have to warn you that the path you follow is full of -peril.” - -“Yes, the path we are following is full of peril.” - -“Whom do you mean by ‘we’?” said the vicar sternly. - -“Mankind. All of us.” - -“That does not affect the question. Let us leave the general alone, let -us keep to the particular.” - -“But how can we leave the general alone, how can we keep to the -particular, when we are all members of one another?” - -The vicar checked him with an imperious hand. - -“Blasphemer.” he said with growing passion, “how dare you parody the -words of the Master?” - -“No one can parody the words of the Master. Either they are or they are -not.” - -“I am not here to argue with you. Understand, John Smith, that in all -circumstances I decline to chop logic with--with a person of your sort.” - -It added to this young man’s offense in the eyes of the vicar that he -had presumed to address him as an intellectual equal. It was true that -in a way of delicate irony, which even Mr. Perry-Hennington was not -too dense to perceive, this extraordinary person deferred continually -to the social and mental status of his questioner. It was the manner -of one engaged in rendering to Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s, but -every word masked by the gentle voice was so subtly provocative that -Mr. Perry-Hennington felt a secret humiliation in submitting to them. -The implication made upon his mind was that the rôle of teacher and -pupil had been reversed. - -This unpleasant feeling was aggravated to the point of the unbearable -by John Smith’s next words. - -“Judge not,” he said softly. “Once priests judged Jesus Christ.” - -The vicar recoiled. - -“Abominable!” he said, and he clenched his fists as if he would strike -him. “Blasphemer!” - -The young man smiled sadly. “I only speak the truth,” he said. “If it -wounds you, sir, the fault is not mine.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington made a stern effort to keep himself in hand. -It was unseemly to bandy words with a man of this kind. Yet, as he -belonged to the parish, the vicar in a sense was responsible for him; -therefore it became his duty to find out what was at the back of his -mind. Curbing as well as he could an indignation that threatened every -moment to pass beyond control, he called upon John Smith to explain -himself. - -“You say you only speak the truth as it has been shown you. First I -would ask whence it comes, and then I would ask how do you know it for -the truth?” - -“It has been communicated by the Father.” - -“Don’t be so free with the name of God,” said the vicar sternly. “And -I, at any rate, take leave to doubt it.” - -“There is a voice I hear within me. And being divine it speaks only the -truth.” - -“How do you know it is divine?” - -“How do I know the grass is green, the sky blue, the heather purple? -How do I know the birds sing?” - -“That is no answer,” said the vicar. “It is open to anyone to claim a -divine voice within did not modesty forbid.” - -The smile of John Smith was so sweetly simple that it could not have -expressed an afterthought. “Had you a true vocation,” he said, “would -you find such uses for your modesty?” - -The vicar, torn between a desire to rebuke what he felt to be an -intolerable impertinence and a wish to end an interview that boded ill -to his dignity, could only stand irresolute. Yet this odd creature -spoke so readily, with a precision so rare and curious that his every -word seemed to acquire a kind of authority. Bitterly chagrined, half -insulted as the vicar was, he determined to continue the argument if -only for the sake of a further light upon the man’s state of mind. - -“You claim to hear a divine voice. Is it for that reason, may one ask, -that you feel licensed to utter such appalling blasphemies?” - -John Smith smiled again in his odd way. - -“You speak like the men of old time,” he said softly. - -“I use the King’s English,” said the vicar. “And I use it as -pointedly, as expressively, as sincerely as lies in my power. I mean -every word I say. You claim the divine voice, yet all that it speaks is -profanity and corruption.” - -“As was said of the prophets of old?” - -“You claim to be a prophet?” - -“Yes, I claim to be a prophet.” - -“That is interesting.” There was a sudden change of tone as the vicar -realized the importance of the admission. He saw that it might have a -very important bearing upon his future course of action. “You claim to -be a prophet in order that you may blaspheme the Creator.” - -“I claim to be a prophet of the good, the beautiful, and the true. -I claim to hear the voice of the eternal. And if these things be -blasphemous in your sight, I can only grieve for your election.” - -“Leave me out of it, if you please.” The clean thrust had stung the -vicar to fury. “I know perfectly well where and how I stand, and if -there is the slightest doubt in the matter it will be the province of -my bishop to resolve it. But with you, Smith, who, I am ashamed to say, -are one of my parishioners, it is a very different matter. In your case -I have my duty to perform. It is one that can only cause me the deepest -pain and anxiety, but I am determined that nothing shall interfere -with it. Forgive my plainness, but your mind is in a most disorderly -state. I am afraid Mr. Brandon is partly to blame. I have told him -more than once that it was folly to give you the run of his library. -You have been encouraged to read books beyond your mental grasp, or at -least beyond your power to assimilate becomingly, in the manner of a -gentleman. You are a half-educated man--it is my duty to speak out--and -like all such men you are wise in your own conceit. Now there is reason -to believe that, in virtue of an old statute which is still operative, -you have made yourself amenable to the law of the land. At all events I -intend to find out. And then will arise the question as to how far it -will be one’s duty to move in this matter.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington watched the young man narrowly as he uttered this -final threat. He had the satisfaction of observing that John Smith -changed color a little. If, however, he had hoped to frighten the man -it was by no means clear that he had succeeded. - -“You follow your conscience, sir,” he said with a sweet unconcern that -added to the vicar’s inward fury. “And I try to follow mine. But it is -right to say to you that you are entering upon a deep coil. The soul of -man is abroad in a dark night, yet the door is still open, and I pray -that you at least will not seek to close it.” - -“The door--still open!” The vicar looked at him in amazement. “What -door?” - -“The door for all mankind.” - -“You speak in riddles.” - -“For the present let them so remain. But I will give you a piece of -news. At two o’clock this morning a presence entered my room and said: -‘I am Goethe and I have come to pray for Germany.’” - -The vicar could only gaze in silence at John Smith. - -“And I said: ‘Certainly, I am very glad to pray for Germany,’ and we -knelt and prayed together. And then he rose and showed me the little -town with its quaint gables and turrets where he sleeps at night, and I -asked him to have courage and then I embraced him and then he left me, -saying he would return again.” - -The vicar heard him to the end with a growing stupefaction. Such a -speech in its complete detachment from the canons of reason could only -mean that the man was unhinged. The words themselves would bear no -other interpretation; but in spite of that the vicar’s amazement soon -gave way to a powerful resentment. At that moment the sense of outrage -was stronger in him than anything else. - -A certain practical sagacity enabled him to see at once that an -abyss had opened between this grotesquely undisciplined mind and his -own. The man might be merely recounting a dream, indulging a fancy, -weaving an allegory, but at whatever angle he was approached by an -incumbent of the Established Church, only one explanation could cover -such lawlessness. The man was not of sound mind. And after all that -was the one truly charitable interpretation of his whole demeanor and -attitude. An ill-regulated, morbidly sensitive organization had broken -down in the stress of those events which had sorely tried an intellect -as stable as Mr. Perry-Hennington’s own. Indeed it was only right to -think so; otherwise, the vicar would have found it impossible to curb -himself. Even as it was he dared not trust himself to say a word in -reply. All at once he turned abruptly on his heel and walked away as on -a former occasion. - - - - -IV - - -AS the vicar made his way across the green toward the village he -deliberated very gravely. It was clear that such a matter would have to -be followed up. But he must not act precipitately. Fully determined now -not to flinch from an onerous task, he must look before and after. - -Two courses presented themselves to his sense of outrage. And he must -choose without delay. Before committing himself to definite action he -must either see Gervase Brandon, whom he felt bound in a measure to -blame for John Smith’s state of mind, and take advice as to what should -be done, or he must see the young man’s mother and ask her help. It -chanced, however, that Mrs. Smith’s cottage was near by. Indeed it -skirted the common, and he had raised the latch of her gate before he -realized that the decision had somehow been made for him, apparently by -a force outside himself. - -It was a very humble abode, typical of that part of the world, but a -trim hedge of briar in front, a growth of honeysuckle above the porch, -and a low roof of thatch gave it a rustic charm. The door stone had -been freshly whitened, and the window curtains, simple though they -were, were so neat and clean that the outward aspect of Rose Cottage -was almost one of refinement. - -The vicar’s sharp knock was answered by a village girl, a timid -creature of fourteen. At the sight of the awe-inspiring figure on the -threshold, she bobbed a curtsey, and in reply to the question: “Is Mrs. -Smith at home?” gurgled an inaudible “Yiss surr.” - -“Is that the vicar?” said a faint voice. - -Mr. Perry-Hennington said reassuringly that it was, and entered -briskly, with that air of decision the old ladies of the parish greatly -admired. - -A puny, white-haired woman was seated in an armchair in the chimney -corner, with a shawl over her shoulders. She had the pinched, wistful -look of the permanent invalid, yet the peaked face and the vivid eyes -had great intelligence. But they were also full of suffering, and the -vicar, at heart genuinely kind, was struck by it at once. - -“How are you today, Mrs. Smith?” he said. - -“No better and no worse than I’ve been this last two years,” said the -widow in a voice that had not a trace of complaint. “It is very kind of -you to come and see me. I wish I could come to church.” - -“I wish you could, Mrs. Smith.” The vicar took a chair by her side. -“It would be a privilege to have you with us again.” - -The widow smiled wanly. “It has been ordained otherwise,” she said. -“And I know better than to question. God moves in a mysterious way.” - -“Yes, indeed.” The vicar was a little moved to find John Smith’s -mother in a state of grace. “There is strength and compensation in the -thought.” - -“If one has found the Kingdom it doesn’t matter how long one is tied to -one’s chair.” - -“It gratifies me to hear you say that.” The vicar spoke in a measured -tone. And then suddenly, as he looked at the calm face of the sufferer, -he grew hopeful. “Mrs. Smith,” he said, with the directness upon which -he prided himself, “I have come to speak to you about your boy.” - -“About John?” The widow, the name on her lips, lowered her voice to a -rapt, hushed whisper. - -The vicar drew his chair a little closer to the invalid. “I am very, -very sorry to cause you any sort of trouble, but I want to ask you to -use your influence with him; I want to ask you to give him something of -your own state of mind.” - -The widow looked at the vicar in surprise. “But,” she said softly, “it -is my boy John who has made me as I am.” - -The vicar was a little disconcerted. “Surely,” he said, “it is God who -has made you what you are.” - -“Yes, but it is through my boy John that He has wrought upon me.” - -“Indeed! Tell me how that came to be.” - -The widow shook her head and smiled to herself. “Don’t ask me to do -that,” she said. “It is a long and wonderful story.” - -But the vicar insisted. - -“No, no, I can’t tell you. I don’t think anyone would believe me. And -the time has not yet come for the story to be told.” - -The vicar still insisted, but this feeble creature had a will as -tenacious as his own. His curiosity had been fully aroused, but common -sense told him that in all human probability he had to deal with the -hallucinations of an old and bed-ridden woman. A simple intensity of -manner and words oddly devout made it clear that she was in a state of -grace, yet it would seem to be rooted in some illusion in which her -worthless son was involved. Although the vicar was without subtlety, he -somehow felt that it would hardly be right to shatter that illusion. -At the same time the key to his character was duty. And his office -asked that in this case it should be rigidly performed. Let all -possible light be cast upon the mental history of this man, even if -an old and poor woman be stricken in the process. A cruel dilemma was -foreshadowed, but let it be faced manfully. - -“Mrs. Smith,” he said after a trying pause, “I am very sorry, but there -is bad news to give you of your son.” - -The effect of the words was remarkable. - -“Oh, what has happened to him?” The placid face changed in an instant; -one hand clutched at the thin bosom. - -The vicar hastened to quell her fears. “Nothing has happened to him,” -he said in a grave, kind tone, “but I grieve to say that his conduct -leaves much to be desired.” - -The widow could only stare at the vicar incredulously. - -“I am greatly troubled about him. For a long time now I have known -him to be a disseminator of idle and mischievous opinions. I have -long suspected him of being a corrupter of our village youth. This -morning”--carried away by a sudden warmth of feeling the vicar forgot -the mother’s frailty--“he insulted my daughter with a most blasphemous -remark, and when I ventured to remonstrate with him he entered upon a -farrago of light and meaningless talk. In a word, Mrs. Smith, much as -it grieves me to say so, I find your son an atheist, a socialist and -a freethinker and I am very deeply concerned for his future in this -parish.” - -In the stress of indignation the vicar did not temper the wind to -the shorn lamb. But the widow was less disconcerted than he felt he -had a right to expect her to be. It was true that she listened with -amazement, but far from being distressed, she met him with frank -skepticism. It deepened an intense annoyance to find that she simply -could not believe him. - -He gave her chapter and verse. But a categorical indictment called -forth the remark that, “John was such a great scholar that ordinary -people could not be expected to understand him.” - -Such a statement added fuel to the flame. Mr. Perry-Hennington did -not pretend to scholarship himself, but he had such a keen and just -appreciation of that quality in other people that these ignorant words -aroused a pitying contempt. The mother’s attitude could only be taken -as a desire to shield and uphold her son. - -“Well, Mrs. Smith,” said the vicar, rising from his chair, “I have to -tell you that talk of this kind cannot be tolerated here. I very much -hope you will speak to him on the matter.” - -“But who am I, vicar, that I should presume to speak to him?” - -“You are his mother.” - -“Of late I have begun to doubt whether I can be his mother.” - -The vicar looked at the widow in amazement. “Surely you know whether or -not he is your son?” he said in stern surprise. - -“Yes, he is the child of my body, but I grow afraid to claim him as -mine.” - -“For what reason?” - -“He is not as other men.” - -“I don’t understand you,” said the vicar with stern impatience. - -The widow looked at the vicar with a sudden light of ecstasy in her -eyes. “I can only tell you,” she said, “that my husband was killed in -battle months before a son was born to me. I can only tell you that -I prayed and prayed continually that there might be no more wars. I -can only tell you that one night an angel came to me and said that my -prayer had been heard and would shortly be answered. I was told that I -should live to see a war that would end all wars. And then my boy was -born and I called him John Emanuel.” - -The vicar mustered all his patience as he listened, half-scandalized, -to the widow’s statement. He had to fortify himself with the obvious -fact that she was a feeble creature who had known many sorrows, whose -mind had at last given way. Somehow he felt a shocked resentment, but -she was so palpably sincere that it was impossible to visit it upon -her. And then the thought came to him that this pitiful illusion was -going to add immensely to his difficulties. Having always known her -for a decent woman and, when in health, a regular churchgoer, he had -counted confidently upon her help. It came as a further embarrassment -to find her mind affected. For her sake he might have been inclined to -temporize a little with the son, in the hope that she would bring the -influence of a known good woman to bear upon him. But that hope was now -vain. The widow’s own mind was in a state of almost equal disorder, -and any steps the matter might demand must now be taken without her -sanction. - -Had the mother infected the son, or had the son infected the mother -was now the vicar’s problem. Regarding the one as a natural complement -to the other, and reading them together, he saw clearly that both were -a little unhinged. Beyond all things a good and humane man, he could -not help blaming himself a little that he had not realized sooner the -true state of the case. Now that he had spoken with the mother, the -son became more comprehensible. Without a doubt the one had reacted -on the other. It simplified the task it would be his bounden duty to -perform, even if it did not make it less repugnant. The fact that two -persons shared such a fantastic illusion made it doubly imperative that -immediate steps should be taken in a matter which Mr. Perry-Hennington -was now viewing with a growing concern. - -“Mrs. Smith,” he said very sternly, “there is one question I feel -bound to ask. Am I right in the assumption that you regard your son as -a--er--a messiah?” - -The answer came at once. - -“Yes, vicar, I do,” said the widow falteringly. “The angel of the Lord -appeared to me, and my son John--if my son he is--has come to fulfill -the Prophecy.” - - - - -V - - -THE vicar left Rose Cottage in a state of the deepest perturbation he -had ever known. He was not the kind of man who submits lightly to any -such feeling, but again the sensation came upon him, which he had first -felt half an hour ago in his amazing interview with John Smith, that -an abyss had suddenly opened under his feet, into which he had already -stumbled. - -That such heresies should be current in his own little cure of -Penfold-with-Churley, with which he had taken such infinite trouble for -the past thirty-five years, that they should arise in his own personal -epoch, and that of his favorite books and newspapers and friends and -fellow workers and thinkers, was so remarkable that he hardly knew -how to face the sore problem to which they gave rise. Unquestionably -such ideas were a by-product of this terrible war which was tearing -up civilization by the roots. In a sense there was consolation in -the thought. Abnormal events give rise to abnormal mental processes. -Half-developed, ill-regulated, morbidly impressionable minds were -very likely to be overthrown by such a phase as the world was now -passing through. But even that reflection did little to reduce Mr. -Perry-Hennington’s half-indignant sense of horror, or to soften the -fierce ordeal in which he was now involved. - -What should he do? An old shirker of issues he did not look for help in -the quarter where some might have sought it. He was therefore content -to put his question to the bracken, to the yellow gorse, to the golden -light of heaven which was now beginning to beat uncomfortably upon him. - -“Why do anything?” answered the inner voice of the university graduate -qua the county gentleman. “Edith is naturally a little upset, but the -question to ask oneself is: Are these poor crackbrains really doing any -harm?” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington had been long accustomed to identify that -particular voice with the highest part of himself. In many of the minor -crises which had arisen in his life he had thankfully and gratefully -followed it. There were times undoubtedly when it was the duty of a -prudent person to turn the blind eye to the telescope. But a very -little reflection convinced him that this occasion was not one of them. - -Apart from the fact that it was quite impossible to allow such a -fantastic heresy to arise in his parish, there was the public interest -to consider. The country was living under martial law, and it had -come to his knowledge that the King’s enemies were receiving open -countenance. The man Smith was a poor sort of creature enough, however -one might regard him, but he was thought to have influence among -persons of his own standing, and it was said to be growing. Moreover, -there was “his faith-healing tomfoolery” to be taken into account; at -the best a trivial business, yet also a portent, which was having an -effect upon the credulous and the ignorant. Therefore the man must -be put in his place. And if possible he must be taught a lesson. The -subject was beset with thorns of the prickliest kind, but the vicar had -never lacked moral courage of an objective sort, and he felt he would -be unworthy of his cloth if for a moment he allowed himself to shirk -his obvious duty. - -While a rather hide-bound intellect set squarely to the problem before -it, Mr. Perry-Hennington marched slowly along the only attempt at a -street that the village of Penfold could boast. At the far end was -a massive pair of iron gates picked out with gold, surmounted by a -medieval arch of stone, upon which a coat of arms was emblazoned. -Beyond these portals was a short avenue of glorious trees which led -to the beautiful old house known as Hart’s Ghyll, the seat for many -generations of the squires of Penfold. - -The symbol above the gates brought the vicar up short with a shock -of surprise. Unconscious of the direction in which the supraliminal -self had been leading him, he was inclined to accept it as the clear -direction of a force beyond himself. It seemed, therefore, right to -go at once and lay this difficult matter before Gervase Brandon, the -man whom he felt bound to blame more than anyone else for John Smith’s -unhappy state of mind. - -The owner of Hart’s Ghyll, having married Mr. Perry-Hennington’s -niece, could claim to be his relation by marriage. Brandon, a man -of forty-two, born to the purple of assured social position, rich, -cultivated, happily wed, the father of two delightful children, had -seemed to possess everything that the heart of man could desire. -Moreover, he had a reputation not merely local as a humane and liberal -thinker--a too liberal thinker in the opinion of the vicar, who was -proud to belong to a sturdier school. A model landlord who housed his -laborers in absurdly modern and hygienic dwellings, who, somewhat to -the scandal of less enlightened neighbors, allowed his smaller tenants -to farm his land at purely nominal rents, he did his best to foster a -spirit of thrift, independence and true communal feeling. - -As a consequence there were those who held the squire of Penfold to be -a mirror of all the virtues. There was also a smaller but vastly more -influential class which could not bear to hear his name mentioned. He -was mad, said the county Guys of the district. The vicar of Penfold -did not go quite to that length, but he sympathized with the point of -view. When he lunched and dined, as he often did, with the neighboring -magnates, he was wont to sigh sadly over “that fellow Brandon,” and -at the same time gravely lament, but not without an air of plaintive -humor, that niece Millicent had yet to teach him sense. And this -statement always involved the corollary that niece Millicent’s failure -was the more surprising since the Perry-Henningtons were a sound old -Tory stock. - -The opinion current in old-port-drinking circles was that Gervase -Brandon was as charming a fellow as you would meet in a day’s march, -but that he was overeducated--he had been a don at Oxford before he -came into the property--and that he had more money to spend than was -good for him. For some years he had been “queering the pitch” for less -happily placed neighbors and contemporaries, and these found it hard -to forgive him. They had prophesied that the day would come when his -vagaries would cause trouble, and at the moment the famous Brandon coat -of arms of the lion and the dove, and its motto: “Let the weak help the -strong, let the strong help the weak,” came within the vicar’s purview, -he felt that the prophecy had been most oddly, not to say dramatically, -fulfilled. - -If blame there was for the appearance of a Mad Mullah in the parish, -without a doubt it must be laid to the door of Gervase Brandon. In the -most absurd way he had long encouraged one whom the vicar could only -regard as a wastrel. He had allowed this incorrigible fellow the run of -the Hart’s Ghyll library, and the vicar recalled meeting John Smith in -the village street with a priceless Elzevir copy of Plato’s Theætetus -under his arm, the Brandon crest stamped on the leather, the Brandon -bookplate inside. The vicar understood that the man had been a frequent -visitor at the house, that money had been given him from time to time, -and that the mother had been allowed to occupy the cottage on the -common rent free. Was it to be wondered at that a weak, half-developed -brain had been thrown off its balance? - -In these circumstances it was right that Gervase Brandon should be made -to understand the mischief he had wrought; it was right that he should -be called upon to take a hand in the adjustment of the coil. But as -Mr. Perry-Hennington passed through the gate of Hart’s Ghyll and walked -slowly up the avenue toward the house there was still a reservation -in his mind. As matters were with Brandon now he might not be able -to grapple with a problem of a nature to make heavy demands upon the -mental and moral faculties. - -The vicar had scarcely entered upon this aspect of the case, when the -sight of a spinal carriage in the care of two nurses forbade any more -speculation upon the subject. He was suddenly brought face to face with -reality in a grimly practical shape. - -“How are you this morning, Gervase?” said the vicar, stopping the -little procession with a hearty voice. The question was addressed to a -gaunt, hollow-eyed man in a green dressing gown, who was propped up on -pillows. - -“I’ve nothing to complain of,” said Gervase Brandon. He spoke in a -calm, gentle way. “Another capital night.” - -“Do you still have pain?” - -“None for a week, I’m thankful to say. But I touch wood!” - -The optimistic, almost gay tone did not deceive the vicar. The tragic -part of the matter was that the cessation of pain was not a hopeful -sign. Brandon might not have known that. This morning, at any rate, he -had the half-defiant cheerfulness of one who did not intend to admit -physical calamity. Yet he must have well understood the nature of the -thing that had come upon him. For three long, terrible months he had -lain on his back, paralyzed from the waist down, the result of shell -shock sustained on the beaches of Gallipoli. There was every reason to -fear a lesion of certain ganglia, and little hope was now held out that -he would ever walk again. - -To a man in meridian pride of body such a prospect hardly bore thinking -about. But the blow had been borne with a fortitude at which even a -man so unimaginative as the vicar could only marvel. Not again would -the owner of Hart’s Ghyll prune his roses, or drive a golf ball, or -cast a fly, or take a pot shot at a rabbit; not again would he take his -children on his knee. - -Brandon had always been the least militant of men. His instincts were -liberal and humane, and in the happy position of being able to live -as he chose he had gratified them to the full. He had had everything -to attach him to existence; if ever fortune had had a favorite it was -undoubtedly he. It had given him everything, with a great zest in life -as a crowning boon. But in August, 1914, in common with so many of his -countrymen, he had cast every personal consideration to the wind and -embraced a life which he loathed with every fiber of his being. - -He had only allowed himself one reason for the voluntary undertaking of -a bestial task, and it was the one many others of his kind had given: -“So that that chap won’t have to do it”--the chap in question being -an engaging, curly-headed urchin still in the care of a governess. -Well, the father had “done his bit,” but as far as the small son was -concerned there was no guaranty that it had not been done in vain. And -none knew that better than the shattered man propped up in the spinal -carriage. - -The sight of Gervase Brandon had done something to weaken the vicar’s -resolve. It hardly seemed right to torment the poor fellow with this -extremely disagreeable matter. Yet a moment’s reflection convinced Mr. -Perry-Hennington that it would be most unwise to take any decisive step -without discussing it with the man best able to throw light upon it. -Moreover, as the vicar recognized, Brandon’s mental powers did not seem -to have shared his body’s eclipse. He appeared to enjoy them to the -full; in fact it might be said that complete physical prostration had -added to their perceptiveness. Whenever the vicar talked with him now -he was much impressed by the range and quality of his mind. - -“Gervase,” said the vicar after a brief mental survey of the position, -“I wonder if I might venture to speak to you about something that is -troubling me a good deal?” - -“Certainly, certainly,” said the occupant of the spinal carriage, with -an alert, almost eager smile. “If there’s any way in which I can be of -the slightest use, or any way in which you think I can I shall be only -too delighted.” - -“I hate having to bother you with a matter of this kind. But it is -likely that you know something about it. And I am greatly in need of -advice, which I hope you may be able to give.” - -“I hope I may.” The vicar’s gravity was not lost upon Brandon. “Perhaps -you would like to discuss it in the library?” - -“If you don’t mind.” - - - - -VI - - -TO the library the spinal carriage was taken. When it had been wheeled -into the sunny embrasure of that wonderful room, which even the vicar -never entered without a slight pang of envy, the nurses retired, -leaving the two men together. - -The library of Hart’s Ghyll was richly symbolical of the aristocracy -of an old country. It had once been part of a monastery which had been -set, as happened invariably when religion had a monopoly of learning -and taste, in the fairest spot the countryside could offer for the -purpose. From the large mullioned window the view of Hart’s Ghyll and -its enchanted vistas of hill, stream and woodland beyond was a miracle -of beauty. And the walls of the room displayed treasures above price, -such a collection of first editions and old masters as even a man -so insensitive as the vicar sometimes recalled in his dreams. Their -present owner, who in the vicar’s opinion had imbibed the modern spirit -far too freely, had often said that he could not defend possession in -such abundance by one who had done nothing to earn it. In an ideal -state, had declared this advanced thinker, these things would be part -of the commonweal--a theory which Mr. Perry-Hennington considered -fantastic. To his mind, as he had informed niece Millicent, it was -perilously like an affront to the order of divine providence. - -The spirit of place seemed to descend upon the vicar, as in a hushed, -rather solemn tone, he asked Brandon whether the sun would be too much -for him. - -“Not for a man who has been grilled in Gallipoli,” answered Brandon -with a stoic’s smile. “But if you will open that window a little wider -and roll me back a bit, I shall have my own piece of earth to look at. -Give me this and you may take the rest of Christendom. It’s been soaked -into my bones, into my brain. One ought to be a Virgil or a Wordsworth.” - -“Which I hope you may presently prove, my dear fellow,” said the vicar, -touched by a sense of the man’s heroism. - -“Alas, they are born.” - -“In spirit at any rate you are with them.” The vicar was moved to an -infrequent compliment. - -But he had suddenly grown nervous. Now that he was face to face with -his task he didn’t know how to enter upon it. The wave of indignation -which had borne him as far as the library of Hart’s Ghyll had been -dissipated by the presence of a suffering it was surely inhuman to -embarrass. The younger man, his rare faculty of perception strung to -a high pitch, saw at once the vicar’s hesitation. Like an intensely -sympathetic woman, Brandon began unconsciously to help him disburden -his mind of that which was trying it so sorely. - -At last Mr. Perry-Hennington found himself at the point where it became -possible to break the ice. - -“My dear Gervase,” he said, “there is nothing I dislike more than -having to ask you to share my troubles, but a most vexing matter has -arisen, and you are the only person whose advice I feel I can take.” - -“I only hope I can be of use.” - -“Well--it’s John Smith.” The vicar took the plunge. And as he did so, -he was sufficiently master of himself to watch narrowly the face of the -stricken man. - -Brandon fixed deep eyes upon the vicar. - -“But he’s such a harmless fellow.” The light tone, the placid smile, -told nothing. - -“I admit, of course, that one oughtn’t to be worried by a village -wastrel.” - -“I challenge the term,” said Brandon with the note of airy banter which -always charmed. “Not for the first time, you know. I’m afraid we shall -never agree about the dear chap.” - -“No, I’m afraid we shall not.” The vicar could not quite keep -resentment out of his voice. But in deference to a graceful and perhaps -merited rebuke, the controversialist lowered his tone a little. “But -let me give you the facts.” - -Thereupon, with a naïveté not lost upon the man in the spinal carriage, -Mr. Perry-Hennington very solemnly related the incident of the white -feather. - -Brandon said nothing, but looked at the vicar fixedly. - -“I hate having to worry you in this way.” Mr. Perry-Hennington watched -narrowly the drawn face. “Of course it had to be followed up. At first, -I’ll confess, I took it to be a mere piece of blasphemous bravado in -execrable taste, but now I’ve seen the man, now I’ve talked with him, I -have come to another conclusion.” - -The vicar saw that Brandon’s eyes were full of an intense, eager -interest. - -“Well?” said the sufferer softly. - -“The conclusion I have come to is that it’s a case of paranoia.” - -“That is to say, you think he intended the statement to be taken -literally?” - -“I do. But I didn’t realize that all at once. When I accused him -of blasphemy he defended himself with a farrago of quasi mystical -gibberish which amounted to nothing, and he ended with a perfectly -fantastic statement. Let me give it you word for word. ‘At two o’clock -this morning a presence entered my room and said, “I am Goethe and I -have come to pray for Germany.” And I said, “Certainly, I shall be -very glad to pray for Germany,” and we knelt and prayed together. And -then he rose and showed me the little town with its quaint gables and -turrets where he sleeps at night, and I asked him to have courage and -then I embraced him and then he left me, saying he would return again.’” - -Brandon’s face had an ever-deepening interest, but he did not venture -upon a remark. - -“Of course,” said the vicar, “one’s answer should have been, ‘My -friend, he who aids, abets and harbors an unregistered alien enemy -becomes amenable to the Defense of the Realm Regulations.’” - -“What was your answer?” The look of bewilderment was growing upon -Brandon’s face. - -“I made none. I was completely bowled out. But I went at once to see -the mother. And this is where the oddest part of all comes in. After -a little conversation with the mother, I discovered that she most -sincerely believes that her son is--is a messiah.” - -Again the stricken man closed his eyes. - -“There we have the clue. In a very exalted way she told me how her son -was born six months after her husband had been killed in action. She -told me how she had prayed that all wars might cease, how an angel -appeared to her with a promise that she would live to see the war -which would end all wars; she told me how a son was born to her in -fulfillment of the prophecy, and how she christened him John Emanuel. I -was astounded. But now I have had time to think about the matter much -is explained. The man is clearly suffering from illusions prenatally -induced. There is no doubt a doctor would tell us that it explains his -fits. It also accounts for his faith-healing nonsense. And there is no -doubt that mother and son have reacted upon one another in such a way -that they are now stark crazy.” - -“And that is your deliberate opinion?” - -“With the facts before me I can come to no other. It is the only -charitable explanation. Otherwise I should have felt it to be my duty -to institute a prosecution under the blasphemy laws. Only the other -day there was a man--a tailor, I believe--imprisoned under the statute -of Henry VII. But if, as there is now every reason to think, it is a -simple case of insanity, one will be relieved from that disagreeable -necessity.” - -Brandon concurred. - -“But as you will readily see, my dear Gervase, the alternative is -almost equally distressing. To clear him of the charge of blasphemy it -will be necessary to prove him insane; and in that event, of course, he -cannot remain at large.” - -“Surely the poor chap is quite harmless?” - -“Harmless!” Mr. Perry-Hennington had difficulty in keeping his voice -under control. “A man who goes about the parish proclaiming himself a -god!” - -“He has Plotinus with him at any rate.” Again the stricken man closed -his eyes. “How says the sage? ‘Surely before this descent into -generation we existed in the intelligible world; being other men than -now we are, and some of us Gods; clear souls and minds immixed with all -existence; parts of the Intelligible, nor severed thence; nor are we -severed even now.’”[1] - -[Footnote 1: Enn VI. 4, 14 [F. W. H. Myers].] - -“Really, my dear Gervase,” said the vicar, trying very hard to -curb a growing resentment, “one should hesitate to quote the pagan -philosophers in a matter of this kind.” - -“I can’t agree. They are far wiser than us in the only thing that -matters after all. They have more windows open in the soul.” - -“No, no.” Mr. Perry-Hennington strove against vehemence. “Still, we -won’t go into that.” He was on perilous ground. Of late years Brandon -himself had been a thorn in the sacerdotal cushion. The modern spirit -had led him to skepticism, so that, in the vicar’s phrase, “he had -become an alien in the household of faith.” Now was not the moment -to open an old wound or to revive the embers of controversy. But the -vicar felt the old spiritual enmity, which Brandon’s stoic heroism had -lulled to sleep, again stirring his blood. Therefore, he must not allow -himself to be involved in a false issue. Let him keep rigidly to the -business in hand. And the business in hand was: What shall be done with -John Smith? - -It was clear at once that in Brandon’s opinion there was no need to do -anything. The vicar felt ruefully that he should have foreseen this -attitude. But he had a right to hope that Brandon’s recent experiences, -even if they had not changed him fundamentally, would have done -something to modify the central heresies. Nothing was further from the -vicar’s desire than to bear hardly upon one who had carried himself so -nobly, but Brandon’s air of tolerance was a laxity not to be borne. Mr. -Perry-Hennington’s soul was on fire. It was as much as he could do to -hold himself in hand. - -“You see, my dear fellow,” he said, “as the case presents itself to me, -I must do one of two things. Either I must institute a prosecution for -blasphemy, so that the law may deal with him, or, as I think would be -the wiser and more humane course, I must take steps to have him removed -to an asylum.” - -“But why do anything?” - -“I feel it to be my duty.” - -“But he’s so harmless. And a dear fellow.” - -“I wish I could share your opinion. I can only regard him as a plague -spot in the parish. Insanity is his only defense and it has taken such -a noxious form that it may infect others.” - -“Hardly likely, one would think.” - -“We live in abnormal times. I am very sorry, but I can only regard this -man as a moral danger to the community. Edith was greatly shocked. -I was greatly shocked. You must excuse my saying so, Gervase, but I -cannot help feeling that in the circumstances the vast majority of -right-thinking people would be.” - -“But who are the people who think rightly?” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington raised a deprecating hand. Yet Brandon, having -acted in the way he had, was entitled to put the question. He had given -more than life for an idea, and that fact made it immensely difficult -for the vicar to deal with him as faithfully as he could have wished. -He was face to face with a skeptic, but the skeptic was intrenched in a -special position where neither contempt nor active reproach of any kind -must visit him. - -But in spite of himself the old slumbering antagonisms were now -awake in the vicar. Brandon, too, was a dangerous paradoxical -man. Notwithstanding the honor and the love he bore him, Mr. -Perry-Hennington felt his pulses quicken, his fibers stiffen. If ever -man did, he saw his duty straight and clear. The only real problem was -how to do it with the least affront to others, with the least harm to -the community. - -“By the way,” said Brandon, his gentle voice filling an awkward pause -that had suddenly ensued, “have you ever really talked with John Smith?” - -“Oh, yes, many times.” - -“I mean have you ever really tried--if I may put it that way--to get at -the back of his mind?” - -“As far as one can. But to me he seems to have precious little in -the way of mind to get at the back of. As far as one’s own limited -intelligence will allow one to judge, the mind of John Smith seems a -half-baked morass, a mere hotch-potch of moonstruck transcendentalisms, -overlaid with a kind of Swedenborgian mysticism, if one may so express -oneself. To me it seems a case where a little regular training at -a university and the clear thinking it induces would have been of -enormous value.” - -Brandon smiled. “Have you seen his poem?” he asked. - -“No.” The answer was short; and then the vicar asked in a tone which -had a tinge of disgust, “Written a poem, has he?” - -“He brought it to me the other day.” Again Brandon closed his eyes. “To -my mind it is very remarkable,” he said half to himself. - -“It would be, no doubt,” said the vicar, half to himself also. - -“I should like you to read it.” - -“I prefer not to do so,” said the vicar after a pause. “My mind is -quite made up about him. It would only vex me further to read anything -he may have written. We live by deeds, not by words, and never more so -than in this stern time.” - -“To my mind, it is a very wonderful poem,” said the stricken man. “I -don’t think I am morbidly impressionable--I hope I’m not--but that poem -haunts me. It is even changing my outlook. It is an extravagant thing -to say, but the feeling it leaves on one’s mind is that if a spectator -of all time and all existence, a sort of Cosmostheorus, were to visit -the planet at this moment, it is the way in which he might be expected -to deliver himself.” - -“Neoplatonism of the usual brand, I presume.” There was a slight curl -of a thin lip. - -“Of a very unusual brand, I assure you. It may be neoplatonism, and -yet--no--one cannot give it a label. There is the Something Else behind -it.” Once more the stricken man closed his eyes. “Yes, there is the -Something Else. The thing infolds me like a dream, a passion. I feel it -changing me.” - -“What is it called?” the vicar permitted himself to ask. - -“It is called ‘The Door.’” - -“Why ‘The Door’?” - -“Is there a Door still open for the human race?--that is the question -the poem asks.” - -“A kind of mysticism, I presume?” - -“I wish I could persuade you to read the poem. To my mind it has -exquisite beauty, and a profundity beyond anything I have ever read. It -asks a question which at this moment admits of no answer. Everything -hangs in the balance. But the theme of the poem is the future’s vital -need, the keeping open, at all costs, of the Door.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington shook his head sadly, but the gesture was not -without indulgence. He was ready to make allowance for Brandon’s -present state. The importance he attached to such lucubrations was -quite unworthy of an ex-Fellow of Gamaliel, at any rate in the eyes -of a former Fellow of All Saints, which under an old but convenient -dispensation Mr. Perry-Hennington could claim to be. This morbid -sensibility was a fruit of Brandon’s disease no doubt. But for his own -part the vicar had neither time nor inclination for what could only be -an ill-digested farrago of mystical moonshine. Unhappily nothing was -left to poor Brandon now except to ease his mind as best he could. Such -a mental condition was to be deplored. Yet the vicar fervently hoped -that the canker would not bite too deep. - -“Do let me get the poem for you to read.” Brandon’s eyes were full of -entreaty. - -“No, no, my dear fellow,” said the vicar gently. “I really haven’t time -to give to such things just now. All one’s energies are absorbed in -dealing with things as they are. I am quite prepared to take your word -that the poem has literary merit--after all, you are a better judge of -such matters than I am. But for those of us who have still our work -to do, this is not a moment for poetic fancies or any other form of -self-indulgence. Moreover, I must reserve my right to full liberty of -action in a matter which is causing me grave concern.” - -With these words the vicar took a chastened leave. It was clear that -nothing was to be hoped for in this quarter. Bitterly disappointed, but -more than ever determined to do his duty in a matter which promised to -become increasingly difficult, the vicar shook Brandon gently by the -hand and left the room. In the large Tudor hall, with its stone flags, -old oak and rare tapestry, he came suddenly upon his niece. - -Millicent Brandon looked too girlish to be the mother of the two lusty -creatures whom she was helping to fit together a picture puzzle which -had been spread out on a table. Tall, slight, a picture of vivid -health, she had a charming prettiness of an unusual kind. And in the -clear, long-lashed eyes was an eagerness, an intensity of life which -the elf-like Babs and the sturdy, yellow-headed Joskin shared with her. -Even the vicar, who noticed so little, was struck by the force of the -contrast between this rich vitality and the broken man whom he had left -a moment ago. - -It was clear, however, that above Millicent Brandon’s high spirit -hovered the dark shadow which continually haunted her. Behind the -surface gayety was an anxiety which never slept, a gnawing fear that -no preoccupation could allay. The solid, sensible vicar was liked and -respected by women, and he now received the affectionate greeting of -his niece, who was genuinely pleased to see him. But her tone had much -solicitude. - -“Well, Uncle Tom,” was her eager question, “what do you think of -Gervase?” - -The vicar did not answer at once, but drew in his lips a little, in -the manner of a cautious physician with a reputation for absolute and -fearless honesty. - -“He seems cheerful,” he said. - -“Everybody thinks he keeps up in the most wonderful way. And do you -know, he has begun to read again? A fortnight ago he seemed hardly -able to bear the thought of a book; he couldn’t be got to look at a -newspaper or even to listen to one. But that is now a thing of the -past. All the old interest is coming back. Last night I read Pascal -to him for nearly an hour, and he followed it the whole time with the -closest attention.” - -“I hope you had the doctor’s permission,” said the vicar with a frown. - -“Oh, yes. Both Dr. Shrubb and Dr. Joliffe are very pleased. Dr. Shrubb -was here yesterday. He thinks it is the most hopeful sign we have yet -had.” - -“I am very glad indeed to hear it,” said the vicar with a puzzled face. - -“Of course he can promise nothing--absolutely nothing, but he thinks it -is a great thing for the mind to be aroused. A fortnight ago Gervase -couldn’t be induced to take an interest in anything. And now he listens -to Pascal and reads the _Times_.” - -The vicar’s frown grew more perplexed. “And the doctors are pleased?” - -“Oh, yes.” - -“How do they account for the change?” - -“They give no explanation, but I have a theory that in a sort of way -the person who is really responsible for it--I know you’ll laugh at -me--is that dear fellow, John Smith.” - -“Oh, indeed,” said the vicar in a hard, dry voice. - -“I know you don’t altogether approve of him, Uncle Tom, but he’s such -a charming, whimsical, gentle creature, just a little mad they seem to -think in the village, but Gervase has always made a friend of him.” - -“So I understand.” The voice was that of a statesman; the frown was -growing portentous. - -“Well, every day since Gervase came home the dear fellow has picked a -bunch of flowers on the common and brought them here. And every day he -has begged to see Gervase. A fortnight ago, when Gervase had been out -of his room twice, I decided that he might. I felt sure no harm could -come of it. So he came and it seems he talked to Gervase of a poem he -had written--I didn’t hear the conversation so I can’t throw much light -on it--but the next day he returned with the poem. And the amazing part -is that Gervase read it, and dating from then he seems to have found a -new interest in everything.” - -“And you are inclined to attribute the change in the first place to the -effect of this man’s verses?” - -“Yes. It seems a little absurd. But in my own mind I can’t help -thinking that the improvement is entirely due to John Smith.” - -“Have you read these verses, by the way?” - -“No. It’s quite a long poem, I believe, stanza upon stanza, but Gervase -returned it at once. Since its effect has been so remarkable I am -thinking of trying to get hold of it.” - -“Doesn’t this strike you as very odd, that is, assuming your theory of -the poem’s effect upon a man like Gervase to be correct?” - -“Yes, quite extraordinary. He was always so fastidious, a man to whom -only the best and highest appealed.” - -“Quite so.” The vicar pursed his lips. “And it is a fact to look in the -face, my dear Millicent. As you know, I am a great believer in looking -facts in the face.” - -“You think, Uncle Tom, it implies mental deterioration?” - -“One hardly likes to say that,” said the vicar cautiously. “But that is -what we have to fear.” - -A deepening anxiety crept into the eyes of the wife. “It does seem a -reasonable explanation. But please don’t forget that Gervase took no -interest in any subject until John Smith came, and that now he has -begun to read the Bible.” - -“It is certainly remarkable if such is the case. By the way, do the -doctors allow him to read the Bible?” - -“He may read anything.” - -“And they consider him quite rational?” - -“Perfectly rational.” Millicent looked at the vicar in some surprise. -“Don’t you, Uncle Tom?” - -The vicar would have evaded the question had he been able to do so. But -with those candid eyes upon him that was impossible. Moreover, the old -habit of fearless honesty in all things did not permit a deliberate lie. - -Millicent declined to accept his silence. “You don’t!” She pinned him -down to a reply. - -“If the doctors are satisfied,” said the vicar slowly, “that is the -important thing. One doesn’t set up one’s opinion against theirs, you -know.” - -But he was not to escape in that way. - -“Evidently you don’t agree with them, Uncle Tom. Now I want you to be -perfectly frank and tell me just how you feel about Gervase.” - -“Well, I will.” The vicar spoke slowly and weightily. “Since you press -the question, his whole outlook appears to me to be changing.” - -“But not for the worse, surely?” - -“That I cannot say. It is only my opinion and I give it for what it -is worth, but I don’t quite approve this change which is coming over -Gervase.” - -“Didn’t you find him happy and cheerful?” - -“I did. But that is not the point. My feeling is that if Gervase -were perfectly rational he would not attach so much importance to -the--er--lucubrations of this fellow, John Smith.” - -“But Gervase has always been a great lover of poetry,” said the -surprised Millicent. “He took prizes for it at Eton, and at Oxford -he won a medal. His love of poetry is really nothing new; in fact he -passes for an expert on the subject.” - -“That is my point. I have always shared that view of Gervase. In common -with the rest of the world, I have greatly admired his translations -from the Greek. But that being the case, the question one must now ask -oneself is, why does a man of sure taste, of real scholarship, suddenly -surrender his mind to the fantastic trivialities of a half-baked, -half-educated village loafer?” - -“But you’ve not read the poem,” said Millicent with a little air of -triumph, in which, however, relief was uppermost. - -“No good thing can come out of Babylon. It isn’t reasonable to expect -it. Why, I’ve known that fellow Smith nearly twenty years. I know -exactly what education he has had, I know his record.” - -“I won’t venture to argue with you, Uncle Tom. Your opinion is worth so -much more than mine, but isn’t there such a thing as genius?” - -“There may be. Although it is a thing I am rather skeptical about -myself; that is to say I regard it primarily as an infinite capacity -for taking pains, a natural fruit of learning and study. That is why to -my mind it is more _wholesome_ to believe that Bacon wrote Shakespeare. -Nay, it must have been so, for it is surely a rational canon that the -most highly trained mind of the age wrote Hamlet, Othello and King -Lear, rather than an inspired clodhopper who began life as a butcher’s -apprentice.” - -“Well, Uncle Tom,” said his niece demurely, “of course I mustn’t argue -with you, but aren’t your views rather like those of a character in -a most amusing play I saw in London the other day? When a dramatic -critic was asked to criticize a play, he said, ‘How can one begin to -criticize a play until one knows the name of the author?’” - -“Quite so, quite so,” said Mr. Perry-Hennington triumphantly. “A very -apt illustration of my point.” - -“But it is also an illustration of mine. At least I hope it is.” - -“Then I’m afraid we are arguing about entirely different things.” - -“Well, Uncle Tom,” said the tenacious Millicent, “I am arguing about -what Gervase would call the peril of a priori judgments. It seems to -me that the Christian religion itself is a proof of it. How does your -theory account for the fact that Jesus was a village carpenter?” - -The vicar drew up his long, thin, rather ascetic frame to the topmost -of its seventy-two inches. “My dear child,” he said solemnly, “my -theory accounts for that fact by simply assuming that Jesus was God -Himself. It is the only reasonable hypothesis. Without it there is no -such thing as the Christian religion.” - -“But, Uncle Tom, to quote Gervase again, isn’t that the greatest of all -assumptions for a rational mind to make?” - -“Undoubtedly, my dear. And it is only permitted to us to make it by the -implicit eye of faith.” - -“Do you mean that the Incarnation is the only matter in which we are to -exercise faith?” - -“Ah, now we are getting into theology.” Mr. Perry-Hennington took up -his niece with a little air of bland condescension. “You mustn’t bother -your pretty head about that. I must go now.” A pang shot through him -as he suddenly remembered the morrow’s sermon. “I must leave you, my -dear, to help the children put together their picture puzzle. Good-by. -Gervase is really quite as well as I had hoped to find him. Let us -continue to have faith.” - -Thereupon the vicar tore himself away from a controversy in which he -felt he was showing, as usual, to singular advantage. He was so sure of -the ground on which he stood, that even poor Gervase’s highly trained -intellect, of which the callow, fluffy-headed Millicent was the merest -echo, was hardly able to meet him upon it. Moreover the vicar was a -born fighter, and the trend of the discussion with his niece had had -the effect of stirring in his mind the embers of a latent antagonism. -The truth was, Brandon had never been quite forgiven a _mot_ he had -once permitted himself. He had said that the Established Church was -determined to eat his cake and to have it: that is, it was reared on -the basis of two and two makes five, but ordered its conduct on the -basis of two and two makes four. - -As the vicar left the inner hall he heard the voice of the curly-headed -Joskin uplifted in a wail: “Oh, mummy, _do_ come and help us! We can’t -fit it in. There’s a piece missing.” - - - - -VII - - -THE vicar remembered his sermon and looked at his watch. It was within -twenty minutes of luncheon; the most valuable morning of the week was -gone. The spirit of vexation rose in him again. It was all the fault -of this miserable fellow, John Smith. Two priceless hours had been -lavished on this wastrel, this dead charge on the community. Moreover -he would not be able to make up for lost time in the course of the -afternoon. At three o’clock he was due at Brombridge to attend the War -Economy Committee; at seven he had to take the chair at a recruiting -meeting at Grayfield, and dine afterward with his old Magdalen friend, -Whymper. - -It cut him to the heart to forego the morrow’s sermon. He was the soul -of conscientiousness, and not since his attack of rheumatoid arthritis -nine years ago had he failed to come up to time on Sunday evening with -a brand new discourse. And if ever one was needed it was now. The -time cried aloud for pulpit direction. The government was conducting -the war in half-hearted fashion. It had not yet dared to bring in a -Conscription Bill, yet in Mr. Perry-Hennington’s opinion every man and -every woman in the country up to the age of sixty-five ought to have -been forcibly enlisted months ago. Several times already he had made -that proposal in the newspapers over his own signature, and it had been -greatly applauded by the only sort of people who counted in war time. - -The hour was certainly ripe for a rasper in the way of a sermon. The -nation wanted “gingering up.” He must find time somehow to put his -ideas together against Sunday evening. As he strode with his long legs -down the glorious avenue of Hart’s Ghyll he felt braced and reënforced -with energy. Once more his thought began to flow. He had his text -at any rate, and it ought not to be difficult to strike something -compelling out of it. By the time the porter’s lodge was reached, he -had grown quite hopeful. Phrases, ideas, were filling his mind; perhaps -his morning had not been wholly wasted after all; it seemed to have -stirred him to something. “Let us put on the armor of light.” For the -vicar those words were a bugle call to the old Adam within. The spirit -of conflict, like a sleeping giant, sprang to new life. - -Hardly had Mr. Perry-Hennington passed beyond the iron gates into the -village street, when a rather perspiring, decidedly genial-looking -man on a bicycle immediately recalled his pastoral duty to his mind. -Nay, it was more than that. The matter of John Smith had as much to do -with the state as the recruiting question, the economy question, the -supineness of the government, and the morrow’s sermon. - -“Good-morning, Joliffe,” said the vicar in a hearty, detaining voice. -“The very man I want to see.” - -“Nothing wrong at home I hope,” said the man on the bicycle, who -was the village doctor. He spoke in a simple, direct, unaffectedly -practical way, which all the same was not without a faint note of -deference, ever grateful to Mr. Perry-Hennington’s ear. - -Dr. Joliffe slowed up and hopped from his bicycle. - -“No, nothing of that kind I’m glad to say.” The vicar’s reply was -equally precise and to the point. “But I want to have a little talk -with you privately about a matter that is worrying me a good deal.” - -“Very glad any time.” Dr. Joliffe looked at his watch. “Why not come -and take potluck with me now--if you are not afraid of Mrs. Small in -war time. She’s not up to your form at any time, but you are very -welcome to what we have.” - -The vicar hesitated. He was expected at home, but John Smith was -burning a hole in his mind. He felt there must be no delay in taking -a man whom he could trust into his confidence, and if he lost this -present opportunity no other chance might arise for several days. - -“You will?” said the practical Joliffe. “Although you’ll not expect -much. I’ll send my boy along to the vicarage to tell them not to wait -for you.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington allowed himself to be persuaded. Joliffe was the -only person in the place to whom he might turn for help; moreover he -was a discreet, unaffectedly honest man whom the vicar had always -instinctively trusted. And disconcerted as he was by Brandon’s attitude -in the matter, it was imperative that no time should be lost in taking -competent advice. - -The doctor’s abode was a rather fine, small Georgian specimen, standing -back from the center of the village street. A widower and childless -in a house too large for his needs, a man of taste in furniture and -bric-a-brac, with a capital cellar and a good cigar for his friends, -he was also a man of private means to whom the neighboring villages -owed a great deal. He was such an excellent fellow, so widely and so -justly respected, that it was a little odd to find him tinged with the -national vice of servility. But with all his great merits he sometimes -found it rather hard to forget that he belonged to the middle class -and that the vicar belonged to the aristocracy. It may have been for -that reason that Mr. Perry-Hennington felt so much confidence in his -judgment. At any rate, the satisfying sense that Joliffe was aware -of the deference due to a peer’s brother oiled the wheels of their -intercourse, and enabled the vicar to treat him with a bonhomie which -he knew would not be abused. - -Mrs. Small had only a cottage pie and a pancake to offer the august -visitor, but in spite of the King’s edict, to which the host -apologetically referred, this fare was eked out by a very honest glass -of brown sherry, a cup of coffee that did Mrs. Small great credit, and -a really excellent cigar. - -Both gentlemen were due at Brombridge at three, to which center of -activity the doctor proposed to drive the vicar in his runabout. This -suited the vicar very well. He would be there and back in half the time -required by his gig. And old Alice, who was rising twenty-four, would -be able to save herself for the evening journey to Grayfield, which old -Alice’s master, fully conscious that “the old girl was not what she had -been,” and a humane man to boot, had been inclined to view with some -little concern. Things were turning out for the best in the mundane -sphere at any rate, and the vicar was not unpleasantly aware of this -fact as, after-luncheon cigar alight, he entered upon the incidental -cause of a modest but agreeable meal to which he had done perhaps -rather better justice than the state of his emotions justified. - -“Joliffe,” said the vicar, taking a long and impressive pull at his -cigar, “what I really want to talk to you about is that fellow John -Smith. I am sorry to say I’ve come to the conclusion that he can no -longer be allowed to stay in the parish.” - -“Indeed,” said the doctor casually. “A harmless sort of creature I’ve -always thought. Doesn’t quite know himself perhaps. A little too -free with his opinions may be, but strictly between ourselves”--Dr. -Joliffe’s voice grew respectfully confidential--“I think we may lay -that to the door of someone else.” - -“Brandon, eh? I agree.” The vicar grew magisterial. “Always an -injudicious fellow. That’s the worst of your radical. Gives these -intermediate sort of people ideas.” - -“Quite so. I wish you’d try the brandy.” The host pushed it across. - -“No. Really. War time, you know.” - -“I should value your opinion. Just half a glass.” - -“Well, half a glass. To return to John Smith. Excellent brandy. My -girl, Edith, presented this fellow Smith with a white feather this -morning. Of course he’s a poor half-begotten sort of creature, but as -far as one can see there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be working at -munitions instead of loafing about the common.” - -“Exactly. Sure you won’t have a _leetle_ more?” - -“Quite. Well, if you please, he kissed the feather, stuck it in his -buttonhole, and said, ‘And lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he -saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon him.’” - -The doctor shook a grave, gray head. “Sounds decidedly cracked, I -must say. At any rate a most improper speech to make to a clergyman’s -daughter.” - -“I should think so! Outrageous blasphemy!” - -“Do you suppose the chap meant to insult her?” - -“If he didn’t, and it’s charitable to give him the benefit of the -doubt, his behavior only admits of one other explanation.” - -Dr. Joliffe sat, a picture of perplexity. To a severely literal mind -the speech was meaningless. He had known for some time that the man -claimed to see visions, that he was a poet and a dreamer; and the -doctor had lately heard rumors, to which he had paid little attention, -that the man was dabbling in Christian Science in neighboring villages; -but this was the first time it had occurred to him that the fellow was -insane. But now the doctor agreed with the vicar that such behavior -strongly suggested that condition. - -“Mind you, that is not all.” And the vicar gave an account of his own -visit to the common, his conversation with the man, his subsequent -visit to the mother and the remarkable statement she had made to him. - -“She has always been very religious,” said the doctor, “but up till now -I have not questioned her sanity.” - -“Nor I,” said the vicar. “But she is not important. She is practically -bed-ridden. It is this son of hers we have to think about. I have -already made up my mind that he must go. And that being the case, the -problem arises as to what is the best means of getting rid of him.” - -Dr. Joliffe, a worldly-wise man within his sphere, stroked his chin -solemnly but offered no advice. - -“Of course,” said the vicar, “it is in the public interest that -whatever steps we may take should not excite attention. It is -sufficiently disagreeable to have that sort of lunatic in one’s -parish, without having busybodies and maliciously inclined people -making a fuss. The readiest and simplest means, no doubt, would be -to institute a prosecution for blasphemy. He would most certainly be -detained during his Majesty’s pleasure. But such a proceeding might -play into the hands of the enemies of the Established Church, in which, -unfortunately, the country seems to abound. We might have Voltaires -arising in the Cocoa Press or something equally revolting.” - -“Quite so, vicar.” Dr. Joliffe compressed his lips. “You’ll be wise to -go slow in a matter of this kind, believe me, or you might easily find -public opinion against you.” - -“As though one cared _that_ for public opinion.” The vicar snapped -heroic fingers. “Still, I see your point. And broadly speaking, I agree -with it. Now to pass to the second alternative. The man said to me--let -me give his precise words if I can--‘At two o’clock this morning a -presence entered my room and said, ”I am Goethe and I have come to pray -for Germany.” And I answered him, “Certainly I shall be very glad to -pray for Germany,” and we knelt and prayed together; and then he arose -and I embraced him and he showed me the little town with its gables -and turrets where he sleeps at night and then he left me, promising to -return.’” - -“Perfectly preposterous,” said the doctor. “I quite agree that the man -ought to be locked up. But of course he doesn’t intend to be taken -literally. Obviously it is his idea of a poetic fancy.” - -“No doubt. But a man must be taught to curb such poetic fancies in a -time like the present. Now the point which arises”--the vicar raised -a dogmatic forefinger--“is that a person who makes such statements -in public renders himself amenable to the Defense of the Realm -Regulations. And there is no doubt that any bench of magistrates that -knew its business would know how to deal with him.” - -“Personally, I’m not altogether clear that they would,” said Dr. -Joliffe cautiously. “I agree with you, of course, that a man who talks -in that way needs a strait waistcoat--one wonders what would happen to -a man in Germany who went about saying he was praying for England! At -the same time one ought not to forget that nowadays even the county -bench is not composed exclusively of people as clear-sighted as you and -I.” - -“That is so, I am afraid. Even the county bench is getting fearfully -mixed. Timson, the Brombridge grocer, is the latest addition, by -the way. But I see your point. In such an absurd country as this -one couldn’t depend on the man being dealt with in the way that -he deserves. That’s where the enemy with its wonderful internal -administration has such an advantage. Their system has much to -recommend it in war time--or in any other if it comes to that.” - -Dr. Joliffe agreed. “We have much to learn from them in the handling of -the masses.” - -“Ah, well, Joliffe,” said the vicar hopefully, “we shall learn many -things if this war goes on long enough.” - -“I am convinced that the only way to down Prussia is to adopt Prussia’s -methods.” - -“However,” said the vicar briskly, “we have not come to them yet. -Therefore we can’t rely on the county bench doing its duty in the -matter, although I hate having to say so. And that brings us to -alternative the third, which is, Joliffe, that this man, John Smith, -must be put away privately--for the good of the community.” - -This taking of the bull by the horns was followed by a pause -on the part of the doctor. He was an admirer of the vicar’s -thorough-goingness, he was in full sympathy with the main premises -of his argument, but he was a conscientious man. And he had a clear -perception of the difficulties inherent in the process of confining a -lunatic. - -At last Dr. Joliffe broke a dubious silence. “To begin with, vicar, you -will have to get two doctors to certify the chap insane, and then you -will have to get two magistrates to sign a warrant for his removal.” - -“I know that,” said the vicar. “And I am fully prepared to do it. But -to begin with, Joliffe, I must have your help in the matter.” - -“I am willing to give it of course. It’s one’s duty.” - -“Then I shall ask you to certify him at once.” - -Dr. Joliffe hesitated. A cloud of indecision came on his face. “Before -I do that,” he said very slowly, “I should like the opinion of someone -who has more knowledge of mental disease than I pretend to.” - -“But, my dear fellow,” said the vicar rather surprisedly, “after what I -have told you aren’t you already convinced that the fellow is insane?” - -“Insanity is a complicated subject,” said the cautious Joliffe. “A very -much more complicated subject than the layman appreciates.” - -The vicar, at heart an autocrat, began to bristle at once. Scenting -contradiction in the quarter where he had least expected to find it, he -grew suddenly impatient. “But even a layman knows,” he said in a tone -of authority, “that insanity on one point is insanity on all.” - -“Just so.” - -“Well, that is already proved.” - -“I shall not gainsay it. But a general practitioner is naturally -cautious--it is his duty to be so--in a matter of this kind. Let me -suggest that we have the opinion of a mental specialist before we -commit ourselves to any line of action.” - -In the opinion of Mr. Perry-Hennington this was perilously like a -display of moral cowardice, but from a purely professional standpoint -it might not be unreasonable. All the mental specialists of Harley -Street would not alter the fact that the man was insane--it was the -only charitable assumption. At the same time, Joliffe’s request was -quite easy to understand. - -“By all means.” The vicar’s tone of assent implied that he had to deal -with a timid fellow. “We’ll consult anyone you please. Of course, only -one opinion is possible, but if you feel it will help and strengthen -you in your duty don’t let us hesitate. By all means let us have -someone down at once.” - -“I am sure it is the proper course to take.” - -“Very well. Who shall it be? Not necessarily a man in the first flight -who will want a large fee, which I’m afraid will have to come out of -my pocket instead of out of the Treasury. Not that I shall grudge -it, whatever it may be. Still, the case is so clear that somebody -local, such a man as Parker of Brombridge, will not have the slightest -difficulty in certifying him.” The vicar gazed fixedly at Joliffe. -“Yes--shall we say Parker? He’ll be at the meeting this afternoon. I’ll -speak to him. We ought to move without delay. The fellow ought not -to be at large a day longer than we can help. Yes--Dr. Parker--this -afternoon. Get him over on Monday. And this evening I’m dining with -Whymper and Lady Jane--I’ll mention it to Whymper. All to the good to -get the local bench interested without delay.” - -Dr. Joliffe nodded. But somehow he looked a little dubious. - -“I think, Mr. Perry-Hennington,” he said rather uneasily, “we ought to -be very careful to satisfy ourselves that it is a bona fide case of -paranoia.” - -“Certainly, certainly. I fully agree.” - -“I’ve no objection to meeting Parker, of course, but I should welcome a -London opinion if it is possible to arrange for one. You see, this is -rather a serious matter.” - -The vicar thought so too. “But personally, I have every confidence in -Parker’s judgment. I remember some years ago when my eldest boy George -had a murrain, Parker diagnosed it at once as a case of measles. I’ve -always found him quite sound personally.” - -“I’ve not a word to say against him, I cast no doubt upon his -competence, but this is one of those delicate things which it hardly -seems right, if you’ll excuse my saying so, to leave entirely to local -practitioners whose experience must necessarily be limited.” - -“Joliffe, I hope you are not hedging,” said the vicar sternly. - -“No, I am not hedging. But, as I say, this is a ticklish matter.” - -The vicar shook a pontifical head. “For the life of me,” he said, “I -can’t see that it is more ticklish than any other matter. Had there -been a doubt in the case one might have thought so. But the man is -as mad as a hatter. A child could tell that who heard him talk as he -talked to me this morning on the common.” - -“No doubt you are right. But he has not yet aired these particular -views to me, you know.” - -“Then you’ve evidently not talked to him on his particular subject.” - -“Evidently not.” - -“Wait till you do, my friend! In the meantime I’ll mention the matter -to Parker at the meeting and get him over on Monday to see him.” - -Further conversation on the thorny subject was forbidden for the time -being by the reappearance of Mrs. Small, who had to inform her master -that the boy was round with the car. Thereupon Dr. Joliffe looked at -his watch and declared that they must start at once if they were to be -at Brombridge by three. - - - - -VIII - - -THE timed journey to Brombridge in the doctor’s runabout was forty -minutes with reasonable driving. On the way both gentlemen were -rather silent. By tacit consent John Smith was dismissed for the time -being, and they were able to confine themselves to the prospect for -potatoes, war in its relation to agriculture, the loss of tonnage, and -hearty abuse of the government. For the true Briton, that unfortunate -institution vies with that equally unfortunate institution, the -weather, in supplying the theme of a never-ending jeremiad. All worthy -of their salt, irrespective of creed or party, damn these miserable -makeshifts impartially. At the moment the vicar and the doctor drove up -to the Assembly Rooms, Brombridge, they were in cordial agreement that -only one thing under divine providence could hope to make the British -people lose the war, and that thing was the British Government. - -By a graceful little act on the part of coincidence--most charming of -the minor goddesses!--Dr. Parker was about to ascend the steps of the -building just as the car of Dr. Joliffe drew up by the curb. The vicar -hailed the leading physician of Brombridge promptly and heartily. - -“The very man we want to see.” Mr. Perry-Hennington was one of the -fortunate people who act first and do their thinking afterward. - -Dr. Parker, an elderly, florid, bewhiskered, important-looking -personage, stopped at once, turned about and gave the reverend -gentleman the full benefit of his politest smile and his best -bow. He then let his eyes pass to the second occupant of the car, -fully prepared to let them infold a county magnate. Somehow Mr. -Perry-Hennington always contrived to dispense an atmosphere of -county magnates, or at least to live in the odor of their sanctity. -But as soon as Dr. Parker saw who it was who had had the honor of -conveying the vicar of Penfold to the meeting the polite smile and -the ceremonious bow were merged almost magically in a brief nod and a -gesture bearing a perilous resemblance to a scowl. - -The truth was, Dr. Parker had a poor opinion of Dr. Joliffe, and Dr. -Joliffe had a poor opinion of Dr. Parker. If pressed upon the point, -Dr. Parker would solemnly confess that Dr. Joliffe was the biggest -tufthunter in Kent, and Dr. Joliffe, also under duress, would return -that singularly comprehensive compliment. - -This was perhaps a pity. Both were good men, both were honest men, but -like so many people, otherwise quite admirable, their sense of vision -was not acute. Nodosities of character in their neighbors were apt -to overshadow the central merit. In this case it was not so much a -question of professional jealousy as a matter of social rivalry. The -root of the trouble was that Dr. Joliffe and Dr. Parker were a little -too much alike. - -Dr. Parker was clearly gratified at being the very man whom the vicar -of Penfold wanted to see, but carefully dissembled his feelings while -Mr. Perry-Hennington stepped out of the car and buttonholed him rather -ostentatiously on the steps of the council chamber. The vicar had to -suggest that they should hold a little conference after the meeting -in regard to a matter of importance. Certainly they were not in a -position to hold it at the moment. Fellow members of the War Economy -Committee were rolling up in surprising numbers; weird old landowners -in wonderful vehicles, local J. P.’s, retired stockbrokers, civil -servants, city men, and very _affairé_ ladies. - -For all of these the parson of Penfold had a greeting. With his tall, -thin, aristocratic figure, his distinguished air, his large, fleshy, -important nose, he was the kind of man who dominates every company he -enters. And it was so entirely natural to him to do so that no one ever -thought of resenting it. He was not a clever man, a witty man, nor -was tact his long suit, moreover he was apt to give himself airs, but -for some reason or combination of reasons, he was greatly respected, -generally looked up to and almost universally popular. He seemed to -carry equal weight at Gleave Castle, the Mount Olympus of the local -cosmos, and at the board of guardians. The acid people who dissect -our naïve and charming human nature might have said that it was for -no better reason than that the vicar of Penfold was a born busybody, -doubly blessed with a loud voice, and a total absence of humor, but -the good and the credulous who take things on trust and form a working -majority in every republic always declared “it was because he was such -a gentleman.” - -By sheer pressure of human character, Mr. Perry-Hennington took a seat -next the chairman of the meeting in the council chamber. And when -that almost incredibly distinguished personage, a rather pathetic and -extremely inaudible old thing in red mittens, got on to his legs, the -vicar of Penfold could be heard rendering him very audible assistance -in the course of his opening remarks. But it seemed entirely right and -proper that it should be so. And nobody resented it, not even the old -boy in the red mittens, who had retired from county business years ago, -but who, as the master of Gleave, was fully determined to do his bit -toward winning the war like everybody else. - -The Clerk of the Committee, a rising Brombridge solicitor, had to -submit to correction from the parson of Penfold, once when the Clerk -was entirely in the right, once when he may have been wrong, but on a -point so delicate that ordinary people would never have noticed it, -and even if they had would hardly have thought it worth while to hold -up the tide of human affairs in order to discuss it. Still, it was Mr. -Perry-Hennington’s way and ordinary people admired it. Even Lady Jane -Whymper, who was very far from being an ordinary person, and who was -seated at the other side of the Chairman, admired it. The vicar of -Penfold was such a dear man and he got things done. - -This afternoon, however, the War Economy Committee would have -transacted the same amount of business in at least twenty minutes -less time had the vicar of Penfold been in the seclusion of his study -grappling with his sermon. Still, that didn’t occur to anybody; and it -would have been ungenerous to harbor the thought. The vicar of Penfold -was an acknowledged ornament of any assembly he chose to enter and no -gathering of this kind could have been complete without him. Everybody -was amazingly in earnest, but Mr. Perry-Hennington was the most earnest -of all. He made a number of suggestions, not one of which, after -discussion, the Committee felt able to adopt, but the general effect of -his presence was to give an air of life and virility to the proceedings. - -After the meeting, the vicar staved off Lady Jane, with whom he -had promised to dine that evening, and tactfully withdrew from the -distinguished circle around the chairman in order to confer with Dr. -Parker at the other end of the long table. - -Dr. Parker, if rather flattered by this attention, was also a little -perplexed by it. For one thing, Dr. Joliffe was scowling at him from -the other end of the room. So little love was lost between these -warriors that they never met in consultation if they could possibly -help it. The vicar, however, had quite made up his mind that they -should meet on Monday. He declined to give details, but maintained an -air of reticence and mystery; yet he dropped a final hint that the -matter was of immense importance, not merely to individuals but to the -state. - -Dr. Parker, having mounted gold eyeglasses and consulted his diary, -consented in his dignified way to lunch at the vicarage on Monday. -Thereupon Mr. Perry-Hennington thanked him with equal dignity and -returned to Penfold in Dr. Joliffe’s car. - - - - -IX - - -NOT altogether pleased with the turn of events, Dr. Joliffe drove the -vicar home. He was a conscientious man, and he had no more confidence -in “that fool Parker,” than Dr. Parker had in “that fool Joliffe.” -Still, the vicar could not be expected to know that. On the way back to -Penfold he was inclined to congratulate himself. Machinery had been set -in motion which could hardly fail to deal effectively with John Smith. - -Dr. Joliffe was gloomy. All the way home he confined himself to polite -monosyllables, and kept his eyes glued to the steering wheel of the -car. Hitherto he had not had occasion to question the sanity of John -Smith, whom he had always regarded as a particularly harmless creature. -And even if the vicar had reported the man correctly, Dr. Joliffe was -by no means clear that Mr. Perry-Hennington was not taking an extreme -view of his duty. - -The vicar, however, had not a doubt in the matter. A sermon unprepared -still cast its shadow over him, but a cloud had lifted from his mind. A -sanguine man endowed with great animal energy, he never questioned the -logic of his own views, the soundness of his judgment, or the absolute -rectitude of his conduct. It was in the interests of the community that -John Smith should be taken care of. It even gave the vicar a certain -satisfaction that his duty in a most disagreeable matter should now -stand out so clearly before him. - -Mr. Perry-Hennington had only just time to drink a cup of tea at -the vicarage before he was off on his travels again. This time his -objective was Grayfield, a feudal sort of hamlet over on the Sussex -side. He had to speak at a recruiting meeting, arranged by his old -Magdalen friend Whymper, with whom a distinguished member of parliament -was spending the weekend. - -Edith accompanied her father in the gig; and they had been invited to -dine at the manor after the meeting. Grayfield was a good hour for old -Alice, upon whom Anno Domini had set an unmistakable seal. But it was -a rare evening for a drive. The sweet, clean air of the Sussex uplands -was like a mellow wine; the road was straight and firm; the sun of June -still lingered over Ashdown; trees and hedges wore a sheen of glory, -with a trim farm or a cowled oasthouse nestling here and there. This -calm and quiet land with its mathematically parceled acres, its placid -cows and horses looking over five-barred gates to watch the stately -progress of old Alice, its occasional forelock-pulling rustic, was -like a “set” in a theater. The whole scene was so snug, so perfect, so -ordained, that nature appeared to have very little part to play in it. - -“Odd to think that Armageddon is _here_,” said the vicar. - -Edith thought it was, very. - -The vicar gave a shake of the reins to encourage old Alice. And then he -said: “It’s my firm belief that there are people on this countryside -who don’t realize it even yet.” - -“I’m sure there are,” said Edith. - -“It will be brought home to every man, every woman, every child in the -land before we are through with it.” - -“You think so?” said Edith, in the curious, precise voice she had -inherited from the Henningtons. “Personally I am not so sure. We are -much too secure here. I sometimes think that an invasion would be the -best thing that could happen to us.” - -“I am inclined to agree with you,” said her father, with another shake -for old Alice. “But it’s gradually coming home to the nation. Rather -than give in we shall fight to the last man and the last shilling, and -unless they have altered since the days of Frederick the Great they -will do the same.” - -“But it can’t go on indefinitely. It means extermination.” - -“The end of civilization at any rate,” said the vicar mournfully. “The -clock has already been put back a century.” - -“Sooner or later something must surely happen.” - -“But what can happen? We don’t begin to look like downing them, and -it’s unthinkable that they can down us.” - -“There’s God,” said Edith, in a voice of sudden, throbbing softness. -“I’m convinced that He must put an end to it soon.” - -Before the vicar continued the conversation he gave Alice a little -touch of the whip. - -“Have you ever thought, my dear girl, what an awful weight of sin there -is upon the human race? Instead of expecting God to put an end to it -soon, it will be little short of miraculous if He ever puts an end to -it at all.” - -“But think of the awful suffering which falls for the most part on -those who are the least to blame.” - -“There is Biblical precedent for all that has happened, nay for far -more than has happened. It is a judgment on the world, and the -innocent have to suffer with the guilty.” - -Edith was silent a little while. - -“It all seems so horribly unfair,” she said at last, in a deep, -palpitating tone which the vicar had not heard her use before. “It is -not the people who have made the war who are really suffering by it.” - -“They who question!” and the vicar shook up old Alice yet again. - -A long silence followed, through which old Alice jogged in her placid -way. Hardly a ripple stirred the evening air. It was very difficult to -realize what was happening within a hundred miles. - -“I can’t help thinking of that man,” Edith suddenly remarked. - -“What man?” said her father. For the moment his thoughts were far away. -An unwritten sermon was looming up at the back of his brain. - -“John Smith. I can’t tell you what a curious impression he has left -upon me. Somehow I have done nothing but think of him ever since the -thing happened.” - -It was a wrench for the vicar to quit the sequence of ideas which -was being formed so painfully in his mind. And for the time he had -had quite enough of the subject of John Smith, nay, was in process -of suffering a reaction from it. Besides it was such a vexatiously -disagreeable matter that he had no wish to discuss it more than was -absolutely necessary. - -“I should forget the man if I were you,” was his counsel to Edith. - -“Somehow I can’t. He’s made a most curious impression upon me. I begin -to feel now that I had no right to take for granted that what he said -was meant for blasphemy.” - -The vicar dissented forcibly. “There can be no possible excuse for -him. It was a most improper remark for any man to make in such -circumstances, and you were quite right to feel as you did about it. -But if you are wise you will now put it out of your mind; at the -same time I should like you to give up the practice of distributing -feathers.” - -“Yes, father, I will,” said Edith with a quick flush. - -“You will be wise. I am arranging for an inquiry to be made into the -man’s mental condition.” - -“Is that absolutely necessary?” The flush grew deeper. - -“The public interest calls for it. This incident is a climax of many.” - -“Yet somehow he doesn’t seem exactly insane.” - -“Not even when he talks in that way?” said the vicar surprisedly. “My -dear girl, it is the only charitable explanation.” - -“Do you really think so?” said the reluctant Edith. - -“Demonstrably.” - -“And yet somehow, when one really thinks about him, he seems so sweetly -reasonable.” - -“Sweetly reasonable!” The vicar pinned down the unfortunate phrase. -“How can you say that? A mild and harmless creature, perhaps--apart -from his opinions--but reasonable!--surely that is the very last word -to apply to him.” - -Perplexity deepened upon Edith’s face. “Somehow, I can’t throw off the -curious impression he has left upon me.” - -“Try to forget the man.” The vicar spoke sternly. - -“Dismiss him from your thoughts, at any rate while the case is _sub -judice_. You have done your duty by reporting the matter to me, and I -am doing mine by putting in motion proper machinery to deal with it.” - -“I sincerely hope that nothing is going to happen to him.” - -“He will be sent to an asylum.” - -Edith shivered. “Oh, I hope not,” she said, drawing in her breath -sharply. “To my mind that is the cruellest fate that can overtake any -human being.” - -“One doesn’t altogether agree,” said the vicar. “He will be taken -care of as he ought to be, and treated, of course, with the greatest -humanity. You must remember that asylums are very different places -from what they were sixty years ago, when Dickens--I think it was -Dickens--wrote about them.” - -“But it must mean dreadful suffering to be held for the rest of one’s -life within four walls among lunatics without hope of escape.” - -“Why should it, if the mind is really unsound? You must remember that -such people don’t suffer in the way that rational people do.” - -“But suppose he doesn’t happen to be insane?” - -“If he doesn’t happen to be insane the law cannot confine him as a -lunatic.” - -“Who will decide?” - -“He will be certified by two doctors.” - -Again came silence, only broken by the peaceful plodding of old Alice. -And then said Edith suddenly: “Father, whoever certifies John Smith -will take an awful responsibility upon himself.” - -“No doubt,” said the vicar. “Yet hardly so grave a one as you might -think. It is the only right, reasonable and charitable view to take of -him. And if the medical profession cannot be brought to do its clear -and obvious duty, the man will have to be dealt with in some other and -less gentle way.” - -“I am beginning to wish I hadn’t spoken of the matter,” said Edith, in -an anxious tone. - -“My dear,” said the vicar, shaking up old Alice, “in mentioning it, -disagreeable and distressing as it may be, you did no more than your -duty. You must now leave other people to do theirs, and at the same -time you must have the good sense to dismiss the matter entirely from -your thoughts.” - -Again Edith shivered. But further discussion was forbidden by their -journey’s end. They had now reached the outskirts of Grayfield, and the -gates of the manor were before them. - - - - -X - - -THERE was a very stimulating meeting in the parish room. The squire of -Grayfield, the vicar’s Magdalen friend, Whymper, was by divine right -in the chair. He was a dry, melancholy, exanimate sort of creature; a -man of few words and very pronounced dislikes, not without force in a -narrow way, but locally of more account as the husband of Lady Jane -than from any native quality. Still, he made an excellent chairman. -Brief, concise, self-effacing, he loathed his job; anything in the -nature of speechifying bored him extremely, and he had a rooted -objection “to making an ass of himself in public,” but natural grit and -a high sense of duty pulled him through. In fact he did his job so well -that it would have been hard for any man to improve on his performance. - -There were only two speakers. One was the vicar of Penfold, but he -was not the person who had filled the parish room to overflowing. A -famous member of Parliament, a reputed master of the forensic arts, was -spending a week-end at the manor house, and he had kindly consented to -rouse the young men of the district. - -This paladin, who spoke before the vicar, was a tall thin-faced man of -forty-five, who hardly looked his age. George Speke by name, he was the -kind of man no British government is ever without, and he discoursed -the commonest of common sense with an air of ease and authenticity. -He put the case for Britain and her allies with a force and a cogency -that none could gainsay. And in that room at any rate, there was not -the slightest wish to gainsay it. Even the group of young men at the -back of the room, upon whom the local constable and two specials -kept a vigilant eye, and to whom Mr. Speke’s remarks were addressed -officially, showed no inclination to traverse his clear statement of -historical fact. It was a very finished effort, and somehow it moved -his audience. - -Mr. Perry-Hennington came rather in the nature of an anticlimax. He had -no pretensions to be considered an orator, as he was careful to warn -his hearers at the outset; he had nothing to say that had not already -been said far better in print, yet he felt it to be his duty to stand -on a public platform and declaim obvious truths which the newspapers of -the realm had weeks ago made banal and threadbare. But somehow there -was a driving force, a contained ferocity about Mr. Perry-Hennington’s -sincerity, trite and ill-phrased as it was, which, with the aid of -copious “hear, hear’s” from Mr. Speke and his old Magdalen friend, -Whymper, first staved off an epidemic of coughing and then of -feet-shuffling, and then of coughing again. At last he got fairly into -his stride, a strong, unmusical voice increasing in violence as he did -so. And as the more violent he grew the more his audience approved, -they soon began to march together toward a thrilling climax. Finally -he swung into his fine peroration: “We shall not lay down the sword, -etc.,” which belonged to another, and ended stronger than he began -amidst quite a storm of cheering. - -It was a mediocre performance, well within the range of any member of -the educated classes, yet all who heard it seemed greatly impressed. -Even Mr. Whymper and Mr. Speke seemed greatly impressed, and what was -of still more importance it went home to a number of young men at the -back of the room. When the meeting was over these came forward to the -table at the side of the platform, at which a recruiting officer sat, -and gave in their names. Nowhere else could such a scene have been -enacted. To the ordinary intelligence, it was almost unbelievable -that magnificent fellows in the pride of manhood could be moved to -the supreme sacrifice by the jejune lucidities of Mr. Speke, and -the brand of spirituality that the vicar of Penfold had to offer. -Something must have been in the air of that overheated room. Behind the -trite phrases, behind the rather otiose pomposities of the one, the -deliberately quiet, over-varnished style of the other, must have been -that spirit which, by hardly more than the breadth of a single hair, -had temporarily saved civilization for mankind. - - - - -XI - - -AFTER the meeting, eight people sat down to dinner at the manor house. -These were Mr. Speke, Mr. Perry-Hennington and his daughter, the host, -the redoubtable hostess, and three rather crushed and colorless Miss -Whympers, who were evidently in great awe of their mother. - -Lady Jane Whymper was a large, humorless woman, a local terror, whom -most people found it very hard to like. For one thing her connections -were so high, and her family so good, that she never had to please or -conciliate anyone, and there was nothing in her nature to lead her to -do so. She gave so little thought to the feelings of others, that she -always made a point of saying just what came into her head, without -regard to time or place or company; moreover it was always said in a -voice of an exasperatingly penetrative quality. In her little corner of -the world there was no one to stand against her, therefore she could -hector, trample and dogmatize to her heart’s content. And being a -person with many social strings to pull, in London also she was able -to order the world pretty much to her own liking. - -Still even she, if as a general rule she was insufferable, kept a -reserve of tact for special occasions. By no means a fool, she could -sometimes rise to graciousness; and the knowledge that violence was -thereby done to the order of her nature seemed to invest her hours -of charm with greater significance. And this evening at dinner, she -happened to be in her most winning mood. For one thing George Speke was -a favorite of hers; she had also a regard for the vicar of Penfold; -thus the augurs had doubly blessed the meal. It was true that Lady -Jane reserved her unbendings for the other sex, certainly never for -her own, unless she had some very portentous ax to grind; but on the -present occasion the three Miss Whympers and their rather mournful and -ineffectual sire found the evening much more agreeable than usual. - -Speke was a favorite of Lady Jane’s for several reasons. To begin -with, like herself he was highly connected. It may seem an anachronism -that in the year 1915 a woman of the world should attach the slightest -importance to such a fortuitous matter, but even at that time a type -of mind still survived in the island to which degrees of birth were of -vast consequence. Lady Jane owned a mind of that sort. Dear George was -“next in” for a dukedom, and Lady Jane was a duke’s daughter. - -Ducal aspect apart, Speke was an able and likable fellow. He had once -been described by one who knew the world as a member of a first-rate -second-rate family. The Spekes had always been “in it” ever since -they had been a family; they ran to prime ministers, field marshals, -ambassadors, archbishops, all down the scroll of history. George’s -particular blend of Speke was an immensely distinguished clan; -yet somehow when Clio, the muse, cast her searchlight upon their -achievements they loomed far less in the eyes of posterity than in -those of their own generation. Ten years before, Mr. Speke’s own little -world of friends, relations and sconce bearers, had seen in him a -future prime minister. But 1914 had modified their views. All the same -a place had been found for him in the Coalition. As Lady Jane said, “We -cannot hope to win the war without him.” - -Speke had no such estimate of his own abilities, or at least, if he -had, he knew how to conceal it. He talked modestly and well at the -dinner table; his conversation was full of inside knowledge, and it had -a grace of manner which Edith and the three Miss Whympers admired. He -had met the vicar of Penfold before, and rather liked and respected him -as most people did; also he claimed him as a distant kinsman, as the -Perrys of Molesworth appeared in the Speke family tree. - -“By the way, Mr. Perry-Hennington,” he said, “I was trespassing in your -parish this afternoon. I went to see Gervase Brandon.” - -“Poor fellow,” said the vicar. “But don’t you think he is bearing up -remarkably?” - -“Quite wonderfully. But he’s a pathetic figure. Six months ago when I -saw him last, he was at the apex of mental and bodily power. And now he -lies helpless, never expecting to walk again.” - -“And yet not a word of complaint,” said the vicar. “This morning when -I went to see him I was greatly struck by his splendid courage and -cheerfulness.” - -“Truly a hero--and so pathetic as he lies in that room--a wonderful -room it is--among his books.” - -“Can nothing be done for him?” said Lady Jane. - -“The doctors are beginning to despair,” said the vicar. “Everything -that medical science can do has been done already, and there’s no sign -of an improvement.” - -“The higher nerve centers, I suppose?” - -“So I understand. The mere concussion of this modern artillery is -appalling.” - -“It is amazing to me that the human frame ever succeeds in adapting -itself to war under modern conditions,” said Speke. - -“And the awful thing is,” the host interposed in his melancholy tones, -“that there appears to be no limit to what can be done in the way of -self-immolation. The chemist and the inventor have only to go on long -enough applying their arts to war to evolve conditions which will -destroy the whole human race. We live in a time of horrors, but let us -ask ourselves what the world will be twenty years hence?” - -“Don’t, I implore you, Edward,” reproved his wife. “Spare us the -thought.” - -“No, it won’t bear speaking about,” said Speke. “We are already past -the point where science destroys organic life faster than nature can -replace.” - -“Not a doubt of it,” said the vicar. “And if we cannot find a means -of bridging permanently the chasm that has opened in the life of -civilization, the globe will cease to be habitable for the human race.” - -“Really! really!” said the hostess. - -“Only too true,” said the host. “There’s hardly a limit to what modern -devilry can do. Take aviation to begin with. We are merely on the -threshold of the subject.” - -“I agree,” said George Speke. “The other day, Bellman, the air -minister, told me it is quite within the bounds of possibility to drop -a poison from the clouds that will exterminate whole cities.” - -“Which merely goes to prove what I have always contended,” said the -hostess. “Sooner or later all nations will be forced into an agreement -for the abolition of war.” - -“My dear Lady Jane,” said the vicar, shaking a mournful head, “such -a contingency is against all experience. It is not to be thought of -unless a fundamental change takes place in the heart of man.” - -“A change must take place,” said Lady Jane, “if the human race is to -go on. Besides, doesn’t the Bible tell us that there will be a second -coming of Christ, and that all wars will cease?” - -“It does,” said the vicar; “but that is the millennium, you know. And I -am bound to say there’s no sign of it at present. I am convinced that -only one thing now can save the human race and that is a second advent. -Only that can bridge the chasm which has opened in the life of the -nations.” - -“In the meantime,” said George Speke, “the watchers scan the heavens -in vain. The miserable, childish futility of our present phase of -evolution! So many little groups of brown grubs slaving night and day -to make human life a worse hell than nature has made of it already. -People talk of the exhilaration of war. Good God! they can’t have seen -it. They can’t have seen colonies of organized hatreds, profaning all -art and all science, poisoning the very air God gave us to breathe. -It makes one loathe one’s species. We are little, hideous, two-legged -ants, flying around in foul contraptions of our own invention. And to -what end? Simply to destroy.” - -“In order to recreate,” said the vicar robustly. - -“I don’t believe it. The pendulum of progress--blessed word!--has swung -too far. Unless we can contrive a means of holding back the clock, the -doom of the world is upon us.” - -“It all comes of denying God, of banishing him from the planet,” said -the host. - -“But is he banished from the planet? Take a man like Gervase Brandon. -Life gave him everything. No man had a greater love of peace, yet when -the call came he threw to the wind all his most cherished convictions, -went to the war in the knightly spirit of a crusader, and for the rest -of his days on earth is condemned to a state of existence from which -death is a merciful release.” - -“By sacrifice ye shall enter,” said the vicar. - -“I am not competent to speak upon that. But one’s private conception of -God is not banished from this corner of the planet as long as England -teems with Gervase Brandons.” - -“There I am fully with you,” said the vicar. “To me Gervase Brandon -will always be a symbol of what man can rise to in the way of -deliberate heroism, just as the beaches of Gallipoli will be enshrined -forever in the history of the race to which he belongs. I have only to -think of Gervase Brandon to affirm that God is more potent in the world -than he ever was--and that is the awful paradox.” - -“I don’t presume to question that,” said the host. “But the problem now -for the world is, how shall his power be made supreme? That is what a -ruined civilization has now to ask itself. All civilized people agree -that war itself must cease, yet before it can do so there will have to -be a conversion of the heart of man.” - -“You are right,” said Speke, in his dry, cool voice. “And to my mind, -as the world is constituted, the problem admits of no solution.” - -“In other words,” said the host, “there must always be wars and rumors -of wars until God has created Himself.” - -“Or rather let us say,” the vicar rejoined, “until God has affirmed -Himself. Hence the need for the second advent.” - -“I wonder if we shall realize it when it occurs,” said Speke, his hand -straying to his champagne glass. “In all its fundamentals the world is -as it was two thousand years ago in Palestine. If Christ walked the -earth again, it is certain that he would be treated now as he was then.” - -“That, one cannot believe,” interposed Lady Jane with ready vehemence. -“Even you admit, George, the amount of practical Christianity there is -in the world. I, for one, will not believe all this sacrifice has been -in vain.” - -“I agree with you, Lady Jane,” said the vicar. “When He comes to resume -His ministry, as come He will, at all events He will find that His -Church has been true. But at present, I confess, one looks in vain for -a sign of His advent.” - -Speke shook his head. “With all submission,” he said, “if Christ -appeared today he would be treated as a harmless crank, or he would be -put in an asylum. Think of his reception by the yellow press--the ruler -of nations, the maker of governments, the welder of empires. He would -find it the same pleasant world he left two thousand years ago. Man, in -sum, the vocal working majority, whether in London, Paris, Berlin, New -York, or Petrograd, could not possibly meet the Master face to face or -even hope to recognize him when he passed by.” - -“That is true, no doubt,” said the vicar, “of the mass of the people. -Men of truly spiritual mold are in a hopeless minority. But they are -still among us. Depend upon it, when the hour comes they will recognize -the Master’s voice, depend upon it, they will know His face.” - -“I wonder?” said George Speke. - -“I am absolutely convinced of that, George.” And Lady Jane, one with -the law and the prophets, gave the signal to the ladies and rose -superbly from the dinner table. - - - - -XII - - -WHEN the ladies had left the room the vicar took the chair on the -right of his host, and then he said across the table to George Speke: -“Talking of poor Brandon, what opinion did you form of him mentally -when you saw him this afternoon?” - -“Mentally!... I thought him rather wonderful.” - -The eyes of the vicar searched those of the man opposite. If this was a -conventional statement it was the clear desire of those eyes to expose -it. - -“The poise of his mind seemed to me perfect. And somehow one hadn’t -quite expected it.” - -“You felt he was in full possession of his whole mental faculty?” - -“Didn’t you?” - -The vicar’s failure to answer the question might be taken for a -negative. - -“Moreover, he greatly impressed me,” Speke added. There were two George -Spekes. One had the departmental mind; the other was something more -considerable than a rather arid public record indicated. “I always knew -that he had a very first-rate intellect, but this afternoon it was -even more striking than usual.” - -“But,” said the vicar cautiously, “don’t you think it may be misleading -him?” - -“How? In what way?” - -“I will give you a concrete instance of what I mean.” The vicar spoke -very gravely. “And by the way, Whymper, it is a matter I want to talk -to you about particularly. At Penfold, we are cursed with a sort of -village ne’er-do-well, who has taken to writing poetry, blaspheming the -Creator, and upholding the cause of the enemy. I am sorry to say that -for some years now Brandon has been this man’s friend, lent him books -from his private collection, helped to support him, and so on. Well, -this morning, when I went to Hart’s Ghyll, Brandon told me that he had -lately read a poem of this fellow John Smith’s, and that it had made a -very deep impression upon him.” - -“That’s interesting,” said Speke. “He told me the same. He said that -a young man who lived in the village had lately produced the most -wonderful poem he had ever read.” - -“On the face of it, didn’t that strike you as nonsense?” - -“No, not in the way that Brandon said it. He spoke as one having -authority; and in the matter of poetry, he is thought, I believe, to -have a good deal.” - -“It may be so. But one mustn’t forget that in this case he is claiming -semidivine honors for a half-educated, wholly mad village wastrel.” - -“Mad!” - -“So mad that we are having to arrange for him to be taken care of.” - -“But surely such a man as Brandon could hardly be deceived by one of -that caliber! He gave chapter and verse. He said that John Smith was -a great clairvoyant, who had more windows open in his soul than other -people.” - -“Didn’t it strike you as a fantastic statement?” - -“Why should it? I haven’t seen the poem, and he has; I don’t know John -Smith and he does. Why should it strike one as a fantastic statement?” - -“No, of course, you couldn’t be expected to know that John Smith is as -mad as a hatter. But Brandon should know that as well as I do.” - -“He says the man’s inspired--_Gottbetrunken_ was the word he used.” - -“The man is a blasphemer and an atheist, and a pro-German to boot. And, -as I say, steps are being taken to put him in a place of safety. We -shall need _your_ help, Whymper; there’ll be a magistrates’ order for -you to sign presently. But the distressing thing is that such a mind as -Gervase Brandon’s should be susceptible to the man’s claptrap. The only -explanation that occurs to one is that the poor dear fellow’s brain is -going.” - -“Well, I can only say that there seemed no trace of it this afternoon. -I’ll admit that I thought him a little exalted, a little more the -seer and the visionary than one quite liked to see him. But after all -he must have walked pretty close with God. If a man gives up all the -fair and easy things of life to storm the beaches of Gallipoli, it is -not unlikely that a corner of the prophet’s mantle may be found for -him--even if one agrees that it is a rather uncomfortable vestment.” - -“There may be something in what you say.” The vicar shook a sad, -unconvinced head. “But we have to deal with the thing as it exists. We -have to look the facts in the face.” - -“But what are the facts--that the poet bears the prosaic name of John -Smith, that he belongs to the charming village of Penfold, and that he -is an atheist.” - -“A blasphemer and a pro-German, and that circumstances have made it -necessary to inquire into his mental condition. His recent conduct -in the village has made him amenable to the Blasphemy Laws and the -Defense of the Realm Regulations.” - -“Does Brandon know this?” - -“Unfortunately he does. And that is why one is compelled to take such a -gloomy view of the poor dear fellow at the present time.” - -“Very odd,” said George Speke. - -“Very tragic,” said the vicar. - - - - -XIII - - -IT was nearly midnight when old Alice turned in at the vicarage gate. -Having handed her to the care of his man-of-all-work, the ancient -Hobson, who was sitting up for her, the vicar said good-night to Edith -and then went to his study. He had had a particularly trying day, and -a man of less strength of will would have been content for this to be -its end. But he could not bring himself to go to bed while that page -of an accusing emptiness lay upon his blotting pad. It was within five -minutes of Sunday and his sermon was hardly begun. - -The clock on the chimneypiece struck the hour. The vicar turned up his -reading lamp and sat down at his desk. He was really very tired and -heart-sore, but for many a long year he had not failed in his pastoral -duty, and he was not going to fail now. There was one line already -traced in a bold, firm hand on the sheet before him. “Let us cast off -the works of darkness, let us put on the armor of light.” - -The words came upon him with a shock of surprise. He could not remember -having written them. And at this moment, weary in body and spirit, -he was not able to meet their implication. Overborne by the weight of -an unintelligible world, he was unequal to their message. He drew his -pen through them and wrote: “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I will -repay.” It was lower, easier ground for a man tired and dispirited, -and, after all, it was the ideal text for war time. He had preached -from it many times already, but in that hour it seemed the only one for -his mood. - -Yes, such a vengeance had come upon the world as had been long -predicted. Once more those prophetic words glowed on the page with a -living fire: “There shall be wars and rumors of war.” Terrible, ancient -phrases, vibrating with emotion, came with a subliminal uprush into his -mind. How miraculously had the Word been fulfilled. But one thing was -needed to complete the tale, and that the far-off divine event to which -the whole creation moves. - -But, the vicar asked, as phrases and thoughts of his own began to take -shape, was this Second Coming to be regarded as a literal fact of the -physical world, was it only to be regarded by the eye of faith, or was -it merely the figment of a poet’s fancy? It behooved the world of men -to search its heart. Let all face the question that the time-spirit -was asking; let all face it fully, frankly, fearlessly. - -The Christ was overdue. In the opinion of many, if civilization, if -humanity was to continue, there must be a divine intervention. These -organized and deepening hatreds were destroying the soul of the world. -Even average sensual men had come to realize this vital need. But--the -vicar began to gnaw the stump of his pen furiously--an age that had -ceased to believe in miracles was now crying out for a miracle to -happen. - -“O ye of little faith,” wrote the vicar as the first subheading of his -great theme. Only a miracle could now save a world that had so long -derided them. The vicar wrote the word Nemesis, and then in brackets, -“Terrible word--retributive justice.” - -Yes, the only hope remaining for a blood-soaked world was to accept the -miracle of the Incarnation. And to accept that miracle was to affirm -the second advent. - -How will He come? The vicar left a space on the slowly filling page, -and then wrote his question in the form of a second subheading. How -will He appear to us, this Christ of pity, and purity, and peace? Would -the heavens open, as the Book of Revelation had foretold; would the -King of the World emerge from the clouds to the blowing of trumpets, -crowned in a chariot? Or would He come as a spirit on the face of the -waters? Who should say? But come He must, because of the promise He had -made. - -“The duty of faith in this present hour,” wrote the vicar, as a third -subheading. It was a man’s duty to reject the carpings of science and -the machinations of modern denial. He must believe where he could not -prove. The vicar wrote in brackets, “It is very difficult to do that in -an age of skepticism.” - -“The watchers.” The vicar drew a line under his fourth subheading. All -men must stand as upon a tower, their eyes fixed on the far horizon, -in the hope that they might see in the eastern sky the herald of a new -heaven and a new earth. And by that portent, which was the light of -sublime truth, must they learn to know the Master when He came among -them. But only the faithful could hope to do that. - -“The danger of His coming to a world in which none should know Him,” -was the final clause of the vicar’s sermon. That would be the supreme -tragedy. - -The sudden striking of the clock on the chimneypiece startled the -vicar. “Four o’clock!” he said. And he went to bed. - - - - -XIV - - -MR. PERRY-HENNINGTON was troubled by many things, but he was tired -out by his long day and fell asleep at once. He was still sleeping -when Prince, the parlor maid, brought him a cup of tea at a quarter to -seven. Another trying day was upon him. He had to take three services, -and to give the children’s address in a neighboring parish in the -afternoon. A hard but uninspired worker, he never flinched from his -duty, but did the task next him. It pleased him to think that he got -things done, and, like all men of his type, never allowed himself to -doubt for a moment that they were worth the doing. - -At the morning service Mr. Perry-Hennington preached a sermon that -had done duty on many occasions. It was his custom to keep the new -discourse for the evening, when the congregation was larger as a rule. -“He came to His own and His own knew him not,” was the text of the -morning homily. It had always been one of his favorites, and every -time he rendered it he found some new embroidery to weave upon that -poignant theme. And this morning, in the emotional stress of a recent -event which lurked a shadow at the back of his thoughts, his mind -played upon it with a vigor that surprised even himself. He was at his -best. Such a feeling of power came upon him as he had seldom known. - -While the last hymn was being sung the vicar’s eyes strayed to the back -of the church. He was surprised and a little disconcerted to see John -Smith standing there. The young man was singing heartily, and as the -bright rays from the window fell upon his face it became a center of -light. Yet that unexpected presence cast a shadow across the vicar’s -mind. It was as if a cloud had suddenly darkened the sun. - -At the end of the service Mr. Perry-Hennington was the last to leave -the church. By the time he had taken off his vestments the small -congregation had dispersed. But one member of it still lingered near -the lich gate, at the end of the churchyard, and as the vicar came down -the path this person stopped him. A rather odd-looking man wearing a -white hat, he gave the vicar an impression of being overdressed, but -his strong face had an individuality that would have commanded notice -anywhere. - -This man, who had been scanning the tombstones in the churchyard, had -evidently stayed behind to speak to the vicar. Yet he was a total -stranger to the neighborhood, whose presence among his flock Mr. -Perry-Hennington had noted that morning for the first time. At the -vicar’s slow approach the man in the white hat came forward with a -hearty outstretched hand. - -“Delighted to meet you, sir,” he said. - -To the conventional mind of the vicar this was a very unconventional -greeting on the part of one he had not seen before; and he took the -proffered hand with an air of reserve. - -“Allow me to congratulate you on your discourse,” said the stranger in -an idiom which struck the vicar as rather unusual. “It was first-rate. -And I’m a judge. I think I am anyway.” The man in the white hat -spoke in such a cool, simple, forthcoming manner, that the vicar was -nonplussed. And yet there was such a charm about him that even a spirit -in pontificalibus could hardly resent it. - -“Ah, I see,” said the stranger, noting the vicar’s stiffening of -attitude with an amused eye, “you are waiting for an introduction. -Well, I’m a neighbor, the new tenant of Longwood.” - -“Oh, really,” said the vicar. The air of constraint lightened a little, -but it was too heavy to vanish at once. “I am glad to meet you.” - -“Let me give you a card.” The new neighbor suddenly dived into a hidden -recess of a light gray frock coat, and whipped out a small case. - -Mr. Perry-Hennington with a leisureliness half reluctant, and in almost -comic contrast to the stranger’s freedom of gesture, accepted the -card, disentangled his eyeglasses from his pectoral cross, and read -it carefully. It bore the inscription: Mr. Gazelee Payne Murdwell, 94 -Fifth Avenue, New York. - -“Glad to meet you, Mr. Murdwell,” said the vicar, with a note of -reassurance coming into his tone. “Allow me to welcome you among -us.” The voice, in its grave sonority, rose almost to a point. It -didn’t quite achieve it, but the fact that the man was an American -and also the new tenant of Longwood accounted for much. For the -vicar was already quite sure that he didn’t belong to the island. -The native article could not have had that particular manner, nor -could it have dressed in that particular way, nor could it have shown -that extraordinary, half quizzical self-security. A new man from the -city might have achieved the white hat (with modifications), the -gray frock coat, the white waistcoat, the white spats, the wonderful -checked cravat, but he could not have delivered a frontal attack on -an obviously reverend and honorable gentleman, for long generations -indigenous to the soil of the county, on the threshold of his own -parish church. - -“Now look here, vicar,” said Gazelee Payne Murdwell, with an easy note -of intimacy, “you and I have got to know one another. And it has got -to be soon. This is all new to me.” Mr. Murdwell waved a jeweled and -romantic hand, a fine gesture, which included a part of Kent, a part -of Sussex, a suggestion of Surrey, and even a suspicion of Hampshire. -“And I’m new to you. As I figure you out at the moment, even allowing a -liberal discount for the state of Europe, you are rather like a comic -opera”--the vicar drew in his lips primly--“and as you figure me out, -if looks mean anything, I’m fit for a Mappin Terrace at the Zoo. But -that’s a wrong attitude. We’ve got to come together. And the sooner the -better, because you are going to find me a pretty good neighbor.” - -“I have not the least doubt of that, Mr.--er--Murdwell,” said the -vicar, glancing deliberately and augustly at the card in his hand. - -“Well, as a guaranty of good intentions on both sides, suppose you and -your daughter dine at Longwood on Wednesday? I am a bachelor at the -moment, but Juley--my wife--and Bud--my daughter--will be down by then.” - -“Wednesday!” The vicar’s left eyebrow was mobilized in the form of a -slight frown. But the invitation had come so entirely unawares that -unless he pleaded an engagement which didn’t exist, and his conscience -therefore would not have sanctioned, there really seemed no way of -escape. - -“You will? Wednesday. A quarter to eight. That’s bully.” And in order -to clinch the matter, Mr. Murdwell slipped an arm through the vicar’s, -and slowly accompanied him as far as the vicarage gate. - - - - -XV - - -MANY things, however, had to happen in the parish before Mr. -Perry-Hennington could dine at Longwood on Wednesday. And the first of -them in the order of their occurrence was an inquiry of Edith’s at the -Sunday luncheon in regard to their new neighbor. - -“A most curious man has just waylaid me,” the vicar said. “An American, -who says he has taken Longwood.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Edith, in her precise voice. “The _odd_-looking man in -church this morning, I suppose?” - -“He gave me his card.” The vicar produced the card, and requested -Prince, the parlor maid, to hand it to Miss Edith. “He insists on our -dining at Longwood on Wednesday. It seems only neighborly to do so.” - -“Immensely rich, I believe,” said Edith, scanning the card at her -leisure, with the aid of a pair of tortoise shell spectacles, which she -wore with considerable effect. - -“Who is he? What is he?” There might, or there might not have been a -slight accession of interest to the vicar’s tone. - -“Lady Tyrwhitt was talking about him the other day. He is a great -American inventor, the discoverer of Murdwell’s Law.” - -“Ah-h,” said the vicar, intelligently. But Murdwell’s Law was a sealed -book to him. - -“Immensely important scientific fact, I believe,” Edith explained. -“Lady Tyrwhitt seems to know all about it. I couldn’t grasp it myself. -I only know that Lady Tyrwhitt says it is going to revolutionize -everything.” - -“Ah-h!” said the vicar. - -“It has something to do with radioactivity I believe, and the -liberation of certain electrons in the ether. That may not be exactly -correct. I only know that it is something extremely scientific. Lady -Tyrwhitt says Mr. Murdwell is tremendously pro-Ally, and that he is -over to help us win the war.” - -“Oh-h!” said the vicar. “He seems an uncommonly interesting man.” - -“A very wonderful person. Lady Tyrwhitt says he is one of the most -remarkable men living. And she says he is never out of sight of private -detectives, because of the number of attempts that have been made on -his life.” - -“I shall look forward to meeting him again on Wednesday.” - -Before Wednesday came, however, the vicar had much else to think about. -Ever in the forefront of his mind was the vexatious matter of John -Smith. It had been arranged that on the next day, Monday, Dr. Parker -should come out from Brombridge, lunch at the vicarage, and then, if -possible, interview the young man. - -On Monday morning the vicar made a preliminary survey of the ground. -He went down to the village, and had a little talk with Field, the -carpenter. From him he learned that John Smith had downed tools for -a fortnight past, that he had been roaming the countryside at all -hours of the day and night, and that “he wor shapin’ for another of -his attacks.” Field was a sensible man, whom the vicar respected in -spite of the fact that he was not among the most regular of the flock; -therefore at some length he discussed with him a very vexed question. -In reply to a direct canvass of his judgment, Field admitted that “John -might be a bit soft-like.” At the same time he confessed the highest -affection and admiration for him, and somewhat to the vicar’s annoyance -volunteered the opinion that “he went about doing good.” - -“How _can_ you think that, Field?” said Mr. Perry-Hennington, sternly. - -“Well, sir, they say he keeps the chaps out of the publics.” - -“Who says so?” - -“At Brombridge, sir. They are getting to think a lot of him there.” - -“Are they indeed?” - -“He preaches there you know, sir, on Sunday afternoons at the market -cross.” - -The vicar was shocked and scandalized. “I hope,” he said, “that he -doesn’t give vent to the sort of opinions he does here.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Field, with respectful perplexity. “I know you parsons -think him a bit of a freethinker, but I’m sure he means well. And -begging your pardon, sir, he knows a lot about the Bible too.” - -“I take leave to doubt that, Field,” said the vicar, who had -suddenly grown so deeply annoyed that he felt unable to continue the -conversation. He left the shop abruptly. A little more light had been -thrown on the subject, but somehow it increased his sense of worry -and discomfort. He had not thought well to enlighten Field as to -the gravamen of the charge, yet it was hard to repress a feeling of -irritation that so sensible a man should hold such a heterodox view of -his employee. - -True to his appointment, Dr. Parker arrived at one o’clock. Before he -came Mr. Perry-Hennington told Edith in a casual way the reason of his -coming to Penfold. To her father’s consternation, something in the -nature of a scene had followed. - -“Then you intend to have him removed to an asylum!” she exclaimed in a -tone of horror. - -“Undoubtedly. The public interest demands nothing less.” - -The girl was greatly upset. And nothing her father could say had any -effect upon her distress. She felt herself responsible for this tragic -pass. Her unhappy intervention in the first place had brought the thing -about, and now she rued it bitterly. She implored her father to let -the matter drop. But her prayer was vain. At all times a singularly -obstinate man, upon a question of conscience and duty he was not likely -to be moved by mere words. - -Out of respect for his daughter’s feelings, and also out of regard -for the ears of Prince, the parlor maid, Mr. Perry-Hennington did not -refer to the matter in the course of the meal. But as soon as it was -over he discussed it at length with his visitor. And he presented his -view of the matter with such a cogent energy that, for such a mind as -Dr. Parker’s, whose main concern was “things as they are,” the case -of John Smith was greatly prejudiced. He did not say as much to the -vicar, indeed he did his best to keep an open and impartial mind on the -subject, but he would have been more or less than himself had he not -felt that only the strongest possible justification could have moved -such a man as Mr. Perry-Hennington to his present course of action. - -In the privacy of the study the vicar explained the situation to Dr. -Parker at considerable length, giving chapter and verse for the theory -he had formed. And then the two gentlemen set out to find John Smith. - -Fate went with them. A slow, solemn climb from the vicarage to the -village green brought a prompt reward. Straight before them a frail, -bareheaded, poorly-clad figure was outlined against a rather wild June -sky. - -“Our man,” the vicar whispered. - -Dispositions of approach were made automatically. The two gentlemen -stepped on to the common sedately enough. As they did so, the vicar -ostentatiously pointed out the grandeur of the scene, and its wide, -sweeping outlook on two counties, while the doctor lingered in -examination of the heath and the plucking of a flower. - -As usual the young man was leaning against the priest’s stone. Near by -was a delicate flower which Dr. Parker stooped to gather. - -“Tell me, what’s the name of this little thing?” he said to the vicar, -in a loud bluff voice. - -“You’re overtaxing my knowledge,” said the vicar, with a similar bluff -heartiness. “I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it before. But here is a -man who can help us, no doubt.” - -With a courteous, disarming smile, the vicar suddenly brought his eyes -to bear on John Smith. And then he added in a voice full of kindness -and encouragement: “I am sure _you_ can tell us the name of this -flower.” - -“Yes, I should very much like to know.” As the doctor gave John Smith -the flower, he seized the moment for the closest possible scrutiny -of the man before him. Not a detail was lost of the extraordinarily -sensitive face, with its gaunt but beautiful lines, the luminous -eyes, whose pupils were distended to an abnormal width, the look of -fastidious cleanliness, which the poor clothes and the rough boots -seemed to accentuate. - -“It is a kind of wild orchis,” said the young man in a gentle tone, -which to the doctor’s ear had a rather curious sound. “It is not common -hereabouts, but you will find a few in Mr. Whymper’s copse over at -Grayfield.” - -“You seem well up in the subject of flowers,” said Dr. Parker. - -“I study them,” said the young man with a quick intensity which caused -the doctor to purse his lips. “I love them so.” He pressed the slender, -tiny petals to his lips. “What a wonderful, wonderful thing is that -little flower! I weep when I look at it.” - -Involuntarily the doctor and the vicar looked at the young man’s face. -His eyes had filled with tears. - -“Why do you let a harmless little flower affect you in that way?” said -Dr. Parker. - -“I suppose it’s the joy I feel in its beauty. I love it, I love it!” -And he gave back the little flower to the doctor with a kind of rapture. - -“Do you feel like that about everything?” - -“Oh, yes. I worship the Father in all created things.” The -too-sensitive face changed suddenly. A light broke over it. “I am -intoxicated with the wonders around me, I am enchanted with the glories -of the things I see.” - -“It certainly is a very wonderful world that we live in,” said the -vicar, who sometimes fell unconsciously into his pulpit voice. - -“Think of the continents of divine energy in the very air we breathe.” -There was a hush of awe in the voice of John Smith. “Think of the -miracles happening under that tiny leaf.” - -“They are not visible to me.” Dr. Parker impressively removed -his gold-rimmed eyeglasses and rubbed them slowly on a red silk -handkerchief. - -The young man drew aside a frond of bracken, and disclosed a colony of -black ants. - -“Does the sight of that move you also?” said Dr. Parker. - -“They are part of the mystery. I see the Father there.” - -“I presume you mean God?” said the vicar. - -“Male and female created He them,” said the young man in a hushed tone. -“I hardly dare look at the wonders around me, now the scales have -fallen from my eyes and the heavens have opened.” - -“The heavens have opened!” said Dr. Parker. - -“Oh, yes. I can read them now. I gaze upon the portals. I see the -chariots. There are the strong souls of the saints riding in glory -across the sky. Look! look!” - -The doctor and the vicar followed the lines of the young man’s hand, -which pointed straight into a brilliant, but storm-shot sun. They had -instantly to lower their eyes. - -“It would blind one to look at that,” said Dr. Parker. - -“Nothing can blind you if you have learned to see,” said the young man. -It astonished them to observe that his gaze was fixed upon the flaming -disc of light. Suddenly he placed a finger on his lips, entreating them -to listen. - -The doctor and the vicar listened intently. - -“Do you hear the music?” - -“I am afraid I hear nothing,” said Dr. Parker. - -“Nor I,” said the vicar. - -“There are harps in the air.” - -“I don’t hear a sound,” said Dr. Parker. - -“Nor I,” said the vicar, straining his ears; “or if I do it is the -water of the mill by Burkett’s farm.” - -“The longer I listen, the more wonderful the music grows.” - -The vicar and the doctor shook their heads gravely. - -“There are also times, I believe, when you hear voices?” said the vicar. - -“Yes, a voice speaks to me continually.” - -“Would you say it belonged to any particular person,” said the doctor, -“or that it came from any particular source?” - -“It is the voice of the Father.” - -“The voice of God, I presume?” - -“Yes--the voice of God.” - -“Does it lay a charge upon you?” the vicar asked. - -“It tells me to save the world.” - -The complete simplicity of the statement took the vicar and the doctor -aback. They looked solemnly at each other, and then at him who had made -it. - -“And you intend to obey it?” The doctor managed to put the question in -a tone of plain matter-of-course. - -The young man’s face took a strange pallor. “I must, I must,” he said. -And as he spoke his questioners noticed that he had begun to shake -violently. - -“Are we to understand,” said the vicar, speaking very slowly, “that you -expect supernatural powers to be given you?” - -“I don’t know. I cannot say.” A light broke over the gentle face. “But -a way will be found.” - -“How do you know that?” said the vicar. - -“It has been communicated to me.” - -“Is that to say,” the vicar sternly demanded, “that you are about to -claim plenary powers?” - -Before the young man answered the question he covered his eyes with his -hands. Again he stood in an attitude of curious listening intensity. -The doctor thought he could hear a wind, very faint and gentle, -stirring in the upper air, but to the vicar it was the sound of water -flowing by Burkett’s farm. - -The vicar repeated his question. - -“I am to claim nothing,” said the young man at last. - -“You do not claim to be a Buddha or a Messiah, or anything of that -kind?” said the vicar, compressing stern lips. - -Again there was silence. Again the young man closed his eyes. - -“I am to claim nothing,” he said. - - - - -XVI - - -INVOLUNTARILY, as it seemed, and without an attempt to carry the matter -further, the vicar and the doctor turned abruptly on their heels and -left the common. - -“A case of possession,” said the doctor, by the time they had reached -the top of the village street. “And quite the most curious in my -experience.” - -“At any rate,” said the vicar, “now you have seen the man for yourself, -you will have not the slightest difficulty in certifying him!” - -“You really feel it to be wise and necessary?” - -“I do.” The vicar spoke with his habitual air of decision. “I feel very -strongly that it will be in the public interest. In fact, I go further. -I feel very strongly that it will be in the national interest to have -this man certified as a lunatic.” - -“He seems a singularly harmless creature.” - -“There is always the fear that he may get worse. But apart from that, -he is having a bad effect on weak, uneducated minds. He already -pretends to powers he doesn’t possess, and has taken lately to -faith-healing, and mischievous nonsense of that kind.” - -The rubicund visage of Dr. Parker assumed a grave, professional look. -“There can be no doubt,” he said, “that he is on the verge of, if he is -not already suffering from, mania.” - -“In a word,” said the vicar, “you fully agree that it will be wise to -have him taken care of?” - -“From what you have told me,” said Dr. Parker, with professional -caution, “I am inclined to think that, in a time like the present, it -may be the right course to adopt.” - -“Very well,” said the vicar gravely. “Let us now go and see Joliffe, -and get him to indorse your opinion as the law requires. And then -tomorrow morning I will run over to Grayfield and get Whymper to move -in the matter without delay.” - - - - -XVII - - -THE vicar and Dr. Parker slowly descended the long, straggling village -street, until they came to Dr. Joliffe’s gate. They found their man -at home. In shirt sleeves and pipe in mouth he was mowing the back -lawn with a very creditable display of energy for a householder of -fifty-five, on an extremely oppressive afternoon. - -The perspiring Dr. Joliffe donned a light alpaca coat, and then led his -visitors to the summerhouse at the bottom of the garden, where they -could talk without fear of being overheard. - -The vicar began at once in a concise, businesslike way. - -“Dr. Parker has seen John Smith. And he is quite ready to certify him.” - -“Hopelessly mad, poor fellow, I’m afraid,” said Dr. Parker. - -A quick frown passed across the face of Dr. Joliffe. - -“Dangerously?” The tone was curt. - -Dr. Parker slowly weighed out a careful reply. - -“Not exactly, in an active sense. But there is no saying when he will -become so. At any time acute mania may intervene.” - -“It may, of course.” But it was a reluctant admission. Moreover, -there was an implication behind it which Dr. Parker was not slow to -understand. No love was lost between these two, nor was their estimate -of each other’s professional abilities altogether flattering. - -“Highly probable,” said Dr. Parker, in a warming tone. - -“Contrary to my experience of the man. I’ve known him some years now, -and though I’m bound to own that he has always seemed a bit cracked, it -has never occurred to me that it was a case to certify, and with all -deference I am not quite convinced even now.” - -“But surely, Joliffe,” the vicar interposed, with some little acerbity, -“the need for the course we propose to take was made clear to you on -Saturday?” - -The look of doubt deepened in Dr. Joliffe’s red face. “I’m very -sorry”--there was obvious hesitation in the tone--“but you are really -asking a general practitioner to take a great deal on himself.” - -“But why?” There was a perceptible stiffening of the vicar’s voice. “I -thought I had fully explained to you on Saturday what the alternative -is. You see if we can’t get the man into an asylum quietly and -humanely, he must be made amenable to the Defense of the Realm -Regulations. If you would prefer that course to be taken I will go over -to the Depot and see General Clarke. We are bound in honor to move in -the matter. But Dr. Parker agrees with me that an asylum will be kinder -to the man himself, less disturbing to the public mind, and therefore -in the national interest.” - -“I do, indeed,” said Dr. Parker. - -But the frown was deepening upon Dr. Joliffe’s face. - -“I see the force of your argument,” he said. “But knowing the man as -I do, and feeling him to be a harmless chap, although just a little -cracked, no doubt, I’m not sure that you don’t take an exaggerated view -of what he said the other day.” - -“Exaggerated view!” The vicar caught up the phrase. “My friend,” he -said imperiously, “don’t you realize the danger of having such things -said in this parish at a time like the present?” - -“Yes, I do.” There was a stiffening of attitude at the vicar’s tone. -“But even in a time like the present, I shouldn’t like to overstate its -importance.” - -The vicar looked at Dr. Joliffe almost with an air of pity. “Don’t you -realize the effect it might have on some of our young villagers?” - -“Well, that is the point, and I’m not sure that you don’t overstate it, -vicar.” - -“That’s an Irishman all over,” said Mr. Perry-Hennington to Dr. Parker -in an impatient aside. “One can never get him to agree to anything.” - -“Even if I was born in Limerick,” said Dr. Joliffe, with an arch smile, -“it gives me no particular pleasure to be unreasonable. I’ll own that -when the best has been said for the man he’s not so wise as he might -be.” - -“And don’t forget that he claims to be a Messiah.” - -“So I understand. But there’s historical precedent even for that, if we -are to believe the Bible.” - -The vicar drew his lips into a straight line, and Dr. Parker followed -his example. - -They did not venture to look at each other, but it was clear they held -the opinion in common that Dr. Joliffe had been guilty of a grave -breach of taste. - -“The trouble with you Saxons,” said Dr. Joliffe, who had been -getting his back gradually to the wall, “is that you have too little -imagination; the trouble with us Celts that we have too much.” - -“Joliffe,” said the vicar, in a tone of pain and surprise, “please -understand that such a thing as imagination does not enter into this -matter. We are face to face with a very unpleasant fact. There is a -mad person in this parish, who goes about uttering stupid blasphemies, -who openly sides with the enemy, and we have to deal with him in a -humane, but practical and efficient way. Dr. Parker and I are agreed -that the public safety calls for certain measures; we are also agreed -that the national interest will be best served by their adoption. Are -you ready to fall in with our views?--that is the question it is my -duty to ask you.” - -Dr. Joliffe stroked a square jaw. He resented the vicar’s tone and at -that moment he disliked Dr. Parker more intensely than he had ever -disliked any human being. In Dr. Joliffe’s opinion both stood for a -type of pharisee behind which certain reactionary forces, subtle but -deadly, invariably intrenched themselves. But Dr. Joliffe, although -cursed with an average share of human weakness, was at heart a -fair-minded man. And his one desire, now that he was up against a -delicate problem, was to hold the balance true between both parties. -From the Anglo-Saxon standpoint the vicar and that old fool, Parker, -were right no doubt; but from the Celtic outlook there was also -something to be said of John Smith. - -“Now, Joliffe,” said the vicar, “please understand this. Our man has to -be put away quietly, without any fuss. He will be very comfortable in -the county asylum. I speak from experience. I go there once a month. -Everything possible is done to insure the well-being of the inmates. -It may be possible to let him take his books with him. He is a great -reader, I hear--even writes verses of sorts. Anyhow I will speak to -Dr. Macey about him at the first opportunity, and do all I can for his -comfort and happiness.” - -But Dr. Joliffe compressed obstinate lips, and stared with a fixed blue -eye at the storm clouds coming up from that dangerous quarter, the -southwest. - -“By the way, as I think I told you,” continued the vicar, “I spoke to -Whymper on Saturday evening. He sees as I do. And he said the bench -would support my action, provided the man was duly certified by two -doctors to meet the requirements of the Lord Chancellor. Now come, -Joliffe, be reasonable.” - -But Dr. Joliffe shook a somber head. - -“I don’t like to do it on my own responsibility,” he said. - -“But you have our friend Parker to share it.” - -“The fact is,” said Dr. Joliffe slowly, “I walked as far as Hart’s -Ghyll this morning to have a little talk with Brandon on the subject.” - -“Gervase Brandon!” To the mind of the vicar much was explained. “Wasn’t -it rather a pity to trouble the poor fellow with a thing of this kind -in his present condition?” - -“I understand that you didn’t hesitate to trouble him with it on -Saturday.” - -“I did not. I felt it to be my duty.” - -The retort was so obvious, that Dr. Joliffe did not trouble to make it. -When the vicar chose to look at things from the angle of his official -status it was hardly worth while to argue with him. - -“May I ask what you said to Gervase Brandon?” - -“I told him what you proposed to do.” - -The vicar shook a dubious head. “Was that wise, do you think--in the -circumstances?” - -Dr. Joliffe ignored the question. - -“I informed him also,” he added, “that I didn’t feel equal to taking -such a great responsibility upon myself.” - -“You went so far as to tell him that?” - -“I did. This affair has cost me a great deal of anxiety since I saw you -on Saturday. I feel very strongly that we ought to have further advice.” - -“We have it.” The vicar inclined a diplomatist’s head in Dr. Parker’s -direction. - -“I told the squire,” said Dr. Joliffe, with a menacing eye upon Dr, -Parker, “that I didn’t feel able to move in the matter without the -advice of a mental specialist.” - -“The man is as mad as a hatter,” said Dr. Parker, with the air of a -mental specialist. - -“But is he certifiable--that’s the point?” - -“He’s a source of danger to the community,” the vicar cut in. But Dr. -Joliffe had asked Dr. Parker the question, and his eye demanded that -Dr. Parker should answer it. - -“I think we may take Mr. Perry-Hennington’s word for that,” said Dr. -Parker. - -“Well, with all deference,” said Dr. Joliffe, “the squire feels very -strongly that the man ought not to be interfered with.” - -The vicar was plainly annoyed. He caught up Dr. Joliffe sharply. “I am -sorry to say that Brandon with all his merits is little better than an -atheist.” - -The tone and the manner were a little too much for Irish blood. “And -so am I if it comes to that,” said Dr. Joliffe; and then like a true -Hibernian he added: “And I thank God for it.” - -The vicar and Dr. Parker were greatly pained by this indiscretion, -but both were careful to refrain by word or gesture from making the -slightest comment upon it. - -“Well, Joliffe,” said the vicar, when at last he was able to achieve -the necessary composure, “if you cannot see your way to act with us we -must find someone who will.” - -By now the blood of Dr. Joliffe was running dangerously high. But fresh -with his talk with Brandon, which had greatly impressed him, he somehow -felt that big issues were at stake. Therefore he must hold himself in -hand. - -“Mr. Perry-Hennington,” he said, after an inward struggle, in a voice -scrupulously mild, “I must tell you that Mr. Brandon has offered to pay -the fee of any mental specialist we may like to summon, and that he -will abide by his decision.” - -“Abide by his decision!” The words were unfortunate, but tact was not -one of Dr. Joliffe’s virtues. “Very good of Brandon I’m sure. But may -one ask where _he_ stands in the matter?” - -“He’s the friend of John Smith.” - -“It hardly seems a friendship to be proud of.” The vicar continued -to let off steam. “Still I think I see your point. The law entitles -the man to have a friend to speak for him, and if Brandon constitutes -himself his champion we can’t complain. What do you say, Parker?” - -“By all means let him be given every chance,” said Dr. Parker, in a -suave, judicial tone. “Personally I don’t think there is a shadow of a -doubt that the man is of unsound mind, and I am convinced, after what -you have told me, that he ought to be taken care of; but as Joliffe -doesn’t agree, and as Mr. Brandon will pay a specialist’s fee, I am -quite willing to meet him in consultation.” - -“Very well, Parker,” said the vicar, in his getting-things-done voice, -“that seems reasonable. Let us have a man down at once. Suggest -somebody, and we’ll telegraph here and now.” - -Dr. Parker thought for a moment. - -“Shall we say Murfin? A sound man, I believe, with a good reputation.” - -“Belongs to the old school,” said Dr. Joliffe. “Why not Moriarty?” - -Dr. Parker stiffened visibly at the interruption. “Wrote a cranky book, -didn’t he, called ‘The Power of Faith’ or something?” - -“Moriarty is a pioneer in mental and psychical matters. And Mr. Brandon -has a high opinion of his book. It is only the other day that he -advised me to read it.” - -But the vicar shook his head in vigorous dissent. “The trouble is,” he -said, “that Brandon is getting more than a little cranky himself.” - -“Depends upon what you mean by the term,” said Dr. Joliffe bridling. - -“You know, Joliffe, as well as I do,” the vicar expostulated, “that our -friend Brandon, fine and comprehensive as his intellect may be, is now -in a very curious state. His judgment is no longer to be trusted.” - -“I’d trust his judgment before my own in some things,” was Dr. -Joliffe’s rejoinder. - -“I’d trust no man’s judgment before my own in anything,” said the -vicar. “I’m no believer in the gloss that is put on everything -nowadays. White is white, black is black, and two and two make -four--that’s my creed, and no amount of intellectual smear is going to -alter it. However, we shall not agree about Brandon, therefore we shall -not agree about Dr. Moriarty. And as it will devolve upon our friend -Parker to meet the specialist and issue the certificate, it seems to me -only fair and reasonable that he should make his own choice.” - -With a touch of professional rigor, Dr. Parker thought so too. - -“Well, it’s immaterial to me,” said Dr. Joliffe, “as I’m retiring from -the case. All the same I think it would be best for the squire to -decide. He who pays the piper has a right to call the tune.” - -“It doesn’t apply in this case,” said the vicar incisively. “One feels -that one is making an immense concession in studying Brandon’s feelings -in the way one is doing. You seem to forget, Joliffe, that we have a -public duty to perform.” - -“I am very far from forgetting it. But Brandon and I feel that we have -also our duty to perform. And that is why I take the liberty to suggest -that he should choose his own mental specialist.” - -“Preposterous. What do you say, Parker?” - -Dr. Parker tacitly agreed. - -“Well,” said Dr. Joliffe, “if the squire will consent to Murfin, it’s -all the same to me, but if my opinion is asked, I am bound to say that -to my mind Moriarty is by far the abler man.” - -“Why do you think so?” Dr. Parker asked. - -“More modern in his ideas. Sees farther. Knows we are only at the -threshold of a tremendous subject.” - -“Nonsense, Joliffe.” The vicar was losing a little of his patience. -“White’s white, and black’s black. This man John Smith ought not to be -at large, and neither you nor Brandon nor all the mad doctors in Harley -Street can be allowed to dictate to us in the matter. We have our duty -to do, and very disagreeable it is, but fortunately there is the county -bench behind us.” - -“Quite so,” said Dr. Joliffe, drily. - -“At the same time we don’t want to put ourselves wrong with public -opinion, nor do we want to act in any way that will hurt people’s -feelings. And it is most undesirable that it should be made into a -party or sectarian matter. Therefore, before we take definite action, I -think I had better walk as far as Hart’s Ghyll, and have a few further -words with Gervase Brandon myself.” - -Both doctors promptly fell in with the suggestion. There seemed much to -be said for it. Dr. Parker was invited to await Mr. Perry-Hennington’s -return and to join Dr. Joliffe in a cup of tea in the meantime. To -this proposal Dr. Parker graciously assented; and the vicar, already -inflamed with argument, went forth to Hart’s Ghyll to lay his views -before Gervase Brandon. - - - - -XVIII - - -AS Mr. Perry-Hennington impatiently clicked the doctor’s gate, “Village -pettifogger!” flashed along his nervous system. Only a stupid man, or a -man too much in awe of Hart’s Ghyll could have been guilty of Joliffe’s -scruples, at a moment so ill-timed. - -The afternoon’s oppression was growing into the certainty of a storm. -There were many portents from the southwest to which the vicar, walking -rapidly and gathering momentum as he went, paid no attention. He was -really angry with Joliffe; a spirit naturally pontifical had been -fretted by his attitude. Apart from the fact that the issue was clear -to all reasonable minds, Joliffe, having to make a choice between Cæsar -and Pompey, had chosen the latter. It was very annoying, and though Mr. -Perry-Hennington prided himself upon his breadth of view, he could not -suppress a feeling of resentment. - -In the middle of Hart’s Ghyll’s glorious avenue a fine car met the -vicar, drove him under the trees and glided by with the flight of a -bird. A lean-looking man in a white hat sat in a corner of the car. As -he went past he waved a hand to the vicar and called out “Wednesday!” -It was his new acquaintance, Mr. Murdwell. - -When Mr. Perry-Hennington reached the house, a rather unwelcome -surprise awaited him. Edith was seated in the inner hall with niece -Millicent. Driven by the pangs of conscience, she had come to implore -help for John Smith. But for Millicent, this meant the horns of a -dilemma. Her sympathy had been keenly aroused by her cousin’s strange -confession, but Gervase had been too much troubled by the matter -already, and his wife was very unwilling to tax him further. - -The arrival of the vicar, while Edith and Millicent were still -anxiously discussing the line to take, was very embarrassing for all -three. It only needed a hint to set Mr. Perry-Hennington on the track -of their conversation. And when he realized, as he did almost at once, -that Edith was in the very act of working against him, he felt a shock -of pain. - -Dissembling his feelings, however, he asked that he might see Gervase. -But Millicent with a shrewd guess at his purpose, went the length of -denying him. Gervase was not quite so well, and she had foolishly -allowed him to tire himself with their American neighbor, the new -tenant of Longwood, who had stayed more than an hour. But the vicar was -not in a mood to be thwarted. The matter was important, and he would -only stay five minutes. - -“Well, Uncle Tom,” said the wife anxiously, “if you see Gervase for -five minutes, you must solemnly promise not to refer to John Smith.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington could give no such undertaking. Indeed he had -to admit that John Smith was the sole cause and object of his visit. -Thereupon to Edith’s horror, Millicent suddenly flashed out: - -“I think it’s perfectly shameful, Uncle Tom, that you should be acting -toward that dear fellow in the way that you are doing.” - -The vicar was quite taken aback. He glanced at the disloyal Edith with -eyes of stern accusation. But it was not his intention to be drawn into -any discussion of the matter with a pair of irresponsible women. He was -hurt, and rather angry, but as always there was a high sense of duty to -sustain him. - -“Not more than five minutes, I promise you,” he said decisively. And -then with the air of a law-giver and chief magistrate, he marched along -a low-ceiled, stone-flagged corridor to the library. - - - - -XIX - - -BRANDON was alone. The spinal chair had been set in the oriel that was -so dear to him, and now he was propped up, with a book in his hand and -his favorite view before him. - -The vicar’s greeting was full of kindness, but the stricken man met it -with an air of pain, perplexity and secret antagonism. - -“The very man I have been hoping to see,” he said in a rather faint -voice. And then he added, almost with distress, “I want so much to have -a talk with you about this miserable business.” - -“Don’t let it worry you in any way, my dear fellow,” said the vicar in -a tone of reassurance. “Proper and ample provision can easily be made -for the poor man if we behave sensibly. At least Whymper thinks so.” - -“Hidebound donkey! What has he to do with it?” - -The abrupt querulousness of the tone was so unlike Brandon that it -rather disconcerted the vicar. - -“I have always found Whymper a very honest man,” he said soothingly. -“And he is also a magistrate.” - -“Oh, yes, a local _Shallow_.” - -The vicar was hurt, but the high sense of duty was with him in his -task. And that task was to tell Brandon in a few concise words of Dr. -Parker’s visit, of his opinion of John Smith, and his views concerning -him. - -“And I felt it my duty to come and tell you,” said the vicar, in a -slow, calm, patient voice, “that Parker will meet a specialist in -consultation. But the question now is, who shall it be? To my mind -the point does not arise, but Joliffe, who I am sorry to say is not -as helpful as he might be, is making difficulties. Parker would like -Murfin, but Joliffe thinks Moriarty. But Murfin or Moriarty, what does -it matter? They are both first-rate men; besides the case is so clear -that it doesn’t present the slightest difficulty. It is really a waste -of money to pay a big fee for a London opinion when a local man like -Sharling of Brombridge would do quite as well.” - -Brandon shook his head. A look of grave trouble came into his eyes. -“No,” he said, “this is a case for the best man the country can -provide.” - -“Well, you shall choose him, my dear fellow,” Mr. Perry-Hennington’s -air was all largeness and magnanimity. “Murfin or Moriarty, or why -not such a man as Birdwood Thompson? He is in quite the front rank, -I believe. But before you incur an expense that I’m convinced is -unnecessary, I should like you to realize my own position in the -matter. To my mind, it will be far kinder to have the man certified -and quietly removed, rather than ask the law to take a course which -may stir up local feeling in certain directions, and breed undesirable -publicity in certain newspapers. Still that is neither here nor there. -One is prepared to face all consequences, be what they may.” - -“Mr. Perry-Hennington,” said Brandon in a hollow tone, “I can’t help -thinking that you are making a tragic mistake.” - -“The matter hardly admits of discussion I’m afraid. My duty lies before -me. Cost what it may it will have to be done.” - -“But what possible harm is the man doing?” - -The vicar deprecated the question by spreading out his large, strong -hands. “We can’t go into that,” he said in a kind tone. “We don’t -see eye to eye. Believe me, a matter of this sort doesn’t admit of -discussion. Besides it will only excite you. A man has to act in these -things as his conscience directs.” - -“Yes, of course. But with all submission, one should try to keep a -sense of proportion, shouldn’t one?” - -“I fully agree.” - -“Then why immure a constructive thinker?” - -In spite of the watch he was keeping on himself the vicar caught up the -phrase almost with passion. - -But Brandon held his ground. “In common fairness,” he said, “I feel you -ought to read his noble work before you take any action.” - -“Words, words, words.” - -“Here are words also.” Brandon indicated the open book beside him. - -“The Bible!” The vicar could not conceal his surprise. It was almost -the last thing he expected to see in the hands of so distinguished a -skeptic. - -Brandon was secretly amused by the air of sudden perplexity. “You see I -am making my soul,” he said. - -The vicar was puzzled. It was hard to forbear from being gratified. But -fearing the ironical spirit of the modern questioner, he kept on his -guard. Brandon, he knew, had a secret armory of powerful weapons. A -primitive distrust of the intellect knew better than to engage him at -close quarters. - -“Our friend, John Smith, has led me back to the Bible,” said Brandon, -with a simplicity which Mr. Perry-Hennington greatly mistrusted. - -“John Smith!” The tone was frankly incredulous. - -“Until the other day I had not opened it for twenty years. But that -wonderful work of his has suddenly changed the angle of vision. And in -order to read the future by the light of the past, which is the advice -he gives to the world, I return to the fount of wisdom.” - -The vicar was more and more puzzled. To be led to the Bible by John -Smith was like being inducted by the devil into the use of holy water. -If Brandon was sincere he could only fear for the state of his mind. On -the other hand an intellectual bravo of the ultramodern school might be -luring one of simple faith into a dialectical trap. Therefore the vicar -hastened to diverge from a perilous subject. - -The divergence, however, was only partial. All the vicar’s thought and -interest played upon this vital question of John Smith, and he was -there to carry it to a crucial phase. At this moment, he must see that -he was not sidetracked by one whom he could only regard, at the best, -as a dangerous heretic. - -“Whom do you choose, my dear fellow?” said Mr. Perry-Hennington, after -a wary pause. “Murfin? Moriarty? Birdwood Thompson?” - -“I decline to make a choice,” Brandon spoke bitterly. “It would be an -insult and a mockery.” - -“But don’t you see that it offers a protection, a safeguard for the man -himself?” - -“In the eyes of the law, no doubt. But, in my view, John Smith stands -above the law.” - -“No human being stands above the law.” - -“That is where I dissent.” - -Brandon’s tone simply meant a deadlock. The vicar needed all his -patience to combat it. One thing was clear: a change for the worse had -set in. It would be an act of simple Christian kindness not to argue -with the poor dear fellow. - -“Very well,” the vicar’s tone was soothing and gentle, “Joliffe shall -choose. He is acting for you in the matter.” - -“I beg your pardon. No one is acting for me in this affair. I won’t -incur the humiliation of any vicarious responsibility.” - -“But one understood from Joliffe that you would abide by the decision -of a London specialist.” - -“That is not my recollection of the exact position I took up. In any -case, I withdraw from it now. Second thoughts convince me that you mean -to destroy a very exquisite thing. I am further convinced that as the -world is constituted at present you can work your will, if not in one -way, in another. History shows that. But it also shows that you will -only be successful up to a point. Immure the body of John Smith if you -must. Kill his soul if you can. In the meantime go your ways and leave -me to abide the issue.” - -The vicar was distressed by this sudden flaming. He apologized with -Christian humility for having worried one in a delicate state of health -with a matter which, after all, did not concern him. Soothing the dear, -excitable fellow as well as he could, he prepared to withdraw from -the room. But Brandon was not in a mood to let this be the end of the -matter. - -“Before you go,” he said, “I would like to speak of something else. It -has a bearing on the subject we have been discussing.” - -Although conscience-bitten by the sudden recollection of his promise to -Millicent, the vicar allowed himself to be further detained. - -“I have just had a visit from the new tenant of Longwood.” - -“Yes, I met him in the avenue as I came here. He has very simply -invited me to dine with him on Wednesday.” - -“Be sure you do. A very remarkable man. We had a most interesting talk.” - -“A great scientist, I hear.” - -“One of the forces of the material world. A modern Newton, the -discoverer of Murdwell’s Law.” - -“Tell me, what is Murdwell’s Law exactly?” - -“At present it can only be rendered in terms of the highest -mathematics, which I’m afraid is beyond a layman’s power. But Murdwell -himself has just told me that he expects soon to be able to reduce it -to a physical formula.” - -“And if he does?” - -“It will be the worst day this planet has known. For one thing it will -revolutionize warfare completely. Radioactivity will take the place of -high explosives. It may become possible to wipe out a city like London -in less than a minute. It may become possible to banish forever organic -life from a whole continent.” - -“But surely that will be to abrogate the functions of the Creator.” - -“Quite so. And science tells us that Man is his own Creator, and -that he has been millions of years in business. And now this simple, -gentle, peace-loving American of the Middle West comes along with the -information that, Man having reached the phase in which he bends the -whole force of his genius to destroy his own work, successes of that -kind are open to him beyond the dreams of his wildest nightmares. As -the learned professor said to me just now: ‘Any fool can destroy. We -are near the point where it will be possible for the infant puling in -the arms of its nurse to press a button and punch a hole through the -planet!’” - -“No doubt he exaggerates.” - -“He may. On the other hand he may not. He is a great and daring -thinker, and he declares there are hidden forces in the universe -that man is about to harness in the way he has already harnessed -electricity, which, by the way, less than a hundred years ago was a -madman’s dream.” - -“I hear he is subsidized by the government.” - -“He takes no payment for his services. He believes our cause to be that -of civilization. Two of his boys are with the French Army, as he says, -‘doing their bit to keep a lien on the future.’” - -“His country can be proud of him.” - -Brandon could not repress a smile. The assumption of the tone was so -typical of the man who used it that he was tempted to look at him in -his relation to those events which were tearing the world in pieces. -Had any man a right to sit in judgment on the actions of others in that -calm, confident way? There was something far down in Brandon which -asked the question, something deeper still which answered it. The -self-complacency of this sublime noodle was not a thing to smile at -after all; he had a sudden craving for a tomahawk. - -“It seems to me,” said Brandon after a pause, “that modern materialism -has at last managed to produce the kind of man it has been looking for. -This charming church-going American says he hopes presently to be able -to establish war on a scientific basis. So far, he says, man has only -been toying with the subject.” - -“If he can bring the end of this war a stage nearer, all honor to him,” -said the vicar in a measured tone. - -“He certainly hopes to do that. He says that his committee of Allied -scientists, which sits every day in Whitehall, is already applying -Murdwell’s Law to good purpose. It has every hope of finding a formula, -sooner or later, which will put the Central Empires permanently out of -business.” - -“Really!” said the vicar. - -“He says that so awful are the potentialities of self-destruction -inherent in Murdwell’s Law that future wars may involve the planet, -Earth, in cosmic suicide.” - -“Really!” said the vicar. - -“He says that science sees already that warfare cannot remain in its -present phase. Moreover, at the present moment it is an interesting -speculation as to which side can first carry it a step further. Enemy -scientists are already groping in the direction of the new light. -They will soon have their own private version of Murdwell’s Law; they -know already the forces latent in it. If we are the first to find the -formula we may be able to say a long farewell to the Wilhelmstrasse, -and even to deep, strong, patient Germany herself. And if they find -it first it may be a case of ‘Good-by, Leicester Square,’ because the -first intimation the world may have is that there is a small island -missing in Europe.” - -“Really!” said the vicar. - -“It sounds fantastic. But there is not the slightest doubt that -Murdwell’s Law opens up a mental vista which simply beggars -imagination. And there is no doubt, in the opinion of its discoverer, -that by its means Man will get into touch with unknown elements capable -of sealing the doom of the group of things to which he belongs.” - -“We’ll hope not,” said the vicar. “At any rate, if that is so, it seems -to me that Murdwell’s Law impinges upon the order of divine providence.” - -“There we enter upon the greatest of all questions. Just now all creeds -are asking: What is Man’s relation to God and the universe? Theology -has one interpretation, science another. Which is right? Philosophy -says that each has a glimpse of the truth, yet it is now inclined -to believe that we have touched a new stratum which literally turns -all previous theories inside out. Of course, it is not so new as it -seems. Plato reached similar conclusions by a different road, but the -world of empirical science has hitherto been content to regard them as -brilliant but fantastic speculations. Gazelee Payne Murdwell claims to -have brought them within the region of hard fact; he says science and -philosophy are already half converted to his view. We enter a new era -of the world’s history in consequence, and very amazing manifestations -are promised us.” - -“Whatever they may be,” said the vicar stoutly, “I will not allow -myself to believe that Man can abrogate the functions of the Deity.” - -“But what are the functions of the Deity? Would you say it was the -exercise of those functions which saved Paris from being blown to -pieces by the Hun?” - -“Undoubtedly!” - -“And yet permitted him to sink the _Lusitania_?’ - -“Undoubtedly. Don’t let us presume to question that God had a reason -for his attitude in both cases.” - -“Well, in my view I am bound to say that T. N. T. and the U-boat -abrogate the functions of the Deity in their humble way, just as -surely as Murdwell’s Law may expect to do in a higher one. However, -discussion is useless. We shall never agree. But if on Wednesday you -can persuade Professor Murdwell to talk, you may hear strange things.” - -“No doubt he exaggerates,” said the vicar robustly. “It’s the way of -these inventive geniuses. On the other hand, should it seem good to the -Divine Providence to destroy all the inhabitants of this wicked planet, -let the will of God prevail. But in any case, my dear fellow, I hope -you will not allow the ideas of the American to excite you.” - -“They are far from doing that, but it was very civil of a man like -Murdwell to take the trouble to come and see a man who couldn’t go and -see him. He is one of the forces of the modern world, and in the near -future he will be the problem for the human race.” - -“It may be so,” said the vicar. “I know nothing of science. But to -return to this problem of John Smith. Shall we say Birdwood Thompson? -Parker is waiting to know?” - -“As you please,” said Brandon in a voice of sudden exhaustion. - -“Very well. I’ll telegraph. We must be scrupulously fair in the matter. -And now let us dismiss an unprofitable subject. I’m afraid you have -been talking too much.” - -“A little too much, I’m afraid,” said Brandon rather feebly. - -“Well, good-by, my dear fellow,” said the vicar heartily. “And forget -all about this tiresome business. It doesn’t in any way concern you if -only you could think so. Whatever happens, the man will be treated with -every consideration. As for Professor Murdwell, I’m afraid he draws the -long bow. These brilliant men of science always do. Good-by. And as I -go out I’ll ask the nurse to come to you.” - - - - -XX - - -IN the meantime in Dr. Joliffe’s summerhouse the pipe of peace was -being smoked. Dr. Joliffe’s cigars had a virtue of their own, and Dr. -Parker, who was no mean judge of such things, had rather weakly allowed -the flesh to conquer. Joliffe was a perverse fellow, but even he, -apparently, was not quite impossible. His cigars somehow just saved him. - -The third whiff of an excellent Corona suddenly transformed Dr. Parker -into a man of the world. - -“The fact is,” said he, “our friend here, like all country parsons who -have been too long in one place, is a bit too dogmatic.” - -An answering twinkle came into the eye of Dr. Joliffe. Somehow the -admission seemed to clear the air considerably. - -“He wants humoring.” - -“No doubt. But this poor chap is as harmless as I am.” - -“A good deal more harmless than you are Joliffe. But you know the sort -of man we have to deal with. And after all old Henny-Penny’s quite -right--in war time. You see this chap is not pulling his weight in -the boat. He’s a bad example. Our parson is rather down on him no -doubt; still, in the circumstances, he’s quite right to bring him under -control.” - -“You think so?” - -“It can do no harm at any rate.” - -“But, you see, it’s going to upset the squire. And he’s such a good -chap that it seems a pity.” - -“Well, it’s no use trying to please everyone.” - -“Quite so.” - -“Why not certify the fellow and have done with it?” - -“I can’t, after what I said to Brandon.” - -“Tell me, Joliffe, why does Brandon take such an interest in him?” - -“Nay,” said Joliffe, “that’s more than I can fathom.” - -“Do you think his mind has been affected by Gallipoli?” - -“They seem to think so.” - -“Do you?” - -“I seem to notice a change coming over him. But it’s so very gradual -that one can hardly say what it may be.” - -“At any rate it is not a good sign for a man like Brandon to be -wrapped up in such a fellow as John Smith.” - -“There I entirely agree,” said Joliffe. “And to my mind that is the -worst feature of the whole affair.” - -The two doctors exchanged their views at considerable length. And -when the vicar returned from Hart’s Ghyll, after an absence of more -than an hour, he found the moral temperature much more equable. In -fact the lion and the lamb were lying down together. Moreover, he had -only to make known his own proposal that Murfin and Moriarty should -be superseded in favor of Birdwood Thompson for this course to be -acceptable to both. Dr. Joliffe at once led his visitors to his study, -in order that a letter might be drawn up for the purpose of summoning -the eminent specialist. - -It took some little time for this task to be performed. There were -niceties of professional phrasing to consider; also the nature of the -case called for a certain amount of discreet description. At last the -letter was written, and then Dr. Parker was reminded by the sight of -his car, which had come round from the vicarage, that he was urgently -due elsewhere. - - - - -XXI - - -PRESSED for time, Dr. Parker fled. But he took the letter with him in -order that he might post it in Brombridge, and so insure its earlier -delivery in London. As soon as Dr. Parker had gone the vicar made -a survey of the elements, and then set off at his best pace on a -ten-minute walk to his house. - -In doing this he knew that he ran the risk of a soaking. Storm clouds -which had hovered all the afternoon were now massed overhead. Hardly -had he entered the village street, when he perceived large drops of -rain. But in his present frame of mind he did not feel like staying a -moment longer under Joliffe’s roof than he could help. He was still -seething within. He was still marveling at the crassness of certain of -his fellow creatures. The open defection of one whom he had counted a -sure ally was very hard to forgive. - -However, by the time he had reached the edge of the common he realized -that he was in a fair way of being drenched to the skin; moreover the -rainstorms of the district, though often of great severity, did not -last long as a rule. - -Near by was a thicket of well-grown trees, which at once lured the -vicar to accept their protection. As he crept under the branches -there came a play of lightning, followed by thunder in a series of -deafening crashes. Devoutly thankful that he had had the wit to gain -shelter he crouched low, turned up his coat collar and looked out at -the rain descending in a sheet. A hundred yards or so away, an old, -white-aproned village woman, very thinly clad, was struggling toward -her cottage. As she came near the priest’s stone in the middle of the -village green, a man without a hat, and no better protected from the -storm than herself, suddenly sprang up before her. In an instant he had -taken off his coat and placed it round her shoulders. - -The old woman went slowly on toward her cottage, while the man stood -coatless in the rain. It did not seem to cause him any concern, he -seemed, in fact, almost to welcome the storm, as he stood erect in its -midst, the elements beating upon him, the thunder rolling over his -head. And the vicar, peering from his shelter, thought that once or -twice his right hand was raised as if he were in the act of speaking to -heaven. - -The man was John Smith. The vicar was amazed; such sheer insensibility -to what was going on around was uncanny. Bareheaded, coatless, drenched -to the skin, the man scorned the shelter so close at hand. The first -thought that passed through the vicar’s mind was one of pity for the -man’s physical and mental state. But hard upon that emotion came regret -that the stubborn Joliffe was not also a spectator of the scene. Any -doubts he still held as to the man’s sanity must surely have been -dispelled. - -A great wind began to roam the upper air. The lightning grew more -vivid, the thunder louder, the weight of rain still heavier. The vicar -crouched against the bole of the best tree. And as he did so, his -thoughts somehow passed from the poor, demented figure of fantasy still -before his eyes, to those overwhelming forces of nature in which they -were both at that minute engulfed. - -Intellectually the vicar was a very modest man. Sometimes, it is true, -he had been tempted to ask himself poignant questions. But he had never -presumed to give an independent answer of his own. For him the solution -of the central mystery of man’s relation to the forces around him was -comprised in the word “Faith.” - -But now that he was the witness of poor John Smith’s dementia, the -sense of human futility recurred to him. It needed a power of Faith -to relate that drenched scarecrow, a mere insect upon whom Nature was -wreaking a boundless will, to the cosmic march and profluence. For a -moment the vicar was almost tempted to deny the still, small voice -within and submit entirely to the judgment of the senses. His eyes, -his ears, his sense of touch assured him that the poor madman out in -the rain was lost in the sum of things. What relation could he have -to those majestic powers by whom he was buffeted? Surely that lone, -hapless figure was the symbol of Man himself. - -And yet the act of devotion the man had just performed must have a -meaning. It was a mystery within a mystery. Of whom had this poor -blasphemer learned that trick; by what divine license did he practice -it? For nearly half an hour it continued to rain pitilessly, and during -that time the vicar searched and questioned his heart in regard to the -man before him. At last the storm subsided; he came out of his shelter -and went thoughtfully home. But in bed that night, when he closed his -eyes and tried to sleep, he found the image of John Smith printed -inside his eyelids. - - - - -XXII - - -THE next morning, when John Smith called as usual at Hart’s Ghyll with -his bunch of flowers, he was allowed once more to see his friend. The -stricken man received him in the library with the most affectionate -intimacy. - -“My dear, dear fellow,” he said, “how good it is to see you. You bring -the light of the sun to this room whenever you enter it.” - -The visitor took Brandon’s hand with the caressing touch of a woman. -“Dear friend,” he said, “I always pray that the light may accompany me -wherever I go.” - -The simplicity of the man, which it would have been easy to misread, -had now, as always, a strange effect upon Brandon. And yet he was -heart-sore and miserable. The weight of sorrow now upon him seemed to -transcend all his other sufferings. A cruel sense of the futility of -his terrible sacrifice had overtaken him. What proof was there that -it had not been in vain? After all, what hope could there be for the -future of men; what was there to expect from a purblind, material -world? He was now in the throes of a cruel reaction. Somehow his talk -with the vicar had struck at his faith in his own kind. - -He took no comfort from the thought that Mr. Perry-Hennington was a -profoundly stupid man. Turning his mind back, he saw the parson of -Penfold as the spiritual guide of the race of average men, of a race -which allowed itself to be governed by the daily newspaper, which in -one feverish hour threw away the liberties it had cost its father -hundreds of years to win. Prussia was being met with Prussia, Baal with -the image of Baal. - -Throughout a wakeful night, that had been the thought in Brandon’s -heart. Behind all the swelling heroics and the turgid phrases of -organized opinion, was this Frankenstein monster. The world was moving -in a vicious circle. The public press had somehow managed to recreate -what it had set out to destroy. The question for Brandon now was, had -he been the victim of a chimera? In the course of a long night of -bitterness, the thought had taken root in him that all the blood and -tears humanity was shedding would merely fix the shackles more cruelly -on generations yet unborn. - -This morning Brandon saw no hope for the ill-starred race of men. Hour -by hour his fever-tinged thoughts had flown to one for whom he had -conceived an emotion of the highest and purest friendship, to one whom -his fellows were seeking a means to destroy. - -“I have been wondering,” said Brandon, “whether you will consent to -have your poem published? I know you are shy of print, but this is a -rare jewel, the heritage of the whole world.” - -“Don’t let us talk of it just now.” There was a shadow upon the -eloquent face. “I have need of guidance. My poem, such as it is, is but -one aspect of a great matter. I pray that I may find a more universal -one.” - -Brandon dissembled his surprise, but he could not bridle his curiosity. -“Your poem _is_ a great matter,” he said. “To me it is wonderful. You -call it ‘The Door.’ Why not let all the world pass through?” - -“Such is my task, but I do not know that it can be fulfilled by the -printed word. There may be a surer way. The question I have to ask -myself is, can I do the Father’s will more worthily? By prayer and -fasting perhaps I may.” - -“But the thing is so perfect. Why gild the lily?” - -“It is only one of many keys, dear friend. It is not the Door itself. -It is no more than a stage in a long, long pilgrimage; no more than a -means to the mighty end that has been laid upon me.” - -Brandon, however, had set his heart upon the poem’s publication. To him -it was a perfect thing. Moreover, he saw in it a vindication of its -author, a noble answer to those who were conspiring to destroy him. - -Strangely, however, John was not to be moved from his resolve. And more -strangely still, as it seemed to Brandon, intimations had come to him -already of the terrible fate that was about to overtake him. “It has -been communicated to me that I am about to be called to a great trial,” -were the words he used. - -Brandon, sick at heart, had hardly the courage to seek an explanation. -“You--you have been told that?” He scanned anxiously the face of the -man at his side. - -“Yes,” was the answer. “The inner voice spoke to me last evening. I -don’t know when the blow will fall, or what fate awaits me, but a sword -hangs by a single hair above my head.” - -“And--and you are not afraid?” To Brandon this calmness was almost -superhuman. - -“I am not afraid. The souls of the just are in the hands of God. And -I ask you, my dear friend, to share my faith. You are one of two -witnesses to whom I have been allowed to reveal myself. The other is -an old woman who can no longer work with her hands. You have long given -her a roof for her head, and I have kept a loaf in her cupboard and -found her fire in the winter. But there is only the poorhouse for her -when I am taken, and I think she fears it.” - -“Whatever happens, that shall not be her fate.” - -“I will not thank so good a man. But it is your due that you should -know this.” - -“It is my great privilege. Is there any other way in which I may hope -to be of use?” - -“At the moment, none.” John Smith laid his hand on the arm of the -stricken man with a gesture of mingled pity and solicitude. “But a time -is surely coming when a heavy tax will be laid upon your friendship.” - -“I cannot tell you how I shall welcome it.” As Brandon spoke he gazed -upward to the eyes of the man who bent over him. As he met those -large-pupiled orbs, a curious thrill passed through his frame. In the -sudden sweep of his emotion was an odd sense of awe. - -“I foresee, dear friend, that you are about to be called to a hero’s -task.” The soft, low voice seemed to strike through Brandon as he lay. - -“Whatever it may be, I accept it joyfully. In the meantime I can only -pray that I may stand worthy in the day of trial.” - -“Of that there can be no doubt--if you will always remember that one -unconverted believer may save the whole world.” - -For many days to come these cryptic words were to puzzle Brandon, and -to linger in his ears. But in the moment of their utterance he could -seek no elucidation. His whole soul was melted by a sense of awe. It -was as if a new, unknown power was beginning to enfold him. - -John Smith kissed Brandon gravely on the forehead and then went away. -The stricken man was left in a state of bewildered perplexity. And a -heavier load of misery was now upon him than any he had known. A rare, -exquisite thing had been revealed to him in a miraculous way. It was -about to suffer a cruel fate, and he had not the power to save it. - - - - -XXIII - - -BRANDON was still brooding over a tragedy he could not avert when a -nurse came into the room. She was a practical, vigorous creature, plain -and clean of mind, and after a single shrewd glance at the patient she -proceeded to take his temperature with a clinical thermometer. - -“Just as I thought.” An ominous head was shaken. “That man always has -a bad effect upon you. I shall have to forbid him seeing you in the -future.” - -“What nonsense!” said Brandon. - -“This speaks for itself.” The nurse held up the thermometer. “He always -puts you up to a hundred. You are nearly a hundred and one now, and -you’ll have to go to bed and stay there until you are down a bit.” - -It was vain for Brandon to desist. He was at the mercy of Olympians who -did not hesitate to misuse their powers. He was whisked off to bed like -a naughty child, and the privilege of a further talk with John Smith -was withdrawn indefinitely. He protested strongly to the nurse and -bitterly to his wife, but he was told that it would not be safe to see -the young man again until he could do so without playing tricks with -his temperature. - -Brandon fumed in durance for the rest of the day. The patience which -had borne him through all his trials threatened to desert him now. He -was tormented with the thought of his own helplessness. The recent -visit had moved Brandon to the very depths of his being, and the -longing to help John Smith escape the coil that fate was weaving now -burnt in his veins a living fire. As he lay helpless and overwrought, -on the verge of fever, the stupidities of the little world around him -were magnified into a crime for which humanity itself would have to pay. - -The next morning, Wednesday, at eleven o’clock came Dr. Joliffe. The -higher medical science had begun to despair of ever restoring to -Brandon the use of his limbs, and he was now in the sole care of his -local attendant, who came to see him every other day. - -Dr. Joliffe found the patient still keeping his bed by the orders of -the nurse. In the course of an uncomfortable night he had slept little, -and his temperature was still a matter for concern. Moreover, not the -nurse alone, but Mrs. Brandon also, had already delivered themselves -vehemently on the subject of John Smith. - -For one reason or another Dr. Joliffe would have been very willing -just now to consign John Smith to limbo. Nor was this desire made -less when the patient, after being duly examined, reported upon, and -admonished, requested the nurse to withdraw from the room in order that -he might talk with the doctor privately. - -Joliffe knew well enough what was coming. And he would have done much -to avoid further contact with a most unhappy subject, from which -consequences were flowing of an ever-increasing embarrassment. But -there was no means of escape. For Brandon, the subject of John Smith -had become almost an obsession; a fact which the doctor had begun to -realize to his cost. - -“What steps have been taken?” Brandon began as soon as they were free -of the nurse’s presence. - -“Steps?” Joliffe fenced a little. - -“In regard to John Smith.” There was a sudden excitement in the bright -eyes. “He’s in my mind night and day. I can’t bear the thought that he -should be destroyed.” - -“I’m sorry to say that Birdwood Thompson can’t come here.” The -professional voice was dulcet and disarming. “He’s in a very bad state -of health and giving up practice. His second boy went down on the -_Victorious_, and his eldest was killed the other day in France, so I -suppose that may have something to do with it.” - -“Well, what is being done?” - -“As you ask the question,” was the cautious reply, “we have agreed upon -Murfin. Personally, I don’t think he’s as good as Moriarty or the other -man, but we wrote to him in order to save trouble.” - -“In order to save trouble!” Brandon gasped. “Save trouble in a matter -of this kind?” - -“Certainly. And we are all of us very anxious that you should not worry -over it any more.” - -“But--don’t you see--what a terrible thing it is?” - -“Not exactly terrible.” Dr. Joliffe spoke gravely but cheerfully. -“Quite an everyday occurrence, you know, if one looks at it in the -right way.” - -“An everyday occurrence--if--one--looks--at--it--in--the right way!” - -“Undoubtedly. Cases of this kind are always arising. Whatever view one -may take of the man, he is certainly on the border line; therefore, -whether he’s certified or not is merely a question of expediency. And -what I have to point out to you is that in the last resort, as the -world is just now, with all these public safeguards in operation the -final decision will be taken by the authorities.” - -“How cruel!” said Brandon, with growing excitement. - -“Not necessarily cruel,” said Dr. Joliffe in a mellifluous tone. - -“To think of our local _Shallows_ sitting in judgment on the first -spirit of the age!” - -“The irony of circumstances.” - -“No.” Brandon’s eyes were hectic. “It takes more than two thousand -years to change the world. An old story is being retold with a few -modern improvements. I see that. But, Joliffe, I believe you to be -a just man, and I count on your help. For the love we both bear the -Republic, I want you to put up a fight for John Smith.” - -“There, my dear fellow, calm yourself,” said the doctor soothingly. “I -will undertake to see that no injustice is done in the matter.” - -“In other words, that he is not molested.” - -“That is beyond my power, because, as I say, the Bench will move if we -don’t.” - -“Then leave it to them to take the first step. And in the meantime -we’ll get legal advice.” - -“Murfin comes down on Friday.” - -“Easy to stop him.” - -“The vicar won’t consent to that, I’m afraid.” - -“No, I suppose not. But if you love this country you will do your best -to restrain a profoundly stupid man.” - -Plain, common-sensible Dr. Joliffe thought the line of argument a -little high-flown, and said so in a tone of scrupulous kindness. - -“I don’t overstate,” said Brandon. “Let me explain my meaning. The -Republic is rising to a height of moral grandeur that few would have -dared to prophesy for her. But as always, there is a flaw in her armor. -The enemies of the light are seeking it, and if they should find it -there is absolutely nothing between this world and barbarism.” - -“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Dr. Joliffe shook a grave head. - -“I can tell you that she is about to treat her most august citizen as -Rome, her great prototype, treated Another.” - -Dr. Joliffe continued to shake his head. Not only was he puzzled, he -was rather distressed by such an extravagant statement. “How I wish I -could get your mind off this subject!” he said. - -“You must not hope to do that,” said Brandon. “It is decreed that I -should lie supine, a helpless log, while night and day my brain is -turned into a weaver’s shuttle. I can do nothing, yet I somehow feel -that the high gods have called me to do everything. This man has no -other friend, and it is for that reason, Joliffe, that I ask you to -stand my proxy in his defense.” - -“But I assure you no defense is possible,” said Joliffe, with a feeling -of growing distress. - -“Let us brief counsel.” - -“No purpose will be served. As you know, the vicar is a most stubborn -man. And if he doesn’t succeed one way he will another. If we doctors -are obdurate he will turn to the Bench, and if the Bench won’t oblige -he’ll have recourse to the military.” - -“It hardly seems credible.” - -“I agree. But that’s the man. And the worst of it is that from his own -point of view in a time like the present he may be perfectly right.” - -“I refuse to believe that he can be right at any time.” - -“But surely, a man who sides openly with the enemy ought not to be at -large.” - -“Has he gone beyond what Jesus would have done in such circumstances?” - -“Hardly a practical analogy, I’m afraid. In any case, John Smith is -not Jesus, even if his half-witted old mother may think so. The law is -bound to regard him as a crack-brained rustic, and in my humble opinion -anyone who tries to persuade it that the poor fellow is anything else, -will be very unwise.” - -“In other words you decline your help?” - -“Only because,” said Dr. Joliffe, “I now see the hopelessness of -the position. Knowing John Smith as I do, I consider that Mr. -Perry-Hennington has made a mountain out of a molehill. Of course he’s -a fanatic on the subject, but the poor, feckless chap is amenable to -the law as it exists at present, and he has no means of escape. It -will be far wiser, believe me, to accept the inevitable. All that his -friends can hope to do is to make things as comfortable for him as -possible.” - -“That shall be done at any rate,” said Brandon. “It is -Perry-Hennington’s intention, I presume, to have him sent to the county -asylum.” - -“It is the only place for him, I’m afraid. But, of course, even there -he will be extremely well treated.” - -“I don’t question that, but assuming it to be his destination, I should -like him to live in comfort and dignity. Wouldn’t it be possible for -him to go to some such place as Wellwood Sanatorium?” - -“Well, of course,” said Dr. Joliffe, “that is almost a question of -ways and means. Wellwood is an ideal place for the poor fellow. But of -course it is out of the question.” - -“Why?” - -“The expense.” - -“No matter what it may be,” said Brandon, “I shall be only too happy to -bear it.” - -“It will not be less than five hundred a year.” - -“If it were twice as much I should count it a high privilege to be -allowed to do that for him.” - -Dr. Joliffe shook the head of a prudent man over this piece of -quixotism. “Very generous of you,” he said, “but they look after their -patients so extraordinarily well at Broad Hill, that I am sure this -expense is quite unnecessary.” - -Brandon, however, stuck to his plan. - -He had now made up his mind that if the worst happened, Wellwood should -be the home of John Smith. - -“Very well.” Dr. Joliffe saw that a purposeless opposition could do -no good. “If the necessity arises it shall be arranged for him to go -there. And now I want you to forget all about this miserable matter. -Dismiss it entirely from your thoughts.” - -“Impossible,” said Brandon. “We are deliberately closing the Door.” - -“Closing the door?” - -“For the human race.” - -The doctor looked sadly, uncomprehendingly at his patient. “I don’t -understand,” he said. - -“Of course you don’t, my dear friend. It is not to be expected that -you should. And at present I can’t enlighten you.” - -Dr. Joliffe shook a rather ominous head. Brandon was a mass of morbid -fancies and illusions; and the doctor was very far indeed from being -satisfied with the state in which he found him. He felt it to be his -duty to give a little serious admonition, and then he withdrew from the -room. The nurse was waiting in the dressing room adjoining, and to her -he confided certain misgivings. The patient must stay in bed, he must -not read, he must avoid all things likely to cause worry or excitement. -And beyond everything else his mind must be kept from the subject of -John Smith. - - - - -XXIV - - -IN the evening of the same day the vicar dined at Longwood. Edith -accompanied him. Mr. Murdwell had the forethought to send a car for his -guests, so that a mile journey on a wet night was made _en prince_. - -Mr. Perry-Hennington was not in a mood for dining out. A certain matter -was still in abeyance, and it seemed to hang over him like a cloud. He -felt it was weak and illogical to allow such an affair, which was one -of simple duty, to disturb him. But somehow he was far more upset by it -than he cared to own. - -Fortunately, the evening made no great demand upon the guests. Indeed, -it proved to be an agreeable relaxation. There was nothing in the -nature of a party, a fact of which the vicar had been expressly -apprised beforehand; five people, to wit; Mr. Murdwell, his wife and -daughter, Edith and himself. - -Mr. Perry-Hennington was well able to appreciate a good dinner. And -in spite of his present rather disgruntled state, he did not remember -ever to have had a better in the course of many years of dining out. -The perfection of Parisian cooking allied to dry champagne was without -a suspicion of war time economy; and though the lavishness of the menu -did not march with the vicar’s recent pronouncements, it was hardly -possible to rebuke it in the present case. Besides, these people were -American; their wealth was said to be beyond the dreams of avarice; and -to judge by the frame in which they were set, there seemed to be little -need for them to economize in anything. - -The vicar confided to Edith afterward that he had found their -new neighbors “most entertaining.” And this was strictly true. -Intellectually he was not quite so ossified as his theological outfit -made him appear. Behind the arrogance, the dogmatism, the closed mind, -was a certain shrewd man-of-the-worldliness, conceived on broad and -genial lines, which is seldom lacking in the English upper class. And -of that class Mr. Perry-Hennington was not an unworthy specimen. He -could tell a story with anyone; he knew, had known, and was connected -with many persons whom the world regards as interesting; he was -traveled, sociable, distinguished in manner, and the impression he made -upon his host and upon his hostess more particularly--which after all -was the more important matter--was decidedly favorable. - -Mr. Murdwell was a man of international reputation, though sprung from -quite small beginnings in his native Ohio. And behind the sophisticated -naïveté of Jooly his wife, and Bud his daughter, was a well-marked -tendency to think in dukes and duchesses. They had known them on the -Riviera, had studied them in hotels and country houses in divers lands, -and there was little doubt that sooner or later Bud would burgeon into -a princess. - -The _famille_ Murdwell had traveled far in a very short time. Its rise -had been one of the romances of scientific and social America. The -genius of Murdwell _père_, to which the whole world was now paying -tribute, had, among many other things, raised a palace on Fifth Avenue, -acquired property on Long Island, and a villa in Italy. To these was -now added an English country house “for the duration of the war.” - -This was the first appearance of the Murdwell ladies in the United -Kingdom, and they were immensely interested in it. They had only been -three months in the country and everything was new. Hitherto their -knowledge of it had been based on the Englishman abroad, the reports -of travelers, and the national output of fiction. As a consequence, -they frankly owned that they had rather underrated it. So far they had -been agreeably surprised to find it not altogether a one-horse affair. -It is true they had arrived in the island at an exceptional time, but -somehow it was more a going concern than they had been led to expect. - -For instance, when they were told that the local parson and his -daughter were coming to dinner, they had good-humoredly resigned -themselves to an evening of acute boredom. But one of the social -peculiarities of England, as far as they had seen it at present, -was that things are always just a bit better than you look for--the -evening, when it came, was really so much more entertaining than a -similar function would have been in Kentucky, which they took as the -equivalent for Sussex. - -On sight, the meager, high-shouldered, rather frumpish, rather myopic -Miss Thing, with the double-barreled name and the tortoise-shell -spectacles, which she wore with effect, promised to be all that the -lawless fancy of Bud and Jooly had painted her. But that was a first -view. By the time dinner was over they had found things in common with -her, and before the evening was out they were more inclined to sit -at her feet than she was to sit at theirs. Their wonderful food and -wine, their clothes and their surroundings, Bud’s pearls and Jooly’s -diamonds, and their talk of Prince This and the Marquis So-and-So -seemed to have not the slightest effect upon her. She took everything, -Bud and Jooly included, so very much for granted, that their curiosity -was piqued. Her dress was worth about a shilling a yard, her hair -was done anyhow, her features did not conform to their idea of the -beautiful, yet she was not in the least parochial, and both ladies -agreed, that had you searched America from the east coast to the west -it would have been hard to find anything quite like her. - -The vicar puzzled them even more. They were not able to range him at -all. Perhaps the thing which impressed them most was “that he didn’t -show his goods in the window.” - -Indeed, this fact may have struck Mr. Murdwell himself. For as soon -as the meal was under way he began to discuss, with a frankness and -a humor to which his guests didn’t in the least object, the English -custom of “not showing their goods in the window.” - -“And a very bad one, too,” said Mr. Murdwell, raising his glass. “To my -mind it’s one of the reasons that’s brought this war about.” - -The vicar asked for enlightenment. - -“If your diplomacy had said: ‘Now look here, Fritz, old friend, if you -don’t try to be a little gentleman and keep that torch away from the -powder keg you’ll find big trouble,’ you wouldn’t have had to send for -me to put the Central Empires out of business.” - -“Nothing could have prevented this war,” said the vicar in a deep tone. -“It was inevitable.” - -“I am not sure that we shall agree about that,” said Mr. Murdwell -coolly. “If you had let them know the strength of your hand they would -never have dared to raise you.” - -The vicar shook his head in strong dissent. - -“This trouble goes back some way,” said Mr. Murdwell. “It was in the -sixties that you first took to giving people the impression that they -could make doormats of you. And then came the Alabama arbitration -business in which you curled up at our big talk. We said, ‘England’s a -dud,’ and we’ve been saying it ever since. And why? Because like friend -Fritz and all the rest of the push, in diplomacy we take moderation for -weakness.” - -“Would you have our diplomacy always in shining armor?” said the vicar. - -“No I wouldn’t. But there’s the golden mean. Think of the way you let -Bismarck put his thumb to his nose.” - -“But that’s an old story.” - -“The historian of the future will have to tell it, though. It seems to -me that the world has a pretty strong complaint against you. You’ve -underplayed your hand a bit too much. If you had been the Kingpin of -Europe, as you ought to have been, and kept the other scholars in their -places, things might have been different.” - -This airy dogmatism amused the vicar. But in most other people it would -have annoyed him extremely. - -“Of course I can’t agree,” he said mildly. “I am glad to say we don’t -regard this war as a material issue. For us it is a conflict between -right and wrong.” - -“Quite so,” said Mr. Murdwell. “And I’ve already figured that out for -myself and that’s why I am here. If I criticize it’s in the spirit -of friendship. In this war you’ve gone big. The fact is, you are a -bigger proposition than outsiders thought. And the longer I stay -here the sharper it bites me. Nobody knows what your resources are. -Take our neighbor at Hart’s Ghyll. When I went the other day to make -friends with him, it took my breath away to think of a man like that -volunteering as a tommy to be frizzled in Gallipoli.” - -“But why shouldn’t he,” said the vicar, “if he felt it to be his duty?” - -“As you say, why not? But it’s large--for a man like that.” - -“Surely not more so for him than for anyone else.” - -“There we shan’t agree. There’s a kind of man who can’t keep out of a -scrap wherever one happens to be going. And in these islands you’ve got -more of that sort to the square mile than anywhere else I’ve visited, -although I’ve not yet seen the Basutos. But Gervase Brandon is not of -that type. War is against every instinct that man’s got. He hates it -with every fiber of his nature.” - -“There are many thousands like him,” said the vicar; “many thousands -who have simply given their lives--and more than their lives--in a just -quarrel.” - -“I know. But the quarrel was not his, and he didn’t make it. And it was -not as if, like the Belgians, the French, and the Russians, he had the -Hun on his doorstep. It would have been quite easy for a man like that -to say: ‘Leave it to the British Navy. Sooner or later they are bound -to clear up the mess.’” - -“He was too honest to do that,” said the vicar. “He saw that a test -case had arisen between right and wrong, between God and Antichrist, -and he simply went and did his duty.” - -“Well, I can only say,” Mr. Murdwell rejoined, “that when I saw him the -other day he seemed to believe in neither.” - -“That’s because you don’t really know him. Just now, it is true, he is -in rather a disturbed state mentally. He has always had a skeptical -mind, and there have been times when I’ve been tempted to think that he -gave it too much latitude. And just now he is suffering a bad reaction -after the horrors he’s been through. And of course he has had to give -up the hope of ever walking again. But whatever the opinions of such a -man may be, it is only right and fair to judge him by his actions.” - -“Yes, he’s made a big sacrifice. And the tragedy of it is he feels now -that he’s made it in vain.” - -“His mental health is not what it might be just now, poor fellow. He -has said things to me about Prussia winning, even if she loses and so -on, which I know he cannot really believe.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because Gervase Brandon is too true an Englishman ever to doubt the -spirit of the race. He is depressed just now about a very trivial -matter. He has magnified it out of all proportion, whereas had he been -fit and well he would not have given it a second thought. No, Gervase -Brandon is not the man to despair of the Republic. He is part and -parcel of England herself, flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone.” - -“I see he’s all that. In fact he belongs to one of your first families, -with the most beautiful place on the countryside, and the _manes_ of -his ancestors, who went to the Crusades, all around him. No, I suppose -he couldn’t help doing as he did, if you come to figure it out.” - -“He was without a choice in the matter as he freely admits.” - -“And yet that man’s a highbrow of highbrows. His knowledge amazed -me--not on his own subject, of which he didn’t speak, and I didn’t -either, because I know nothing about it, but on my own--on which I -claim to know just a little more than anyone else.” - -“On the subject of Murdwell’s Law?” said the vicar with an air of keen -interest. - -But dinner was now at an end, and as the inexhaustible subject of -Murdwell’s Law was at all times a little too much for the ladies of -the house, they made good their escape before its discoverer could -hoist himself upon a theme which promised to revolutionize the world of -physical science. - - - - -XXV - - -“PLATO apart,” said Mr. Murdwell, as soon as Bud, Edith and Jooly had -fled, “or whatever our neighbor’s secret vice may be, he’s got the -strongest brain I’ve come up against lately.” - -“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” said the vicar. “Of course he’s -by way of being a scholar, a poet, an independent thinker, and all that -sort of thing, but since he’s been knocked out I’m afraid he can never -be the man he was.” - -Mr. Murdwell confessed to surprise also. “I don’t know what he may have -been,” he said, “before he went to Gallipoli; I can only say that when -I made his acquaintance the other day, it seemed a great privilege to -talk to him.” - -“Very interesting to know that,” said the vicar. - -“He’s the only layman I’ve met who could grasp, on sight, the principle -on which Murdwell’s Law depends. And more than that. When by his -request I explained to him as briefly as I could the theory of the -whole thing, he laid his finger at once on the weak link in the chain. -I could hardly believe that he hadn’t a regular scientific training, -and that he hadn’t made researches of his own into radioactivity.” - -“He probably has.” - -“He says not. And he knew nothing of my theory, but he said at once -that I had only to restate my formula to alter the nature of war -altogether.” - -“And is that true?” - -“Not a doubt of it. That’s why I’m here, and incidentally that’s why I -have such a queer-looking butler. You noticed him, no doubt?” - -The vicar had. - -“I’ll tell you a little secret. That man is one of New York’s smartest -detectives, and he never lets me out of his sight.” - -“Really!” said the vicar, drawing warily at a very large cigar. - -“You see, at present it’s a nice question whether certain people can -hand Gazelee Payne Murdwell his medicine before he hands them theirs. -That’s what it all boils down to, you know.” - -“Really!” said the vicar. - -“If Mr. Murdwell with the help of his committee of Allied scientists -can solve the problem of restating his formula in terms of atomic -energy, the near future will be full of perplexity for this planet.” - -“Do I understand,” said the vicar, drawing at his cigar, “that you are -trying some terrible experiment?” - -“You may take it that it is so. And we are already causing sleepless -nights in certain quarters. The next few years may see warfare of a -very different kind.” - -“But surely,” said the vicar, “every law, human and divine, forbids -further diabolism?” - -“Nothing is forbidden to science. It works miracles. And it is merely -at the threshold of its power.” - -“Yet, assuming, Mr. Murdwell,” said the vicar solemnly, “that your -theory is correct and that you are able to do all this, what do you -suppose will be the future of the human race?” - -Mr. Murdwell did not answer the question at once. When answer he did, -it was in a voice of much gravity. “There we come up against something -that won’t bear looking at. Strictly speaking, the human race has no -future. Unless another spirit comes into the world the human race is -doomed.” - -“Undoubtedly,” said the vicar. - -“Science can destroy organic life quicker than nature can replace it. -And what it does now is very little compared to what it may do a few -years hence.” - -“Quite so,” said the vicar. - -“The vistas opened up by Murdwell’s Law in the way of self-immolation -don’t bear thinking about. A time is coming when it may be possible to -sweep a whole continent bare of life from end to end.” - -“And that, my friend, is a logical outcome of materialism, the negation -of God.” - -“Not a doubt of it,” said Mr. Murdwell, in his dry way. “It seems to me -that some of you gentlemen in broadcloth will soon have to think about -putting in a bit of overtime.” - - - - -XXVI - - -GOING home with Edith in his host’s car, the vicar was thoughtful and -depressed. He had enjoyed his evening, he had been entertained, even -exhilarated by it, yet in a curious, subtle way it had shown him the -writing on the wall. His host was a portent. Regard as one would this -lean-faced, church-going American, he was a very sinister phenomenon. -The vicar had little or no imagination, but he saw that Mr. Murdwell’s -conclusions were inescapable. - -For the next few days, however, Mr. Perry-Hennington was not able to -give much attention to the doom of mankind. There were matters nearer -at hand. He led a busy life in his parish, and in the larger parish -of his local world. A mighty sitter on committees, a born bureaucrat, -it was hardly his fault that he was less a spiritual force than a man -of business. He was an extremely conscientious worker, never sparing -himself in the service of others, yet that service connoted the common -weal rather than the personal life. - -In the course of a week a very trying matter came to a head. While it -was maturing the vicar kept his own counsel very strictly. He did not -go near Hart’s Ghyll, nor did he mention the subject to Edith. But -one evening he dined three quarters of an hour earlier than usual, -and then as the shadows were deepening upon Ashdown he took his hat -and made his way to the common along the familiar path. As he came to -Parson’s Corner, the village name for the lane’s debouch to the green, -he stopped and looked furtively about. By the priest’s stone, still -clearly visible in the evening half-light, a slight, frail, bareheaded -figure was kneeling as if in prayer. The vicar took out his watch and -consulted it anxiously, and then he scanned all points of the compass -with an air of painful expectancy. Careful arrangements had been made -with the proper authorities and disagreeable, even repugnant as was the -whole matter, he felt it to be his duty to see them carried out. - -The shadows grew deeper upon Ashdown. At last there came a distant -crunch of gravel, and the vicar perceived a closed motor car creeping -up stealthily from the village and past the widow’s cottage. As it -came slowly toward him round the bend in the road he hailed it with -a wave of the hand. It stopped within a few yards and two burly, -sinister-looking men got out. - -“Good evening, sir,” said the foremost of these. - -Involuntarily the vicar held up a finger. - -“He’s there,” he whispered. And he pointed to the figure kneeling by -the stone. He then added in a voice of deepening emotion, “I trust you -will not use any kind of violence.” - -There was no need to do so, for it proved an extremely simple matter. -Yet one witness of it was never to forget the scene that followed. -Very cautiously the two men crept across the grass, while the vicar, -unwilling to be seen by the victim, concealed himself in a thicket near -by. From his ambush he saw the man rise to his feet at the approach of -his captors, he saw his calm, fixed look, and he heard the singular -words proceed from his lips, “Father, forgive them; for they know not -what they do.” - -A feeling of indignant horror swept through Mr. Perry-Hennington. He -could only interpret the speech as one more atrocious blasphemy, for he -had caught the strange upward look, as if to the God in the sky, which -had accompanied the words. Somehow the gesture had revolted him, yet -in another in such circumstances it would have been sublime. And the -almost beautiful humility of the man walking passively between his -captors through the summer twilight to his doom, with such words on his -lips, such thoughts in his heart, filled the vicar with an odd conflict -of sensations. - -The man entered the car with the same curious air of submission. From -his ambush the vicar watched it turn and go swiftly away, past the -widow’s cottage; and then faint of soul, but sustained by a sense of -duty, he walked slowly down the road as far as Mrs. Bent’s. To that -simple dame, who opened the door to his knock, he said: “Kindly tell -your neighbor, Mrs. Smith, that John may be late for his supper, and -that if he is not home by ten o’clock he may not return tonight.” - -Anxiously pondering whether he had taken the wisest and gentlest means -of breaking the news to an invalid woman, Mr. Perry-Hennington returned -to the vicarage. He passed a wakeful and unhappy night, in which he was -troubled by many things; and at luncheon next day, in the course of a -scene with Edith they gained intensity. - -“Did you know, father,” she said in a tone of acute distress, “that -John Smith was removed last evening without the slightest warning?” - -The vicar admitted that he was aware of the fact. - -“And do you know,” said Edith, in a voice of growing emotion, “that -the shock killed his mother?” - -“Killed his mother!” Mr. Perry-Hennington heard that news for the first -time. “The old lady is dead!” - -“She died last night.” - -The vicar was much upset. He did not speak for some time, but at last -he said: “Someone has blundered. I warned her neighbor, Mrs. Bent, to -be particularly careful how she broke the news to her. I was at pains -to choose Mrs. Bent, a sensible woman whom I thought I could trust. I -felt the shock would be less if the news came from a neighbor instead -of from me. But I see”--bitterness mingled now with the concern in the -vicar’s tone--“that it would have been far wiser had I taken the whole -responsibility upon myself.” - -“I’m not sure that it would,” said Edith. “Mrs. Bent says the poor -thing knew what had happened without being told.” - -“She couldn’t have known anything of the kind. That’s quite impossible. -Every precaution was taken to spare her a shock. I saw to it myself -that all the arrangements were properly carried out. Last evening at -dusk a car with two attendants from Wellwood Sanatorium drove up to the -common, popped the poor fellow inside and took him away without a soul -in the village being the wiser. I was there and saw the thing done. -It went without a hitch. No one was by, that I will swear to. And then -I went to Mrs. Bent and I said: ‘Kindly tell Mrs. Smith that John may -be late for his supper, and that if he is not home by ten o’clock he -may not return tonight.’ Not another word was said. Ever since I got -the magistrates’ order I have given the matter anxious consideration. -The details of the plan were most carefully thought out in order to -spare the poor old woman as much as possible, and to defeat public -curiosity. Moreover, I am quite sure that unless Mrs. Bent exceeded her -instructions, which is hardly likely to have been the case, the poor -old thing could not have died from shock.” - -“Mrs. Bent’s own version,” said Edith, “is that as soon as she entered -the cottage and before she spoke a word, Mrs. Smith said to her: -‘Neighbor, you’ve come to tell me that they’ve taken my son. I shall -never see him again this side the Resurrection. But I am not afraid. -The God of Righteousness has promised to take care of me.’ Mrs. Bent -was quite astonished. She didn’t know what was meant.” - -“How _could_ Mrs. Smith have known? Who could have told her?” - -“She said to Mrs. Bent that God Himself had appeared to her. Mrs. Bent -saw that she was sinking even then. Dr. Joliffe was sent for at once, -but before he could get there Mrs. Smith was dead.” - -The vicar was deeply moved by the tragic story. It was a sequel which -he had not been able to foresee. The swiftness of the stroke in a -measure softened the terrible sense of direct responsibility; none the -less he was much upset. - -As for Edith, the sequence of events had filled her with an emotion -little short of horror. It was in her voice and her eyes as she now -discussed them. A feeling of intolerable pain came upon her as she -realized what a very important part in the tragedy she had played. It -was her complaint against John Smith which lay at the root of all. - -Father and daughter were very unhappy. Edith was inclined to blame -herself more than she blamed the vicar. Her loyal nature was capable of -great generosity, and it showed itself now in taking the chief share of -the catastrophe upon herself. She was bound to believe that her father -had taken a greatly exaggerated view of John Smith’s heresies, but his -sincerity was beyond question. The vicar’s zeal had wrought irreparable -harm, but knowing him for the man he was, it was impossible to blame -him. - -As soon as luncheon was over the vicar set out for Dr. Joliffe’s. He -was a man of strong, imperious will, and in this sudden flux of events -he felt called to exercise it to the full. Had he done right? In spite -of a limited horizon, in spite of a fixed determination not to allow -himself a doubt in the matter, he was unable to prevent a sinister -little demon leaping into his brain as he crossed the village green, -and saw on the one hand a deserted pile of stone, on the other the -lowered blinds of the widow’s cottage. - -It was futile to ask the question now. He could not call the dead -to life. Nor could he revoke the processes of the law. John Smith -was under lock and key at Wellwood Asylum for the good of the state. -Armed with the opinion of Dr. Parker and Dr. Murfin, a Welbeck Street -specialist, it had not been a difficult matter to convince the county -bench that the realm would be the safer for a measure so drastic. But -was it? All the vicar’s power of will was needed to allay the horrid -demon voice. In fact he had not quite succeeded by the time he entered -Dr. Joliffe’s gate. - -As was to be expected, Joliffe had scant consolation to offer. “_Tu -l’as voulu, Georges Dandin_,” was his attitude. The vicar had shown -himself an obstinate, narrow man, and even if absolute sincerity and -transparent honesty formed his excuse, somehow it was not an easy one -to accept. - -“Pity you didn’t take advice,” Joliffe ventured to remark. - -“I don’t reproach myself,” said the vicar stiffly. “It had to be done. -The public interest called for it. But I wish that old woman could have -been spared the shock. Every precaution was taken, the removal was most -carefully planned, the whole thing went without a hitch. I can’t think -how the news got out.” - -Dr. Joliffe confessed that he was equally at a loss. He had questioned -Mrs. Bent closely upon the matter, and she had declared that John’s -mother had said that God had told her something terrible was going to -happen to her son. He had told her also that they were about to be -parted, and that she would never see him again in her present life. - -“An amazing prepossession,” said the vicar. - -Dr. Joliffe was inclined to consider it a remarkable piece of -clairvoyance. - -“I was not aware that she laid claim to powers of that kind,” said the -vicar. - -“Nor I,” said the doctor. “Of course she was always an unusual sort of -woman, and deeply religious.” - -“Evidently there was a great bond of sympathy between her and her son.” - -Dr. Joliffe agreed. There was reason, also, to believe that the son was -a man of unusual powers. - -“Why do you think that?” said the vicar sharply. - -“It is Brandon’s opinion.” - -The vicar shook a grave head. “I’m sorry to say that Brandon’s opinion -is not conclusive, poor fellow. He is very far from being the man he -was. Between ourselves I fear his mind is going.” - -The doctor was loth to admit so much. He greatly feared for Brandon, -it was true; moreover John Smith had gained such an intellectual -ascendancy over him that it seemed to point to the vicar’s conclusion; -at the same time Joliffe was unwilling to believe that Brandon’s -estimate of the man’s genius was wholly the fruit of aberration. - -“But,” rejoined the vicar, “Brandon is a very highly educated man. And -a highly educated man has no right to such an opinion.” - -“Well, you know, when I was in Brombridge the other day I met old -Dunn, the high master of the grammar school where John Smith got his -education. I asked him if he remembered him.” - -“Well?” - -“Not only did he remember him, but he said that John Smith was by far -the most remarkable boy who had ever passed through his hands.” - -“Then why didn’t Dunn make something of him?” - -“Because the lad’s health forbade hard regular study. Otherwise he must -have gone far.” - -“That is more than one can believe.” - -“I can only say that Dunn is reckoned a first-rate judge of a boy’s -possibilities.” - -“Unduly partial to his own pupils I believe. It was on his advice and -due to his interference that my gardener’s eldest boy took his law -final and became a solicitor, and I felt obliged to part with a good -servant in consequence.” - -“This poor fellow is hardly a pupil to be proud of. Dunn says he looks -upon it as the tragedy of his own scholastic life that such powers as -John Smith’s have borne no fruit. He had the most original mind of any -boy he has known.” - -“In other words the most cranky mind,” said the vicar impatiently. “I -believe he has suffered all his life from hallucinations.” - -“Dunn didn’t say that.” - -“Had he heard of the course we were taking?” - -“He didn’t mention the matter and I was careful not to refer to it. But -I won’t answer for Parker.” - -“Parker promised not to speak of it to anyone. It is known to Whymper -and Jekyll and one other magistrate, and I believe was mentioned to -General Clarke at the Depot, but in the public interest it was thought -advisable not to let it go farther. Not that it really matters. The -man is of no importance anyway, and he is far better off where he now -is. One will always regret the old mother, but the man himself will be -extremely well cared for at a place like Wellwood.” - -“No doubt,” said Dr. Joliffe rather drily. - -“There again Brandon has behaved quixotically. After all, this man -belongs to the working class. He would have been quite well looked -after at the county asylum at Broad Hill, where such people are taken -care of at the public charge. Still, that was done on your authority, -Joliffe.” - -“Brandon insisted that it should be done.” - -“Well, it all goes to show that the dear fellow is not the man he was. -Of course he’s rich, but it will cost him at least five hundred a year -for an indefinite period to keep this man at Wellwood.” - -“I pointed that out to him. But he had fully made up his mind. And -he was so upset by the whole affair that it seemed wise not to raise -difficulties.” - -“All very well. But I think my niece should have been consulted. -However--there it is! But it’s pure quixotism to say the least. By the -way, does Brandon know what happened yesterday?” - -“He knew nothing when I saw him this morning.” - -“How is he?” - -“Still confined to his room with lingering traces of a temperature.” - -“Had he heard that Murfin’s report was unfavorable?” - -“He takes it for granted.” - -“Takes it for granted! Pray why should he? I hope he doesn’t think that -Murfin is not entirely impartial and dependable.” - -“He has nothing against Murfin personally.” There was a gleam of malice -in Joliffe’s eye. “But he says it is too much to hope for fair play for -John Smith in such a world as the present.” - -“There speaks a disordered mind.” Heat was in the vicar’s tone. “We -have taken every possible precaution. Brandon _must_ realize that. -Every consideration has been shown, and I am bound to say, speaking -from first-hand knowledge, that our local bench has behaved in a most -humane and enlightened manner.” - -“Brandon will not agree with you there, I fancy.” - -“Would he have had us send the man to jail?” Mr. Perry-Hennington’s -temperature was still going up steadily. - -“He says John Smith has been condemned without a trial.” For a reason -Joliffe could not explain he was beginning to dislike the vicar -intensely. “And he says that if the evidence is to be believed even -Jesus had a trial.” - -“Monstrous!” said the vicar. “A perfectly monstrous parallel!” - - - - -XXVII - - -THE interview with Dr. Joliffe ruffled the vicar. The repetition of -Brandon’s words was ill-timed, nor was it easy to forgive Brandon -for uttering them. Action had been taken in the public interest and -Mr. Perry-Hennington could not endure a breath of criticism. One way -and another it had cost him a good deal. It was only the inspiration -of a high and pure motive and the fact that he had no personal ax to -grind which had enabled him to carry out the most difficult, the most -delicate, and quite the most thankless task in which he had ever been -involved. - -In the vicar’s opinion he had reason to be satisfied with the finesse -he had used; moreover, he had not the slightest doubt that the body -politic, of which Brandon and Joliffe were members, had been laid under -a deep obligation. Certainly he had no need to reproach himself in the -matter. Without exciting remark of any kind, a very undesirable person, -capable of doing infinite mischief, had been placed out of harm’s way. -Officious villagers had been referred to the police; and the vicar -hoped to soften any stab his conscience might sustain in regard to the -widow by defraying the expenses of her funeral out of his own pocket. - -In the meantime Brandon had a severe relapse. Any hope of mental -serenity had for a time been destroyed. The cause of his friend weighed -upon him so heavily that at first it seemed he might not recover from -the blow. He mourned him constantly and presently arose the fear that -he was about to die. - -In this perilous phase only one thing stood between the sufferer and -the death which in many ways would have been welcome. The will to -live was not evoked in him by wife or children or a sense of duty to -society; in the last resort it was simply that he felt a sacred task -had been laid upon him. His poor friend had been put out of life by the -kind of stupidity against which the world has always been defenseless, -and from which history is the only court of appeal. But the sense of -a great wrong, which henceforward it must be his life’s business to -redress, somehow gave Brandon the motive power to continue an existence -which had become almost unendurable. - -He must find the means to vindicate his friend. Lying _in extremis_, -with the life of the senses slipping out of his grasp, the idea -produced a miraculous rebirth. It contained a germ of the central -energy, faint and discreet, yet with the power to imbue a shattered -existence with the will to be. - -As soon as the new purpose took shape in his mind, he grew visibly -stronger, in outward mental life at least. By now he had small hope or -none that he would ever recover the use of his legs, but the sense of -utter, futile weariness which had fastened upon him began to pass. And -the new power came from a source deep down in the soul, of which for -the first time he gained apperception. - -For several weeks after the mischief had been wrought, Brandon declined -to see the vicar. He did not impugn his sincerity. Too well he knew -the nature of the man to believe that he had acted from a trivial or -unworthy motive. But it seemed impossible for one of Brandon’s liberal -mind to forgive crass wrongheadedness raised to the nth power. - -Now that the will to live had been evoked, Brandon clung with pathetic -tenacity to any frail straw of hope of physical recovery. He felt -within himself how slight they were, but as the weeks of slow torment -passed he never quite gave up. All the resources of modern science -were at his service and they were used to the full. No known means was -neglected of restoring the vital current to the outraged organism. -Massage and radiant heat were applied, electricity was shot through -his skin, he submitted to the newest serums, the latest treatments, but -the unhappy weeks went by and the sufferer remained dead from the waist -down. - -Indeed, the sole effect was that at last he was tempted to ask himself -whether he had been wise in the first instance to drive the will to -its almost superhuman effort to retain physical life. Time and again -in these weeks of darkness that doubt recurred to him. The act of -despotism of which he had been the witness, against which he had -struggled with all the power he still possessed, weighed upon him -increasingly. Somehow the whole miserable affair seemed to involve all -the sources of his faith. - -What was that faith? He had gone to the wars of his country in the -spirit of a modern Crusader, of one not expecting too much from the -world or his fellow men, of one who was inclined to regard almost -the whole of the Bible as a legend, but yet a staunch believer in -the essential decency of his own nation, his own people, and imbued -with the idea that somewhere in the universe there was a God of -Righteousness who was striving to create Himself. - -But now a wound had been dealt him in the house of his friends. - - - - -XXVIII - - -FOR several months Brandon heard nothing of John Smith. Not able to -write himself, he had not the courage to dictate a letter. In such -circumstances there was nothing to be said which did not seem an -impertinence, yet many times he was possessed by an intense desire -to communicate. Day by day the man himself remained at the root of -Brandon’s thoughts. - -In their last interview John had said that he had a great work to do. -Although his fate had even then been foreshadowed, he had made that -declaration; moreover, he had expressed a serene confidence that grace -would be given for his task. - -From the first Brandon had had a great curiosity as to what that -task could be. Believing implicitly in the full mental and moral -responsibility of his friend, he would not permit a doubt of his -capacity. And yet it was only too likely that the conditions in which -his life was now passed would paralyze a wonderful mind. Brandon -had done all that lay in his power to lighten its lot; he had not -spared money to provide reasonable comfort, reasonable amenity of -surroundings; books and papers had gone to Wellwood from time to time; -all that could be done by a friend’s devotion had been done to sustain -John Smith and keep his soul alive. - -At last the silence was broken. Brandon received a letter from -Wellwood, expressing deep gratitude for this solicitude. But it also -expressed far more. It disclosed a penetration of thought, a power of -vision, above all a real nobility of temper whose only parallel in the -mind of Brandon was that of Socrates in similar but less degrading -circumstances. - -Somehow Brandon was comforted. The transcendent qualities he had long -perceived in this man were here in their fullness. Amid the Stygian -glooms of a world ever groping in darkness, a great light shone. In -Brandon’s opinion it was better to be immured with John Smith in -Wellwood Sanatorium than to enjoy the sanctions of human freedom. - -In the course of a full letter, which Brandon read again and again, -John Smith referred to a work upon which he was engaged. He was going -forward with his task, and with the help of others it was nearing -fulfillment. He did not disclose what the task was, nor did he refer to -“the others” specifically. - -Weeks passed. Visibly helped by John Smith’s letter, Brandon, to the -joy of his friends, regained much of his mental poise. The dark clouds -of a few months back were slowly dispersed, but in body he remained -inert, and now without hope of cure. And then one morning at the -beginning of December there came a second letter from Wellwood. - -It merely contained these words: “Come soon. I need you.” - -Such authoritative brevity was for Brandon a command which he felt he -must obey. But he was at once aware that he could only get to Wellwood -in the teeth of a junta. Wife, doctor, nurse, all had very strong -reasons to urge against a journey of nearly twenty miles in the middle -of winter to such a place on such a pretext. To them the summons itself -was the caprice of an unsound mind, the wish to obey it the whim of a -sick man. - -But in this, as they were to learn, they underrated the forces now at -work. Fully set on obeying the summons, Brandon would brook no refusal. -In vain Millicent dissuaded, in vain Joliffe and the nurse issued a -ukase. Come what might he must see John Smith; if the heavens fell he -must go to Wellwood. - -Opposition raised Brandon’s will to such a pitch that at last his -guardians had to consider the question very seriously. And they -reluctantly saw that beyond the amount of trouble involved there was -no real reason why he should not have his way. Prejudice, it was true, -also entered into the matter; doctor and nurse agreed that it could -not be good for a sick man to visit such a place as Wellwood. But the -sick man declared he alone must be judge of that; and as a growing -excitement threatened a return of fever, consent was reluctantly given -for a letter to be written to the chief medical officer at Wellwood for -permission to see John Smith. - -Millicent Brandon wrote the letter at the invalid’s dictation, devoutly -hoping the while that its purpose would fail. Alas for the frailty of -human hopes in the scale of official perversity! By return of post came -full permission to visit the patient at any time. In the presence of -this bombshell nothing was left but to submit with a good grace to the -inevitable. - -Accordingly, in the gray of a December afternoon, Brandon made the -journey to Wellwood by motor. It hardly took an hour. Little of the -landscape was visible in the winter half-light, and the place itself -was unable to reveal the beauties of its setting. Run on modern lines -with accommodation for a hundred patients, it had the comforts of a -home to offer and a very great deal in the way of human kindness. To -one in John Smith’s rank of life it was a place of luxury; to those -whose lot had been cast on more liberal lines there was little to -complain of in regard to food, housing, reasonable recreation. Yet to -each and all of its inmates, from the most open and amenable to the -most sullen and defiant, it had one truly dreadful drawback. They were -not there of their own free will, but were held by the order of the -State. - -That simple but terrible fact galled one and all like a chain. And few -cherished any real hope of ever getting free. “Abandon hope all ye -who enter here,” might have been engraved above the pleasant portals -of this polite prison. Once behind those doors, the young and the old -alike felt themselves caught in the meshes of a deep-laid conspiracy, -of a darkness and a subtlety beyond belief. Every attempt at freedom -was a struggle against fate, every effort to break the fetters of the -law riveted them more securely. From time to time the patients were -visited by doctors, magistrates, clergymen, commissioners in lunacy, -but these came as a concession to the wisdom and humanity of an -abstract conception. Insight, hope, healing, came not in their train. - -Brandon felt a sudden chill of soul as he was lifted by his chauffeur -and his valet from the car and carried into the light and the -suffocating warmth beyond those ornate, nail-studded doors. The place -was overheated, yet to Brandon it had an effect of sudden immersion in -icy water. There was something in its atmosphere which struck right -down to the roots of his being. It was so subtle yet so deadly that a -nausea came upon him. And yet, as he was soon to realize, this emotion -had its source in his own weakness, in his own state of extreme mental -tension. - -Brandon was carried into a private room and was there received by the -chief medical officer, Dr. Thorp, to whom he was known by hearsay. -And it was his privilege to have a conversation with a humane and -enlightened man, which interested him profoundly. - -Dr. Thorp stood very high in his profession, and his many years’ -experience of mental cases was wide and deep. For him the subject with -which he dealt, terrible as it was, had an all-absorbing interest. -It offered to the researches of science a boundless field; moreover, -this expert had a power over himself, and was therefore able to keep a -sane, cool, balanced judgment in the midst of perils which too often -overthrew his fellow workers. In a word, he could detach the part from -the whole and so prevent the mind from being subdued to that in which -it worked. - -In Dr. Thorp’s cozy room, under the bust of Æsculapius, Brandon had -a talk in which he learned many things. The chief medical officer -spoke with a frankness, a fair-minded desire to be impartial, which -Brandon somehow had not looked for. To begin with he did not hesitate -to describe the case of John Smith as quite the most remarkable that -had ever come into his ken. And the fact that Brandon had known him -intimately for many years, that he had always been his friend and -champion, and that grievously stricken as he was, he had come to see -him now, appeared in the eyes of Dr. Thorp to give this visitor an -importance altogether unusual. - -“I welcome you here, Mr. Brandon, for several reasons,” he said. “Apart -from the fact that you pay John’s bills every quarter, and that he -always speaks of you in the most affectionate terms, I am hoping that -you will be able to add to our knowledge of the dear fellow himself.” - -Somehow Brandon was a little startled by the epithet. It had an odd -sound on official lips. He would have expected it to fall almost as -soon from the governor of a jail. The doctor met Brandon’s look of -surprise with a smile. “It’s the only way to describe him,” he said. -“But he is a great puzzle to us all. And if in any way you can help us -to solve him we shall be much in your debt.” - -“There is little I can tell you,” said Brandon, “that you don’t -already know. And that little I’ll preface with a simple statement -which I hope will not annoy you too much. It’s my unshakable belief -that John Smith ought not to be here.” - -A perceptible shadow crossed the alert face of Dr. Thorp. “It is my -province to disagree with you,” he said very gravely. “Not for a moment -could I allow myself to hold anyone here against his will if I thought -him entirely sane, normal, rational.” - -“I readily understand that,” said Brandon with his air of charming -courtesy. “But may I ask what means are open to you in an institution -of this kind of forming an impartial judgment?” - -Dr. Thorp answered the question with a frankness which greatly -prepossessed Brandon in his favor. “I readily admit that for us here an -impartial judgment is hardly possible. John Smith has been certified -insane in the particular way that the law requires, and we are only -able to approach his case in the light of that knowledge.” - -“Yes, that I quite understand. But may I ask this question? Had John -Smith not been certified as a lunatic when he came here, had he, let us -assume, come here on probation, could you conscientiously certify him -by the light of your present knowledge?” - -“You have asked a most difficult question, but I will answer it as -well as I can. As a private individual, although he shows certain -symptoms which sooner or later are bound, in my judgment, to lead to -serious mental derangement, he is not likely at present to do actual -harm; in fact he is capable of doing positive good; but of course, in a -time like this he has to be considered as a political entity, and it is -on these grounds I understand that he is here to be taken care of until -the war is over.” - -“_Prima facie_, that is true,” said Brandon. “In other words, a man of -pure and noble genius is the victim of a shallow, sectarian ignorance -which deserves to be the laughing-stock of the universe.” - -The words were extravagant, and a certain violence of gesture -accompanied them, but the reaction of Dr. Thorp was serious, even -troubled. “You are bent on involving me in the most difficult problem -of my experience,” he said, after a pause. - -“I am. And perhaps--who knows?--in the most difficult problem the -civilized world has yet had to face.” - -“As you say, who knows?” said Dr. Thorp, a cloud growing on his -sensitive face. - -“In other words,” said Brandon, “you are ready to admit that a man of -very profound and beautiful genius is being held here.” - -“Those are big words,” was the reply of professional caution. “And -genius is of many kinds. But speaking of John Smith as I have found -him, I will make an admission which you are entitled to use as you -think fit. We all bless the day he came here.” - -A look of startled pleasure came into Brandon’s face. “One somehow -expected to hear that,” he said. - -“Whatever his mentality may be, and of its range I am not competent to -judge, the man has what I can only call a largeness of soul which has -an effect upon others. One of our old men, one of our deranged fine -intellects, of whom we have several, and very pathetic they are, has -christened him the Light-Bringer, and somehow we feel it is a title -that he thoroughly deserves.” - -“That is to say, he is a good influence among your patients?” - -“Yes; in fact a moral force. The staff tell me that since he came here -their work is less by one-half. As an instance of what I mean, let me -give you a little anecdote which our head attendant told me only this -morning. We have an old German professor, who has been here some time. -He is apt to be very cantankerous and now and again gives a great deal -of trouble. On his bad days no one can do anything with him. But it -seems that John is now an established exception to the rule and that -he can simply make him do anything. This morning it appears the Herr -Professor had decided that he would no longer wear a tie. ‘Put it on at -once,’ said Boswell, our head attendant. ‘I shall not,’ said the Herr -Professor, ‘except by the command of God and the Emperor.’ ‘Very well,’ -said the head attendant, ‘then I shall ask the Master to come to you.’ -Well, the Master came--that, by the way, is the name the patients have -given him. The head attendant stated his case and the Master said to -the Herr Professor, ‘Put on your tie, my dear friend. It is the rule -here in Elysium and you are bound to obey it. Otherwise the gods will -turn you out and you may find yourself wandering in outer darkness for -another hundred years or so.’” - -“And did the Herr Professor put on his tie?” asked Brandon. - -“He put it on at once,” said Dr. Thorp with a laugh. “Of course it’s a -very trivial anecdote. But to me the whole thing is a remarkable piece -of make-believe.” - -“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.” - -“Well, you see, our friend John has persuaded the old fellow that he is -Goethe, talks to him in German and treats him with a deference which -raises a smile. And the odd side of the affair is that the poor old -chap now firmly believes himself to be Goethe and does his best to act -up to his part.” - -“I see,” said Brandon. - -“And John Smith has taught us already that in the administration of -a place of this kind, there is practically no limit to the power of -suggestion. We have a hundred patients here, and his power over them is -astonishing. There seems to be nothing he can’t make some of them do; -and as he is a great upholder of law and order we bless the day he came -among us.” - -“As I understand your theory, this moral ascendancy has been gained -over your patients by the power of suggestion?” - -“Yes; to put it crudely the effect he has upon them is a kind of -hypnotism of the imagination. For instance, a truly remarkable case is -that of a man who might once have done great things in music. Another -German by the way. But for years he has been mentally deranged. Yet -in his case John Smith seems to have performed a miracle. By his -power of sympathy he has hypnotized the man into composing some quite -wonderful music. From time to time he plays it to us. The other day I -got a friend of mine who really understands the subject to come and -hear it. He says it had such a quality that he can only compare it to -Beethoven.” - -“Indeed!” said Brandon. - -Dr. Thorp laughed. “And the oddest part of the whole matter is that the -music only came to be written because John Smith was able to persuade -our poor friend that he really was Beethoven.” - -“Again the power of suggestion?” - -“Undoubtedly. And one that deserves to become a classical instance of -the power of sympathetic imagination rightly applied. I am not sure -that John Smith is not a great thinker who has discovered a profound -truth.” - -“I am inclined to believe that he has discovered more than one.” A glow -of excitement had begun to course in Brandon’s veins. - -“At any rate,” said the doctor, “I defy anyone to see him here in the -midst of our patients--very obscure and baffling mental cases, some of -them are--without a feeling that he wields a quite remarkable power -over certain types of his fellow creatures.” - -“One is immensely interested to know that.” - -“It is hardly too much to say that the atmosphere of the whole place -has changed. Six months ago we could hope for nothing better than -the sullen bickerings of Bedlam; today certain of our best cases are -rising to a kind of high intellectuality which, I frankly confess, is -amazing.” - -“And this you attribute to the direct influence of John Smith?” - -“It is the only way to account for it.” - -“Can you put into words the precise form it takes?” - -“In a few minutes I hope you will be able to judge for yourself. In the -meantime perhaps you will join me in a cup of tea.” And in deference -to the sudden arrival of a well-filled tray, Dr. Thorp suspended for a -moment further consideration of the subject. - - - - -XXIX - - -TEA was Brandon’s favorite beverage. And this afternoon it seemed to -work a wonder upon him. It caused his veins to thrill and burn with an -exhilaration he had never expected to feel again. - -“I learn from our amazing friend,” said Dr. Thorp, pointing a finger at -the tray, “that one of the most powerful deities of the astral world is -in that teapot.” - -“He seems,” said Brandon, “to have taken all imagination for his -province.” - -“He lives upon the theory, nothing is but thinking makes it so. He says -if one can only grasp it truly, it covers all the phenomena in the -universe.” - -“In other words,” said Brandon with a smile, “you are not ashamed to -sit at the feet of the prophet who has come into your midst.” - -“I confess it. I confess it frankly and fully.” And the doctor laughed. - -Brandon felt a thrill of delight. He was like a chemist who learns from -a flame in his test tube that he has not deceived himself, and that his -great discovery has received the sanction of science. - -“Yes, his theories are wonderful,” said the doctor, perhaps in answer -to the eager look on Brandon’s face. “Moreover, he has an extraordinary -faculty of putting them into practice. Many little changes in the life -here are due to him. They all make for greater harmony. Somehow, he -oils the wheels of our intercourse. And there is one innovation you -shall see for yourself if you care to do so.” - -“There is nothing I should like so much.” - -“It is one of his devices for keeping our best people amused and -interested. He says ideas are the life of the soul, and that creative -imagination is its highest function. And he has formed a sort of -debating society, which meets every afternoon to discuss the problems -of the present and the future.” - -“Are your patients able to discuss them reasonably?” - -“Not merely reasonably, I venture to say profoundly. We have some -intellectuals here, men who have read and thought perhaps too much, -whose brains have given out before their time. And then in all -institutions of this kind there are queer, freakish intellects, capable -of an intermittent brilliancy although unfit for the routine of -practical life, while some of the old men whom we take care of in their -declining years have been men of attainment in the heyday of their -powers. I tell you all this, because what you are about to see will -most probably astonish you. John Smith wields a marvelous regenerative -influence in this institution, and I want you to see it at work.” - -“I shall be delighted to do so.” - -“Very well. But let us first find out whether the portents are -favorable.” Thereupon with a smile Dr. Thorp rose and pressed the -button of an electric bell three times. - -Presently the summons was answered by no less a person than the head -attendant, a tall, deliberate, very dour looking Scotsman. - -“Boswell,” said Dr. Thorp, as it seemed to Brandon, with a twinkle in -his eye, “is the Court sitting this afternoon?” - -“Yes, sir,” said the head attendant with perfect gravity. “The Master -took the chair at three o’clock.” - -“What are they discussing?” - -“Germany, sir.” The head attendant spoke with a slow solemnity which -nearly provoked Brandon to a laugh. “_Toujours l’Allemagne_,” said the -doctor. “Still the only question for the Court.” - -“And likely to be for some little time yet, sir,” said Boswell -impressively. “What they are now trying to arrive at is, can Germany be -readmitted on any terms to the comity of nations?” - -“But they were dealing with that question a month ago.” - -“Well, sir, they are at it still. And I’m afraid they don’t get much -forwarder.” - -“Any good speeches this afternoon?” - -“Two of the best we’ve had yet, sir. They seem to get better and -better.” - -At the note of enthusiasm in the voice of the head attendant, Dr. Thorp -directed a glance, half pride, half amusement at his visitor. - -“We had Abraham on his legs again, sir. He gave us a regular rasper.” - -“For your information,” said the doctor to Brandon dryly, “Abraham is -none other than Abraham Lincoln.” - -“He didn’t half let Germany have it, sir.” The tone of the head -attendant was curiously grim. - -“How did Goethe take it?” asked the doctor with a chuckle. - -“Like a lamb, sir. He just sat in the corner crying like a child.” - -Dr. Thorp rose and took a pipe from the chimneypiece. - -“The proceedings opened this afternoon, sir,” Boswell continued, “with -a speech from Tolstoi. And very nice, too, sir; perhaps a little sloppy -in places, but very good in its way. I should like you to have heard -it, sir.” - -“I should like to have done so.” The doctor’s tone was half pride, half -amused indulgence. - -“Universal brotherhood was his ticket, sir. Rights of man. -Nonresistance to evil and so on. Of course it doesn’t quite work out, -but it was a very creditable effort, very creditable indeed--especially -for an old man who can’t button his own collar.” - -“Quite so,” said the doctor. - -“And I think you’ll like to know, sir”--a note of pride entered the -head attendant’s voice--“that we also had a speech from the brother who -came here the other day from Broad Hill. It was his first attempt, and -to my mind one of the best yet.” - -“That’s interesting,” said the doctor, smiling at Brandon. “What’s his -name, by the way?” - -“The Master introduced him as Spinoza.” - -“I hope he was well received.” - -“He was, sir, and yet not altogether as you might say. Both Plato and -Aristotle seemed inclined to criticize him, and they were dead set -against his proposal that Germany should be more fully represented. -Spinoza seemed to think that she was entitled to more friends than -Goethe and himself and Beethoven.” - -“I wonder, I wonder,” Brandon interposed in a soft, far-away voice. - -“Spinoza thought that Luther, Kant and Leibnitz ought also to be -allowed to speak for her.” - -“But those names are not on the register.” - -“Several of the brethren pointed that out, sir, but the Master said if -the Court decided that Germany was entitled to call them, there would -be no difficulty in causing them to appear.” - -“Then I hope the Court decided in Spinoza’s favor,” said Dr. Thorp. “It -will be interesting to see how the Master contrives to make good his -promise.” - -“When I left them, sir, they were arguing the question. But it will not -surprise me if they decide against the proposal.” - -“What reason have you for thinking so?” asked Brandon. - -“It’s Plato’s opinion, sir,” said Boswell, very impressively, “that -Germany, having betrayed her religion, and having perverted her -science, neither Luther nor Leibnitz has any _locus standi_, and as far -as Kant is concerned he agrees with Aristotle that the Court has too -many philosophers already.” - -“And he carries great weight, I presume?” said Brandon. - -“If Plato’s against the proposal, sir,” said the head attendant still -very impressively, “they’ll rule it out, unless the Master himself -intervenes.” - -“Yes, and rightly,” said Dr. Thorp. “Before his mental breakdown, -some years ago, he was a man of great parts, a professor of Greek at -Cambridge, a beautiful speaker. Now that John Smith has taken him -in hand we are delighted to think that his fine powers are being -reawakened. When he is in his best form it is well worth anyone’s while -to hear him. What is he like this afternoon, Boswell?” - -“I’ve never heard him to better advantage, sir,” said the head -attendant, with a slow and proud solemnity. “He’s quite a treat, -especially to a man like myself, who all my life have made a hobby of -philosophy.” - -“Then let us go and hear what he has to say.” - - - - -XXX - - -BRANDON was carried in his chair along a dimly lighted corridor. At -the end of it was a large room, lit more dimly still, in which, as it -seemed, a number of ghostly figures were seated round the fireplace. -For the most part they were old, bearded men, and they were smoking -their pipes and listening with grave attention to one of their number, -who was addressing them in a low, soft, persuasive voice. - -Brandon was borne in very quietly by the doctor and the head attendant. -He was placed at the back of the room, at the farthest point from -the group around the fire. His entrance, even if observed, excited -no attention. Without a moment’s interruption, the charming voice, -whose every word was clear and distinct, continued as if nothing was -happening. - -To Brandon the whole thing was like a dream. The ghostly half-light -in which the speaker and his audience was wrapped, the flicker of the -distant fire, the curious stillness which the soft voice seemed to -enhance, all added their touch of eeriness to the scene. Suddenly -Brandon was stung to an imaginative intensity he had never felt before. -The image of the spectrum altered, and he was completely possessed by a -weird feeling that he had made the descent into Hades. - -In a kind of entrancement he listened to the voice. It seemed a little -older than the world, and yet he had heard it many times, as it seemed -in many ages, for every word it used was somehow enchantingly familiar. -Even the fall of the sentences, the rhythm of the phrases was like -music in his ears. Whose voice could it be? It was a dream voice that -swept his soul back through unnumbered ages, and yet now with full -authority upon his senses in the terrestrial phase of being. He knew he -was in the presence of a great mystery, and yet hearing that voice he -was filled with strange joy. - -“Plato,” whispered the doctor at his side. - -Somehow the entranced listener felt that such a voice, touched by a -divine grace, could have belonged to no one else. - -“My friends”--as the words floated upon Brandon’s ear, they seemed to -submerge his senses--“what is the race of men to do? The goal was in -sight. Its sons were about to enter the kingdom their prayers and their -fidelity to the gods had won for them, when one among them betrayed -his brethren without pity and without shame. The tragedy has happened -more than once in the history of an ill-starred planet, but as you have -lately learned from the lips of Herodotus the circumstances of this -case exceed all others in their poignancy. - -“Those who have kept the faith, who have not profaned the high and -awful mysteries to which in youth they were inducted, are permitted -by the gods to assemble in the Court of First and Last Instance, to -consider a most terrible Apostasy. They are to judge by the light -of all the circumstances, they are to make their recommendations in -accordance therewith. - -“The Court is agreed that it is in the presence of the worst crime in -its archives. A deed has been done that words cannot paint, a horror -wrought which Justice cannot condone. Yet here among the wise and the -good, as you have heard, are those who invoke in the name of the gods, -the divine clemency for the doers of this evil. - -“Some who speak for the Apostate have pleaded that the onus is not -upon the common people of an outlaw state, but upon its ruler and -guardians. This Court is asked to make a distinction between those -whose innocence was wrought upon by cunning, who were goaded by fear -to those bestial acts, which will cause the very name they bear to -stink for generations in the nostrils of men, and the savage lust, the -ignoble greed of those who held the reins of power. It is said that -what they did they could not help doing. In the name of the Highest, -appeal is made to the universal brotherhood existing among men, which -they betrayed without pity and without remorse. - -“Let me remind you, that pray for a miserable and perverted people, of -the words of Socrates. He has said that the citizens of a state must in -all circumstances accept full responsibility for its rulers. Whatever -the form of its government, it is neither better nor worse than it -deserves. And he has said that as the commonalty yearned to fatten on -the spoils of victory, it is the divine justice that it drink the cup -of defeat to the last drop of its bitterness. - -“My friends, emboldened by the words of an inspired teacher, I ask you -to take care lest mercy become weakness, and weakness supine folly. -This is a conflict of philosophies, but even if the gods are many, -Justice and Truth are one. - -“It follows, therefore, that there can be no compromise between the -evil and the good. Violence and insult have been offered to mankind, to -the divine justice, and therefore to that Heaven in which we hope to -dwell. With those who have kept the faith, I ask that a pitiless crime -be punished without pity. - -“According to the old law, those who offend the gods suffer banishment. -The very name they bear is forever accursed, they are shunned by the -virtuous, they suffer eternal ostracism and the death of the soul. In -the name of all that is sacred, I ask that the law now take its course. -Let those who drew the sword perish by the Sword. Let them and their -kindred, their children, and their children’s children be cast out -forever. Such is the demand of justice. By no decree less awful can it -be met.” - -There came silence. The voice, to whose every word Brandon had listened -in a kind of entrancement, could be heard no longer. He strained his -eyes and his ears, but through the haze of shadows he was unable to -distinguish the speaker among those seated round the fire. The hush -that followed excited him strangely. And then another voice was heard, -a voice remote yet familiar, which seemed to cause his heart to break -inside him. - -“Brethren”--the new voice was curiously soft and gentle, yet its every -word was like a sword--“I am the eye of the west wind. I am the voice -of the evening star. I am one with Brahm. I am the soul of Islam. I am -the destined Buddha. I am the Light of the World, and I say to you -there is no crime that cannot be purged by the Father’s love. - -“I stand here at the apex of this world’s history, and I say to you the -old way is not enough. If the spirit of Man is not to bleed in vain, -if the sorrowing earth is to yield the fruits for which her sons have -died, the God of Righteousness must be avenged by the God of Love. - -“The Father’s kingdom is the hearts of men. And I say to you, unless -the Son of Man came in vain among you, my word shall not be as Dead Sea -fruit. I speak not to a party or a sect, but to all who would keep the -faith, of whatever countenance or caste. - -“In this slender folio which I hold in my hand is contained the divine -genius of the ancient and the modern world, the gold of its dreams, the -bread of its aspiration. The souls of the just through whom the Father -spoke of old time have been summoned anew; the prophets, the magicians, -the makers of harmony, have been gathered together, so that the terms -of the Truce may take visible shape in the sight of all nations. - -“I say to you, let none oppose it. This Mandate speaks to the bosoms -and the business of men. Through it man shall cast off his chains. -Through it he shall hear the voice of his Father, which is in Heaven. -The Kingdom shall be made manifest; and all wars shall cease; and this -old unhappy earth shall see the light of the promised day. - -“There are strong spirits who do not approve this Mandate. They have -their place in the hierarchy; they are of the chosen friends of -mankind; sacred Hellas and imperial Rome are with them; they have the -sanction of the elder gods, but I say to them, judge not that you be -not judged. The Apostate has sinned against the Light, but millions of -her children have been purified by sacrifice. Man may live a slave, and -in a vile cause may die a king. The enemy of the human race has bred -great souls. And in the last account let these stand the surety of her -that bred them. Therefore I say to you again, judge not that you be not -judged.” - -There was a pause of curious intensity. When the familiar voice ceased -for a moment, Brandon, as if in a dream, peered through the stifling -silence to the figures round the fire. One there was standing in their -midst, whom he could not yet see, but of whose magical presence his -every fiber was aware. Suddenly he caught a gesture of the uplifted -head and the voice flowed on. - -“Empires and kings shall pass away, but My Word shall not pass away. -And I say to those who pray for the Apostate, let her cast out the -devil in her entrails and return to the old way. Let her seek again -the voice of the Father in the trees and the grass, the rivers and the -mountains, let her weave again her enchanted harmonies in homage of the -Love He bears her. Then shall her fields again grow fruitful, the sweet -past shall renew itself with increase, her grateful brothers in science -shall again take her hand. - -“I see around me the souls of the saints waiting to be reborn. Through -unnumbered ages they have held on high the lamp of Truth. Let them -return to a sweeter world, a world enkindled and renewed in the -Father’s Love. - -“Here, in the presence of all that is, and all that was, I affirm the -Beautiful, and the Good. - -“I affirm Justice, Truth, _and_ Mercy. - -“I affirm the universal brotherhood of men. - -“I say to you, fear God, honor the King; which being interpreted means, -obey the Law. - -“See the Father in all things. - -“I say to you finally, man is the question, God is the answer. - -“This is the law and the prophets. If you would see the Kingdom deny it -not.” - -Again the voice ceased, and Brandon heard the doctor’s whisper: “The -Master is at his best this afternoon. It is better not to interrupt -him if you don’t mind. He will come to you presently. He knows you are -here.” - -Brandon shook violently. Possessed by an excitement now almost -terrible, he was unable to speak. - - - - -XXXI - - -“HE is coming now,” the doctor whispered. “I will leave you for a -little while so that you may talk without interruption.” And the doctor -passed out noiselessly. - -Silence had fallen again at the other end of the long room. Brandon was -sensible of a faint stir among the dim figures round the fire. And then -his heart leaped to his throat, his veins seemed to run with flame as -there emerged and came slowly toward him an outline wholly different -from that of the man he expected to see. John Smith--if John Smith it -was!--had let his hair grow long, he had acquired a beard, and he wore -a loose robe tied round his middle by a cord. - -The wide-pupiled eyes and the strange pallor of the face struck with -vivid intensity through the ghostly half-light of the room. - -The shock of this appearance was like a knife in Brandon’s flesh. - -“Dear friend”--even the voice had changed--“you have heard great -argument. And here is the matter of it.” A manuscript bound in brown -paper was placed in Brandon’s hands. “I charge you in the name of -humanity to give this to the world with the Father’s love.” - -A shiver of strange joy passed through the frame of the stricken man. -The simple words pierced to a hidden spring. Forces long pent were -released within him, new light, new power, seemed to suffuse him. -Enfolded by his presence, he was conscious of a kind of rapture which -was like a rebirth. He felt the caress of lips on his forehead, the -great eyes sank into him. And then came the voice, familiar and yet -strange, “Faithful servant, if you believe in me rise from your bed and -walk.” - -The words were as a fire. In the same tone of gentleness they were -repeated, and Brandon felt the icy touch of a hand upon his cheek. His -heart seemed to break and thrill with joy, as, overborne by an anguish -of feeling, he suddenly rose from his chair and cast himself at the -feet of him in whose presence he was. - -“Master!” he cried. “Master!” - - - - -XXXII - - -IN the course of a few minutes two attendants entered for the purpose -of conveying the visitor to the doctor’s room. Brandon returned to -his chair, his friend bade him good-by, and then the sufferer allowed -himself to be carried down the corridor as if nothing had happened. - -His brain was in a state of wild ferment, yet he was sufficiently its -master to refrain from letting Dr. Thorp know that the power of motion -had returned to his limbs. At the instance of faith he had risen from -his bed and walked, but now was not the time to proclaim a miracle in -the sight of men. - -“I hope you had an interesting talk with our friend,” said the doctor, -with a smile of professional politeness. “And what is that I see? Is -that the great work? How high you must stand in his favor!” The voice -of the doctor rose to a sympathetic laugh. “You should be a proud man. -Quite extraordinary pains have been bestowed upon it by him and his -friends here.” - -“Have you read it?” asked Brandon, the blood drumming in his ears. - -“Oh, yes.” - -Brandon, startled by the sound of his own voice, had just enough -courage to ask the doctor’s opinion of the play. - -Dr. Thorp replied with a happy frankness: “Don’t laugh at me if I -confess that to my mind it’s a sublime work.” - -“You really think so?” - -“I do, and I’ll tell you why. There’s such a great idea at the back of -it, that I feel a better, a stronger, a saner man for having come in -contact with it. That play takes one into another world. It draws aside -the curtain, and gives us harassed mortals a peep into the kingdom -of the Something Else. Nothing is but thinking makes it so. Believe -me, that’s a sublime conception. And the Master has made us all feel -here that we have a share in it. Shakespeare, Molière, Sophocles, -Menander, and other august old gentlemen you saw round the fire in the -other room, have all been consulted, and Beethoven has composed some -enchanting music for it, so we can’t help thinking it wonderful.” The -doctor’s laugh was now a note of pure joy. “Believe me, in its way, the -whole thing is incomparable.” - -“What is the title?” - -“It is called, ‘A Play Without a Name,’ but I am convinced that it -ought to be called, ‘The Something Else,’ or ‘The Power of Love.’ And -although you’ll begin to doubt my sanity, I can’t help feeling that if -the play were performed in every town in Europe at the present hour, it -would be the beginning of a new era for the human race.” - -“That is to say, the whole world might be born again through the power -of the spoken word.” - -“Exactly,” said the doctor, with enthusiasm. “And that, by the way, -is what the author aims at. Of course you realize what his particular -form of delusion is, and you will have noticed that he begins to bear a -remarkable resemblance to his prototype.” - -“Yes,” said Brandon, in a hushed, broken tone, “it’s quite uncanny.” - - - - -XXXIII - - -BRANDON returned to Hart’s Ghyll ostensibly as he had left it. Without -telling his wife what had happened, he allowed himself to be carried -to his room and put to bed. For one thing he was worn out with the -strange excitement of the afternoon. The visit to Wellwood had made so -great a call on a devitalized nervous system, that he now felt rather -feverish and overstrung. But as he sank on his pillows in a reaction of -weariness, nature insisted that for a time he should forget. - -As he lay trying to reconstruct the amazing experience he had just been -through, a vague, delicious sense of mystery flowed through him. But -it was for a moment only. He had hardly time to ask himself whether -the new life was still in his limbs when sleep stole upon him, and the -chain of his thought was broken. - -How long his sleep lasted he didn’t know. But it was heavy, dreamless -and profound, and he awoke in the pitch darkness of a December night. -Almost his first sensation was that something had happened, something -which had forever changed the current of his life. What could it be? -Before the question was answered, before he could relate himself to the -life of the senses, and the mind could gain perception of itself, he -grew conscious of a thought half formed. It was full of strange joy, of -strange fear. Then he tried to cast his mind back, and in the very act -of doing so, he suddenly heard a voice in the room: “If you believe in -me rise from your bed and walk.” - -Involuntarily he sat up, flung aside the bedclothes, pressed his -lifeless feet upon the carpet. An instant he stood swaying, expecting -to fall, and then he felt himself sustained by a new power. Foot by -foot he groped his way to the window and drew its curtains aside. - -The risen moon was shining on the trees of the park. As its cold light -flowed into Brandon’s eyes, he was able to assure himself that he was -fully awake. He was able to assure himself that a miracle had made him -whole, and that his being was rooted now in some subtle but profound -alchemy of the soul. For long he stood looking out on the night, while -a growing joy pervaded him. Tears of pure happiness, whose shedding was -an exquisite physical relief, ran down his cheeks. Again and again his -flesh responded to the thrill of a recollected touch; a rapture he had -never known coursed through his veins; his bonds were broken; he was -borne upon the wings of a new destiny. - -Almost delirious with joy he got back into bed, and lay a long hour -shivering with excitement. Even now he hardly dared to meet the hard -logic of the matter. The events of yesterday besieged him like a -fantastic dream. He had risen from his bed, and he had walked at the -command of One in whom he had implicitly believed. But at this moment -he dare not ask himself to restate that faith in its superhuman aspect. - -Long before daylight came, his thoughts had grown so insurgent, that -he put out a hand and switched on the light. On a table by his bed was -laid the manuscript he had brought from Wellwood. In an ecstasy of -growing bewilderment he turned to it now, devouring it greedily, almost -with a sense of ravishment. - -It was called simply, ‘A Play Without a Name.’ It set forth a “religion -of humanity,” in a series of parables crystal-clear to the humblest -mind, yet by a superhuman cunning, as it seemed to Brandon, fulfilling -the laws which govern the enchanting art of the dramatist. The action -had been devised for representation, the words that they might be -spoken in the theater. The theme was the power of love, human and -divine, and it was illustrated by vivid, moving, beautiful pictures. - -Daylight found Brandon still pondering this wonderful play. He was now -in the thrall of an all-absorbing event. A few hours back he had passed -through a miraculous experience, and the problem now was to relate it -to the known facts of organic life. The difficulties of the situation -were foreshadowed as soon as the nurse came into the room. - -“Who has drawn back the curtains?” she demanded at once, in a tone of -stern surprise. - -Brandon, in spite of his excitement, was able to affect a torpid -indifference to the question. - -“I could have taken an oath,” said the nurse, “that when I left you -last night the curtains were pulled across the window as usual!” - - - - -XXXIV - - -ON the afternoon of the following day, Millicent Brandon took the great -news to the vicarage, that Gervase had walked across the room. It was -a thrilling announcement, and Millicent’s excitement was reflected in -Edith and the vicar, for like all his friends they had given up hope -that he would ever walk again. - -It appeared that something very like a miracle had happened. And, -strange to say, it coincided with the visit to Wellwood. But doctor and -nurse were loath to believe that that unsanctioned journey had anything -to do with a most astonishing matter. As for Brandon himself, walking -the path of an extreme wariness in the midst of new and overwhelming -perplexities, he was very careful not to claim it as the fount of -healing. - -A week passed, a truly wonderful week of returning life, of unsealed -physical power. The sensory apparatus had been repaired, the dead -limbs were again alive, the sufferer had risen from his bed; and in -his own mind it was absolutely clear to what agency the fact was due. -Moreover, it carried with it a very special obligation. - -Brandon had never regarded himself as a religious man. Before he -went to the wars of his country he had been a skeptic. He understood -well enough the great part faith had played in human affairs, but -he had conceived it as the fruit of a peculiar mental and physical -constitution. He knew that the religious sense had the power to create -an amazing world of its own, but he had been glad to think that he -could meet the facts of existence without its aid. Now, however, he -felt himself to be a new Faust, who had sold himself, not to the devil, -but to the Christian God. He had been miraculously restored to physical -health, but only on condition that he obeyed without mental reservation -of any kind, the implicit will of Another. - -He must lay all questioning aside. Body and soul were now in the care -of a superhuman power. He had entered into a most solemn pact, to whose -fulfillment he must bend the whole force of his will. And its first -fruits were to be seen in a letter which he addressed to an old school -and college friend, one Robert Pomfret, urging him to come and spend -Christmas at Hart’s Ghyll. - -Brandon hardly dared to hope that the letter would succeed in its -purpose. There was little in such an invitation to lure a regular man -of the town from his accustomed round. But the unexpected happened. -Pomfret, being “at a loose end” in Christmas week, found his way to -Hart’s Ghyll, prompted, no doubt, by a generous desire to cheer up an -old friend in the hour of affliction. - -The two men were curiously unalike. Pomfret was not a creature of -delicate perceptions, or intellectual curiosity. Apart from a large and -rich geniality, which endeared him to a wide circle of acquaintances, -he was merely a shrewd, eupeptic man of business, whose supreme merit -was, that he knew exactly how many beans made five. But a subtle bond -may exist between diverse characters, if each is sound at the core, -and in this case a humorous respect was paid to the other’s peculiar -qualities. - -Brandon was delighted, and perhaps just a little flattered by the -arrival of his sagacious friend on Christmas Eve. He had not dared -to hope that a casual note, at such short notice, would lure a pagan -and worldling from his orbit. But a divinity shapes our ends. His old -fagmaster at school was the one man of practical experience to whom -Brandon could turn in the difficult and unknown country he had now to -traverse. Robert Pomfret had really been summoned to Hart’s Ghyll, -not as he innocently and magnanimously believed, on the score of old -friendship, but in his capacity of prosperous lessee of three West End -theaters. - -It was not until Christmas Day was far spent that the host disclosed -his fell design. Immediately after dinner he contrived to get the -redoubtable Robert into the library on the plea of “a little advice -on an important matter,” without his victim suspecting the trap that -had been laid for him. Brandon, moreover, led up to the subject with -the discretion of a statesman. And then, in order to get a direct and -reasoned verdict, he read aloud the first act. - -His own experience of the stage was confined to one appearance with the -O. U. D. S. in a very humble part. Moreover, his knowledge of general -theatrical conditions was extremely slight. At the same time he knew -that for a tyro to force the portals of the English theater was a -superhuman task. But now, sustained by a very odd sense of the author’s -plenary inspiration, he read with a devout eagerness which puzzled and -rather intimidated Pomfret. However, he was still awake at the end of -the first act. - -“What do you think of it?” asked Brandon. - -“Go on,” was the curt rejoinder. - -Sustained by this Olympian encouragement, Brandon passed to the second -act. - -“Go on,” was still the command. - -With a puzzled attention, which he somehow yielded in spite of himself, -Pomfret listened to the end of Act Four. And then the flushed, excited, -triumphant reader asked his question again. - -“It’s certainly very unusual,” said Mount Olympus cautiously. - -Brandon somehow felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dashed -over him. He had allowed himself to expect more sonorous epithets. -Intoxicated by the play’s magic, he suddenly took the bull by the -horns. “I want you to put it up at your best theater in the next six -months,” he said. - -“My dear boy,” Pomfret gasped, “do you want to ruin me?” - -“What’s the objection?” - -“Simply that it isn’t a commercial proposition. Mind, I’m not saying a -word against the play. You’ve got a wonderful head to have thought of -it all, but as I say, it isn’t a commercial proposition.” - -“It isn’t my head that’s thought of it, you old dunce,” said Brandon. -“Therefore I invite you to express yourself quite freely and frankly.” - -“Well, in the first place,” said the great man, drawing at his cigar, -“the subject itself is not suited to the theater.” - -“You think so?” - -“I’m sure of it. The whole thing is far too fantastic.” - -“Don’t you think the central figure is a wonderful conception?” - -“Yes, I do. But who do you suppose is going to play a god who works -miracles, who is the genius of love and laughter, who heals the wounds -of the world by converting it to a religion of universal brotherhood, -universal fellowship, universal joy? Of course, in its way it’s -sublime, but the whole thing is full of peril.” - -“It has pitfalls, no doubt. But if only the players will have courage, -I am convinced that the play will carry them.” - -“It would be a terrible risk. And then there’s the Censor.” - -Brandon confessed that he had forgotten the Censor. - -“He’s very shy of religion as a rule,” said Pomfret. “And he’s very -likely to object that it’s far too gentle with the Boche. The creed -of love your enemies is all very well in the Bible, but it’s quite -impossible to practice--at any rate just now. And then the parsons -won’t like their pitch being queered. Their stock in trade has always -been gloom, reproach, damnation, mumbo jumbo, but your deity is a sort -of Pied Piper, who converts a bleeding world to the love of God by the -charm of his music, his power of sympathy, and his care for the doers -of evil. Yes, it’s a remarkable idea, but I’m afraid it’s pro-Boche, -and as far as the religious aspect goes, the people whom it might hope -to interest are the most likely to take offense at it.” - -“I can’t think they will,” Brandon protested, “if it’s given in the -spirit in which it’s conceived. Don’t you see that it restates the -central truths of Christianity, and presents them in a clearer, fuller, -more universal light?” - -“It may, but that is not likely to appeal to the big public, which goes -to the play to be amused, and not to be edified.” - -“Why not let the two states be one and the same? Why not let them march -together?” - -“My boy, you don’t know the theater.” - -“But the idea behind this play is that the theater is capable of -becoming a great moral and spiritual force. And that’s what it ought -to be. It’s appeal is irresistible; and religion brought from its -superhuman pedestal might be humanized, individualized, made attractive -to all the world. Now, my friend, produce this play at your best -theater, with all the wonderful technical resources at your command, -and you will have a success that will simply astonish you.” - -“Or failure that will cause me to file a petition in bankruptcy.” - -“I will indemnify you against all loss.” - -Pomfret shook a solemn head. “My dear boy,” he said, “it would be -madness to put up a play of this kind.” - -“Tell me, what would be the cost of a first-class production?” - -“At the Imperial, five thousand pounds, and you would have to be -prepared to lose every penny. It’s not the kind of thing the public -wants, particularly just now.” - -“Well, let them have their chance and see what happens.” - -They continued to discuss the matter until midnight, and even returned -to it the following day. Brandon marshaled his arguments with such -skill that Pomfret, against his deepest instinct as a theatrical -manager, began to weaken a little. Like all men who succeed in life, -the sense of his own limitations was ever before him. He knew that -there were more things in earth and heaven than were dreamed of in the -philosophy of Robert Pomfret. Brandon was a poet, a scholar, a man of -taste, and even if his qualities had no place in a theater run on -sound commercial lines, after all they stood for something. And when -they had a solid backing of five thousand pounds, they became doubly -impressive. - -By the time Pomfret was at the end of his brief stay, he was thinking -furiously. And if he saw no cause to alter the judgment he had formed, -he was too shrewd a man not to fortify it with sound technical advice. -Therefore, the next day, when he left Hart’s Ghyll, the precious -manuscript went with him. He promised to have it copied and submitted -to his reader of plays. - - - - -XXXV - - -A FORTNIGHT passed, which for Brandon was a time of hope, increasing -physical well-being, steadily returning faculty, and then came a letter -from Pomfret. A second reading of the play had deepened his interest; -moreover his reader, on whose judgment he relied, was inclined to think -that it had possibilities. He agreed, however, that the subject was -a thorny one in the present state of public feeling, and before any -proposal was made it would be well, perhaps, to sound the Censor of -plays. - -A week later there came a second letter which severely dashed Brandon’s -hopes. The Lord Chamberlain was not prepared to license the play unless -the chief character and two of the principal scenes were removed, in -other words Hamlet must be played without the Prince of Denmark. “But,” -the letter added, “my reader and I are agreed that these ‘cuts’ will -give the production as a whole a far better chance with the large -public. The big scenes are full of danger and religion is not wanted in -the theater. Therefore, if the author is willing for the cuts to be -made, the play may be a practical proposition. The acting, the scenery, -the mounting and the incidental music, which I am told is really -first-rate, will then have less to interfere with them.” - -Brandon was rather dismayed. And he was in a trying position. Every -week that passed added to his belief in the plenary inspiration of the -work as a whole. His physical and mental power were growing day by -day and the more firmly he became rooted in the living world of the -present the greater his faith in the miracle which had made him so. -To him, therefore, every word of the play was sacred. But in face of -the official ukase there was only one thing to be done: he constrained -himself to write to Wellwood, giving the history of the negotiations -and inclosing Pomfret’s letter. - -He had not long to remain in doubt. In two days there came a reply. -“Dear friend,” it said, “the Masters of Wisdom in council assembled say -to you, let none impair the Truce of God. It is or it is not. The Terms -are the fruit of deep communing. The world must accept or reject them.” - -It was the kind of answer Brandon had looked for. Yet while it -simplified his difficulties, it also added to them. On the surface -there was nothing more to be done, and the fact could be accepted with -a clear conscience. But his faith being now as it was, and reënforced -by his daily, his hourly experience, he felt his duty to the world at -large bearing upon him more and more heavily. - -Although the matter seemed to have reached its logical end, Brandon, -somewhat to his wife’s dismay, suddenly determined to go up to town. -Even if there was nothing to hope for by still pursuing it, he would -give himself the satisfaction of doing his utmost in the charge laid -upon him. - -Millicent did her best to keep him from London. His recovery had been -so recent and so unforeseen that she could not help feeling that he -was still on probation, and that undue stress, either of mind or body, -would involve a serious relapse. - -Dr. Joliffe, as puzzled as herself by the new turn of events, seconded -her vigorously. He was sure, from the nature of the case, that his -patient was still on very thin ice. But he was met now by a will of -iron. Even if the heavens fell, Brandon had set his mind on going to -town; yet he would not give a reason. The rueful Millicent had to order -her trunks to be packed; moreover, she had to crave the shelter of the -paternal roof in Hill Street for the peccant invalid until such time -as he had done his business, whatever that business might be. - -Prophesying every kind of evil for her stubborn lord, Millicent motored -with him to town on a cold, wet morning of mid-January. Her mood was -one of inspissated gloom, yet as she came to reflect, in the warmth -and comfort of the car, on Gervase’s state in relation to what it had -been hardly more than a month ago, simple gratitude became the dominant -emotion. She must never forget that several of the ablest doctors -in the land had by that time given up his case as hopeless. It had -been finally diagnosed as a nerve lesion whose baffling obscurity had -proved too much even for modern therapeutic skill. A recovery was no -longer hoped for, yet here was the sufferer sitting by her side in full -possession of every physical and mental faculty. A miracle had happened -beyond the ken of science, which it could only account for in the -most general terms. A severe shock had stopped the clock in the first -instance and medical science must now assume that a counter-shock had -set it going again. - -Even if Gervase was presuming on the abundant mercy of providence, it -was hard for a devoted wife to be really angry with him just now. For -one thing he was a gay and joyful Gervase. As one who has known the -nadir of the soul, he was now a giant newly risen and refreshed with -strong wine. The universe was rare and strange; the secret hope at the -core of every human life had been verified in a way to surprise the -expectations of the wildest dreamer. - -The next morning he went to see Pomfret. As he set out for Half Moon -Street the air was raw, the wind bitter, but he felt like an awakened -sleeper walking in a new and wonderful world. Not again had he hoped -to feel the London pavement under his feet; not again had he hoped -to experience the thrill of the world’s metropolis. Somehow its old, -drab streets put an enchantment upon him. He was fired as he had never -been by their magic and their mystery. And now he had a power within -which set him so miraculously in tune with the infinite that he saw new -colors in the gray sky, the dull grass, the bare trees; he heard noble -harmonies in the flowing air and the sharp wind. - -The great man, in a vivid chocolate breakfast suit, was dallying with a -poached egg. - -“By all the gods!” he cried, rising with outstretched hands. “What -brings you to town, my son?” - -“There is but one God,” said Brandon, allowing himself to be pressed -into the chair nearest the fire. “And John Smith is his prophet. In a -word, he has brought me to town.” - -Pomfret laughed, but the shrewd eyes twinkled with a heightened -curiosity. “That is to say, your mysterious genius consents to the -cuts?’ - -“On the contrary.” And Brandon produced the letter. - -While Pomfret read he watched his face narrowly. One thing was clear: -since the great man’s visit to Hart’s Ghyll a good deal of water -had flowed under the bridge. At any rate disappointment, vexation, -perplexity, were now freely displayed in that expressive countenance. - -“What a rum letter!” was the first comment. “Is the chap cracked or is -he trying to pull your leg?” - -“‘Nothing is but thinking makes it so.’” Brandon’s gravity was almost -stern. “This is no common man, and one day, I hope, a topsy-turvy -planet will know it.” - -“I can only say it’s a great pity he won’t consent to the cuts.” The -rejoinder was measured, deliberate, businesslike. “A very great pity. -Morrison’s read it, and he says if it is handled in the right way it -might be a property. As it is of course the public won’t look at it.” - -“They won’t be allowed to look at it if the Censor’s ukase means -anything.” - -“That can be got over. And as I say, the cuts will be all for the good -of the play.” - -“But don’t you see, old dunce, that this is a thing no one can touch?” - -“In that case there’s an end of the matter.” Pomfret’s jaw fell three -inches. “The law won’t allow it to be produced in London.” - -“Then so much the worse for London.” - -“No doubt,” said the cynic at the breakfast table. “But seriously, if -you can persuade your crackpot to be practical we may have a pretty big -thing. Honeybone, the composer, has seen the music. He says it’s great, -and he thinks that theme in the second act might go all over the world.” - -“Well, we shall see.” - -“But you won’t, my friend, I assure you, unless you can make the man -hear reason.” - -“We have his last word, I’m afraid,” said Brandon gravely, as he put -the letter back in his pocket. “And we mustn’t forget that there’s -a great purpose at the back of it all. I believe this work to be -inspired, just as the gospels are inspired--although I own that a month -ago I daren’t have made any such statement.” - -Pomfret opened round eyes of wary amazement “Well, well,” he said. And -he rose from the table and offered his visitor a cigarette. - - - - -XXXVI - - -“WELL, well,” said Robert Pomfret. At that moment he was a very puzzled -man. - -“So now you know the worst,” said Brandon, looking at him eagerly. “And -that’s why in my humble opinion the thing must stand just as it is. -Moreover, you now know why I conceive it my bounden duty to give it to -the world. And if it can’t be put up here I shall take it to New York.” - -The mention of New York had a visible effect upon Pomfret. “Rather a -coincidence,” he said. “Urban Meyer is over here. He’s lunching with me -today at the Ritz. You’d better come and meet him.” - -It was a grave confession of ignorance, but Brandon owned that the name -of Urban Meyer conveyed nothing. - -“He’s the biggest thing of his kind in existence. He controls four -hundred theaters in the United States, and about the same number in -Europe.” - -“A sort of Haroun-al-Raschid,” laughed Brandon. - -“I’ve already mentioned the play to him. And he’s reading it now. If -you will come with me to the Ritz you may get further light on the -matter. But if you’re wise you won’t be quite so frank with him as -you’ve been with me. A little bird tells me that he’s interested. But -he’s a regular Napoleon in business. Still you may like to hear what he -has to say, and there’s just a chance that he may save you a journey to -New York.” - -“He may,” said Brandon, “but I’m not hopeful. His name bewrayeth him.” - -“A hyphenated American,” said Pomfret, “but he began life as a little -Frankfort Jew. A remarkable man with a still more remarkable career -behind him. Exact study of the public taste has made him a millionaire. -Still, we’re old friends and I’m bound to say I’ve always found him a -very decent fellow. And if you care for human documents I think he will -interest you.” - -In a fraternal manner they passed the time till one o’clock. About noon -a wintry sun came out and they took a gentle turn in the Green Park to -get an appetite for luncheon. The shrewdly humorous man of affairs was -so full of advice that he was like a kindly uncle. “Whatever you do, my -son, don’t talk to Urban Meyer as you’ve talked to me,” was the burden -of his homily. Even now the practical Pomfret had not quite overcome a -feeling of sheer amazement. A fantastic illusion had declared itself -in a brilliant mind, and no matter how cautiously he approached the -subject he felt the oppression of its shadow. Continuing his sage -advice, he finally led his freakish friend through the revolving doors -of the Ritz on the very stroke of one o’clock. - - - - -XXXVII - - -IN the hall was an odd little man in a brown hat. Appearance -marched with intellect in such a naïve way, that Urban Meyer had an -unmistakable air of being the only one of his kind in existence. And -this was fit and proper. There was only one Urban Meyer in the world, -and nature had been at some pains to emphasize the fact for the benefit -of all whom it might concern. - -He was a singularly accessible little man, simple and modest, and not -afflicted with “frills” or shyness. But the queer, birdlike eyes, -while they smiled a gently diffused benevolence, missed no crumb of -what passed around. He was delighted to meet Mr. Brandon--there was a -curious habit of cutting up his words into syllables, the voice was -soft and kind to the verge of the feminine, the handshake prompt and -hearty and almost embarrassingly full of friendship. Altogether he -was such a disarming little man on the surface, that it was hard to -believe that any real depth of guile could be masked by such charm -and innocence. But somehow the infallible Pomfret, in spite of his -encomiums, had contrived to leave no doubt on the matter. - -“‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son,’” he whispered as they moved in the -direction of luncheon. - -The table was in the left-hand corner, out of the range of the curious, -and as they sat down a feeling almost uncanny came upon Brandon that -this was about to prove the most memorable meal of his life. Outwardly -cool, he was so strangely excited that he had diligently to rehearse -the precepts of his mentor. - -“Let Old Uncle do the talking,” had counseled the sage. - -To begin with, however, Urban Meyer went off at a tangent. The keen -eyes fixed themselves upon a distant table, and then he said, in a tone -low and deep: “It may interest you to know that the world’s biggest -brain is in the room.” - -Brandon and Pomfret were duly impressed. - -“Indeed,” said Pomfret with becoming seriousness. - -“You mean the man over there?” said Brandon following the eyes of Urban -Meyer. - -“Yes, the sallow one with a face like a Chicago ham.” - -“Where? Show me.” Pomfret’s curiosity was roused. Urban Meyer did not -mistake geese for swans as a rule. - -“Straight ahead,” said Brandon. “The long, lean, pale man. That’s -Murdwell the scientist--Gazelee Payne Murdwell who is giving his nights -and days to making a worse hell of this planet than it is already.” - -“You know him?” said Urban Meyer. - -“He’s a neighbor of mine,” Brandon explained. “Personally I like him, -but he won’t bear thinking about. He’s all new and all true I suppose?” -He had the air of one seeking for information. - -“Sure.” It was Urban Meyer’s favorite word, but it seemed to do the -work of many at this moment. “Murdwell’s the problem for the near -future. He’s getting through to things that are best left alone. He’s -the writing on the wall. The best that can happen to the human race -just now is for Murdwell to be closed down.” - -The tone had a curious authority. Somehow it made a deep impression on -Brandon. - -“That man’s intellect is colossal. But he’s on the wrong tack, and -I tell him so, as I told Orville Wright when he first said that he -was going to fly. The day the Wrights got home with their damned -contraption was the worst the human race has seen since the invention -of gunpowder; and now Gazelee Payne Murdwell comes along with a promise -which it is humanity’s business to see that he never fulfills.” - -“But how prevent him?” asked Brandon. “In the present phase of human -perversion, Gazelee Payne Murdwell is a prophet and a savior.” - -“At this moment,” said Urban Meyer, “there’s just one thing between -the human race and Murdwell’s Law, and that thing’s God. And that’s -why I venture to hope that the Professor will have to close down. -Two years ago I didn’t believe in God, but since then I’ve changed -my outlook.” At this point he helped himself to an excellent mousse -of ham, and the host ordered a bottle of Pommery. “Since then I’ve -been down in the _Lusitania_, I’ve seen Paris saved for Europe, and -I’ve still hopes of seeing civilization saved for mankind. I say this -because I feel there’s a God standing behind it and he’s going to see -it through. I was born at Frankfort in 1849, and I’ve bled for Prussia -at Gravelotte.” The little man drew up his shirt sleeve and showed a -deep scar on his arm. “That’s a Frenchman’s saber. I was young then and -I loved the fatherland. Even at that time Prussia was the enemy of the -human race, but a boy couldn’t be expected to know that and he couldn’t -have helped himself if he had. In 1876 I went to New York; in 1890 I -became an American citizen; in 1916 I’m a citizen of the world. - -“I consider that I have had exceptional facilities for seeing this -war impartially, but my nature is to look to the future. I’ve always -planned and built ahead. And as I figure it out Prussia is going to -be downed and Germany bled white. But take it from me, my friends, it -will be a very long and slow process.” There was a slight pause in the -little man’s monologue, but no contradiction was offered. - -“And in the end civilization will have to save Germany. Unless she gets -a change of heart there’s no security for the time ahead. At present -she’s outside the pale, but it won’t be wise or right to let her -remain there forever. She’s a big proposition and the world owes her -something. She will have to be helped to rid herself of Prussia. How’s -it to be done--that’s the problem for the future. One thing is sure: -you won’t get her to cut herself free of her protector by ramming a -pistol down her throat.” - -Brandon agreed. - -“What’s your alternative?” said Pomfret. - -“We must keep the communications open as well as we can. It’s the duty -of those who look to the time ahead to try to get into touch with the -German people.” - -“But that’s quite impossible,” said Pomfret. “They are a set of outlaws -and perverts.” - -“I admit that the present plight of the German people is just about -the biggest problem in all history.” - -“You’re right. And every effort made by outsiders to help them will -simply recoil on itself.” - -“It may be so. But if there is a God in the world he cares just as much -for the Teuton as he cares for anyone else.” - -“Very true,” said Brandon. “And Germany must be made to see the light. -But that can only be done indirectly. The German, as the world is now -beginning to realize, has a very curious psychology. He doesn’t see -through his eyes, but through his emotions. Therefore he calls for very -special treatment.” - -“Why not let him alone?” said Pomfret. “Why not let him find his own -level?” - -“Because civilization can’t afford to do that. It owes it to itself to -help Germany.” - -“I fully agree,” said Brandon. - -“I entirely dissent,” said Pomfret, filling the glasses of his guests. -“Germany by her own considered acts has put herself outside the -comity of nations, and there’s no need to readmit her. She may lie -down with the Magyar, the Turk and the Bulgar till the crack of doom. -Civilization can do without Germany. The question is, can Germany do -without civilization?” - -“In spite of her errors and her crimes,” said Urban Meyer, “you do an -injustice to a great people if you close all the doors against her.” - -“We shall not agree about their greatness,” said Pomfret. “They are a -race of barbarians, with a dangerous streak of madness.” - -“That’s one side of the Teuton, I admit. But on the other he’s an -idealist, a lover of the arts, an exemplary citizen. And the task of -the future is to get him back to where he was. He’s got to return to -the old ways. By the bye, that play has set me thinking.” Pomfret and -Brandon exchanged glances, but Urban Meyer went on with a curious -spontaneity, as if he were thinking aloud. “Yes, it has set my mind -working. Last night I dreamed about it, and I believe if the Kingdom of -Something Else could be presented just as I saw it in my dream it would -speak to the real heart of Germany. It has the very spirit of her folk -tales; it has the romance, the poetry, the music, the kindly people -my childhood used to make and adore. And it teaches a gospel which -might have a universal appeal. You know I’ve an immense belief in the -theater. To me it’s the true church of the time to come. And I don’t -see why the next world religion shouldn’t begin with a great play.” - -Again Pomfret and Brandon exchanged glances. - -“People ask what’s wrong with Christianity. Its great flaw to my mind -is that it asks too much; it is sublime but it isn’t quite a working -proposition. We won’t go into a tremendous argument, but there isn’t -the slightest doubt that in its present form it doesn’t touch the -crowd. It needs simplifying, modifying, humanizing, before it can get -right home to the man in the street. A lot of old lumber and obsolete -formulas will have to find their way to the scrap heap. The great -truths can still be there, but the religion of the future has got to -think more of this world and less of the next. And I’m by no means sure -that the mind which conceived the idea of the Kingdom of the Something -Else is not going to meet the deepest need of mankind at the present -time.” - -Brandon shot a glance of triumph at Pomfret, but even in that moment of -exaltation he remembered the counsel of the sage. - -“At the first opportunity I should like to put up that play in New York -at my biggest theater. There would be an all-star cast and a special -orchestra, and in every detail it would be absolutely the greatest -production ever seen in the States or anywhere else.” - -“And you would present it exactly as it is written?” said Pomfret in a -matter-of-fact tone. - -“Yes. Not a line would be altered. It’s not ordinary theater stuff. In -this case it’s the spirit of the thing that is going to matter and -that must not be tampered with on any account.” - -Pomfret sat, a picture of whimsical incredulity, but Brandon, burning -with the zeal of the evangelist, was now unequal to the change that the -prudence of this world had laid upon him. Urban Meyer had been visited -by the divine wisdom, and Brandon could not withhold acknowledgment of -a fact so signal and so astonishing. - -“The theater is my religion,” the little man went on, and his queer -eyes grew suddenly fixed as if they were looking at something. “I -believe in it as I believe in nothing else. When you’ve watched -millions of people going crazy over stunts like ‘Baby’s Bedsocks,’ -the original smile-with-a-tear-in-it, you ask yourself what could be -done by a real play with a live message. As I say, the theater is the -church of the future. There’s no limit to its power; it speaks to the -masses, cheers them, strengthens them, makes them healthy, lifts them -up; it takes them into worlds beyond their own. And they understand its -language. - -“Now this play, as I see it, is a test case. It’s not theater stuff -of the ordinary brand and it’s got to be played just as it is, in the -spirit of reverence. It may fall down, and fall down badly, but I’d -like to produce it as an act of faith, for the love I bear humanity.” - -Pomfret could hardly believe his ears. Something had happened to the -little man. He had known Urban Meyer nearly twenty years, and it -was hard to relate this gush of altruism with the impresario whose -astuteness was a byword all over the world. For one thing, and it -amused Pomfret vastly, in the stress of his enthusiasm he had even -forgotten to discuss the terms of the contract. - -They came to that presently, and then a sight for the gods presented -itself. With the aid of racial instincts ruthlessly applied, Urban -Meyer had taken an immense fortune out of the theater, but now, -entering it as a missionary, he was willing to make a contract which -added greatly to Pomfret’s perplexity. - -“It’s double what I’ve ever offered to a new man,” said Urban Meyer, -“but as I say, this production is going to be an act of faith. I -believe in God, I believe in the theater, I believe in this play and -that’s the basis on which I invite the world to come in. If it falls -down I may be out a hundred thousand dollars, but I shall not grudge a -nickel, because no man can serve God and serve Mammon at the same time.” - -Moreover, to judge by a new glow in a quaintly Semitic countenance, -Urban Meyer felt immensely strengthened by being in a position to make -that assertion. He was not puffed up, but a light of enthusiasm played -over his face which somehow made him better to look at. “Nothing is but -thinking makes it so! To a man of imagination that means all that ever -was and ever will be. And if you keep on expecting miracles to happen, -miracles are bound to happen--if only you expect in the right way.” - -Pomfret could only smile perplexedly, but Brandon, flooded by a -happiness rare and strange, was overborne by the workings of the divine -providence. For a moment he was submerged by wild speculations, and -then he awoke with a start to the fact that a sudden hand had been laid -on his shoulder. - - - - -XXXVIII - - -“HULLOA, Murd! You’re looking cheap.” Brandon awoke to the sound of -the voice of Urban Meyer. En route from the luncheon table, Professor -Murdwell had tarried to pass the time of day with a celebrated -compatriot. A kind of freemasonry exists in all lands among the -supereminent, and these two shining examples knew how to pay the tacit -homage due to conspicuous merit. - -“Not well, Murd?” The all-seeing eye of Urban Meyer was fixed like a -bead on the scientist. - -“Nothing, my boy,” was the light answer. “A bit run down, that’s all. -As a fact I’m off now to see my doctor. I can soon be put right. -How are you, my friend?” The kindly pressure increased on Brandon’s -shoulder. “It’s very good to see you on your feet again. I heard the -other day from old Parson What’s-his-name that you had managed to find -a cure, although I’m bound to say that when I saw you last, back in the -fall, I’d about given you up. However--I’m more than glad--I’m simply -delighted.” And with the benign air of the _bon enfant_, Professor -Murdwell followed in the wake of Bud and Jooly, who had gone into the -hall. - -“He mayn’t know it,” said Urban Meyer in a low voice, “but that man’s -got death in his face.” - -Brandon was startled by the tone. It had an uncanny prescience which -made him feel uncomfortable. - -“If looks mean anything his number’s up. Personally he’s a good -fellow--one of the best alive--but he’s been touching things which up -till now were _verboten_. Let us pray to God they always will be.” - -How do you know all this?--was the question which rose to the tip of -Brandon’s tongue. But he refrained from asking it. Murdwell’s face had -a curious ashen hue, and now that its meaning had been pointed out it -was not to be mistaken. As for the second part of the statement, made -with equal authority, it gave an impression of curious insight into -certain phenomena, which it would be futile to discuss. - -In the hall, over coffee and cigars, the talk went on. Brandon felt -himself living in a kind of wonderland of which Urban Meyer was king. -The little man’s words flowed on in soft, odd, detached syllables, yet -they were alive with a magic interest for one who shared his faith. As -for Pomfret, tasting deliberately a masterpiece among cigars, he had to -admit in the recesses of an almost uncomfortably sagacious mind, that -never in the whole course of its owner’s experience had it been so -completely at a loss. - -It was impossible to recognize the Urban Meyer of commerce. And to find -one of the strongest brains of the age thrown off its balance by a mere -stage play, the stuff in which it was always trafficking, was simply -ludicrous. In the case of Brandon it was less surprising. For one thing -he had hardly recovered from a terrible illness; and again he came to -the theater a raw amateur. But Urban Meyer! Yes, it was quite true that -the day of miracles was not yet past! - -By the time they had said good-by to the little man and had sauntered -round the corner into Saint James’s Street as far as Brandon’s club, -Pomfret’s amazement had grown quite disconcerting. - -“I fancy when Old Uncle jumped from the _Lusitania_ it shook him up a -bit,” he said in a feeble attempt at self-protection. “He _can’t_ be -the man he was.” - -“Because he sees the plenary inspiration in the Kingdom of the -Something Else?” - -“To think of that old hard-shell turning the theater into a church! Ye -gods! It’s the most ironical thing I ever heard. Still, he can afford -himself little luxuries of that kind. He’s making his soul no doubt.” - -“At any rate,” said Brandon, “he’ll deserve well of heaven if he can -reform the Boche.” - -Before Pomfret could make suitable reply they walked into the arms of -George Speke, who was augustly descending the steps of the stronghold -of the Whigs. - -“What!” he cried. “You!” His eyes raked Brandon from top to toe. “I -can’t believe it. And one hears people say that miracles don’t happen.” - -“I plead guilty to being among them,” said Pomfret; in the presence of -Speke’s amazement he had a sense of intellectual relief. - -“Science won’t acknowledge it as a miracle,” said Brandon. “It has -a theory which fully covers the case. It was explained to me last -night by Bowood, the nerve man. I forget what he called it--but what -the thing amounts to is that functional reaction has been induced by -counter-shock--excuse the phraseology--but Bowood says the thing is -constantly occurring.” - -“I affirm it as a miracle,” said Speke. - -“I, too,” said Brandon. “More has happened in my case than therapeutics -can explain. I’ve been given a new soul as well as a new body. But -we won’t go into that now. At this particular moment I want to talk -to you about that fantastically absurd official, the Censor of Stage -Plays.” - -But the subject was deferred until the following evening when the two -men dined together. Even then George Speke was not very illuminating. -After all, the censorship of stage plays was a departmental matter, -and this habitual member of governments had the departmental mind. A -harmless functionary had been much attacked in the public press by the -kind of people who attack every kind of institution, but experience had -proved him to be at once wise, necessary, and convenient. - -“Wise! Necessary! Convenient!” said Brandon, “to invest a single -individual of cynical mediocrity with absolute power? It’s an insult to -every pen in the realm.” - -Speke laughed at the vehemence but admitted the truth. Yet a threadbare -controversy left him cold. To be quite candid, the theater was -negligible, the art of dramatic writing equally so. Far better that -both should perish than that either should sully the mind of the -humblest citizen of Imperial Rome. - - - - -XXXIX - - -IN the course of the next few days Brandon interviewed various -specialists, and then by their advice he went to Brighton for two -months. The result was such a steady gain in physical force and mental -equilibrium that he was able to resume his military duties. - -Not by his own request was he spared the boredom, the misery, the -ghoulish horror of the trenches. The higher expediency was able to -realize that men of Brandon’s age, particularly if they have once been -badly knocked out, don’t pay for cartage to France. Therefore he was -given a commission and sent to the north to train new units. - -He didn’t complain. Whatever his job, he would have taken off his coat -and set to. He was no subscriber to the military fetish, nothing would -ever make him one, but in August, 1914, he had given his services -unconditionally to his country and he was not the man to shirk the -obligation into which he had entered. - -To one of subtle perceptions and fastidious culture, the teaching -of a lot of “bandy-legged coal-shovelers” to form fours, and to hurl -an imaginary bomb at an imaginary Hun should have been a wearisome, -soul-destroying affair. Yet somehow it was not. There was a time when -in spite of his honest, democratic liberalism, he would have been tried -beyond endurance by the fantastic boredom of it all. But that time -had passed. Never again could the human factor, however primitive, be -without its meaning. He had been wrought upon by a miracle, and it -abided with him during every hour of the new life. - -His thoughts were often with John Smith. Enshrined in Brandon’s -heart as a divine symbol, he was the key to a Mystery which had the -power to cleanse even the thing called war of its bestial obscenity. -Many a night when he came back dog-tired and heart-sore, to a dirty, -comfortless room and an ill-cooked meal in a rude, miserable colliery -township whose like he had never seen, he was sustained by the sublime -faith of one who, for the sake of the love he bore his kind, had dared -to transcend reason in order to affirm it. - -Many a night in the fetid air of a bedroom whose window could not be -persuaded to open, he lay on a broken-backed mattress trying to relate -this divine friend with the humanity through whose travail he had -found expression. Who and what was this portent? Was he akin to the -August Founder of Christianity? Was he a madman hugging a crazy but -pathetic and terrible delusion? Or was he the superman of which the -World Spirit had long been dreaming, a great clairvoyant able to summon -representative souls from the astral plane? - -It must be left to the future to decide. At the best these -were fantastic speculations, but they were now the _clou_ of a -forward-looking soul. Only these could sustain it in the path of duty. -Week by week, it was being borne in upon Brandon that the sword could -never hope to achieve anything worth achieving. Humanity was too -complex and it was poisoned at the roots. Prussia after all was only -a question of degree. Unless a change took place in the heart of man, -these splendid, simple chaps with their debased forms of speech, their -crudeness and their ignorance, would hurl their bombs in vain. - -How he loved these bandy-legged warriors who never opened their mouths -without defiling his ears. Deeper even than the spirit of race was the -sense of human brotherhood. It resolved every difficulty, it unlocked -every door. And the key had come to him by means of the inmate of -Wellwood who had received it in turn from the divine mystic of the -hills of Galilee. - -The weeks went by in their weariness, yet nothing happened to the -world. Months ago Urban Meyer had returned to America and the play -had gone with him. The shrewd Pomfret had been made an agent for -the author, in order to protect the interests of John Smith, but he -received no word from New York beyond an intimation that the play had -been mysteriously “hung up.” The news was not unexpected, yet he never -doubted that sooner or later Urban Meyer would carry out his fixed -intention of producing it. - -In the meantime, Brandon wrote several letters to the inmate of -Wellwood. The new turn of events was revealed, and great stress laid -upon the supreme good fortune which so far had attended the play. -To have convinced such a man as Urban Meyer of its almost plenary -inspiration meant that its destiny was on the way to fulfillment. - -The letters Brandon received in answer must have puzzled him greatly, -had they not squared so exactly with the theory he had formed. Full as -they were of warm and deep feeling, they yet seemed remote from the -conditions of practical life. Even their note of sure faith was open to -misinterpretation. There was no recognition of the singular providence -which had set Urban Meyer on the track of the play, or if there was, -it took for granted that the little man was the chosen instrument of -God. Like Brandon himself, he was only a medium, through which Heaven -was to resolve a high and awful issue. - -Brandon received no second command to Wellwood, and he had not -the courage to make pilgrimage without it. But as the long months -passed and he grew more secure in physical power, the impression of -the dreamlike December journey remained ineffaceably vivid. Time -strengthened a fervent belief in the sublime genius of John Smith, -but the wild speculations to which that belief gave rise led to one -inescapable conclusion which in the last resort he could not quite find -the courage to embrace openly. The disciple was thrilled by the tone -of each letter he received, but nineteen centuries had passed since -the Master had walked among men; and Brandon, with his own work in the -world yet to do, could only feel that Faith itself besought him not to -go too far beyond the poor, limited, human ken. - -In order to fulfill the common daily round, he felt bound to hold aloof -from John Smith, yet the man himself was never out of his thoughts. -And not for a moment did he forget a sacred task. Months went by, the -brief occasional letters ceased, and then Brandon sent an emissary to -Wellwood, so that he might gain first-hand knowledge without incurring -the terrible risk his every instinct warned him must attend a personal -visit. - -Mr. Perry-Hennington was the chosen vehicle. Between the two men there -had been a reconciliation. The return of health had enabled Brandon to -shed much of his animosity; besides, he saw that if John Smith’s view -of his mission was the true one, such a man as the vicar of Penfold -could hardly be more than a humble catspaw of destiny. That good, but -narrow and obtuse man, was perhaps only the unconscious means by which -a second world-drama was to unfold itself. - -In the autumn Brandon was granted a few days’ leave. After weary months -of servitude in the arid north, a week at Hart’s Ghyll, among his own -people, was like a breath of heaven. And it synchronized with a tide of -greater events. - -These began with a morning call from the vicar. A very different -Gervase Brandon received him now in that glorious room, which, however, -for them both, must always hold memories of anxious and embittered -conflict. The squire of Hart’s Ghyll had emerged from the long night -of the soul, and even to this closed mind he was far more than the -Gervase Brandon of old. In returning to that physical world which he -loved so well, he had gained enlargement. Something had been added -to a noble liberality; a softness, an immanence of the spirit, which -Mr. Perry-Hennington was quick to ascribe to his favorite process of -purification by suffering. - -The vicar was pleased by the warmth of his reception; and he had -already had a sign of Brandon’s change of attitude. The previous day, -at Brandon’s request, he had paid a visit to Wellwood. And in that -request, Mr. Perry-Hennington saw a tacit admission of the justice of -his actions; he also saw that Brandon, now clothed in his right mind, -was fully alive to his own errors in the past. - -“Well, my dear Gervase,” he said with full-toned heartiness, the -underside of which was magnanimity, “yesterday, as you suggested, I -went to Wellwood to see our friend.” - -“More than good of you,” said Brandon, his eyes lighted by gratitude -and eagerness. “An act of real charity. I could have gone myself, of -course, but I don’t quite trust myself in the matter--that is to say--” - -“Quite so--I understand and appreciate that. And I am particularly glad -you left it to me to form my own impressions.” - -“Well?” - -“In the first place, I had a long talk with Dr. Thorp, who by the way -is a singularly experienced and broad-minded man.” - -“I fully agree.” - -“Well, I’m bound to say that he grew quite enthusiastic over the poor -dear fellow. In every way he is a most exemplary patient; indeed, I was -told that he wields a truly remarkable moral influence over the whole -establishment, inmates and nursing staff alike.” - -“I learned that many months ago.” - -“It is very surprising that it should be so.” The vicar’s air was one -of perplexity. “But Dr. Thorp considers John Smith an extraordinary -case.” - -“So I have gathered.” - -“He suffers, of course, from an obscure form of religious mania, which -fully justifies his detention, but at the same time he leads the life -of a saint.” - -“How is his health?” - -A cloud came on the vicar’s face. He did not answer the question at -once. At last he said: “Let me prepare you for bad news. I regret to -say that he is slowly dying.” - -Brandon caught his breath sharply. He did not try to conceal his -distress. He put a dozen eager questions. The announcement had come as -a great blow. - -“Dr. Thorp holds out no hope that his life will be a long one,” said -the vicar. “Apart from the ravages of his disease, the spirit appears -to be wearing out the body. He doesn’t take enough nourishment. He -simply can’t be induced to touch flesh meat in any form; in fact for -many weeks he has been existing almost entirely on bread and water.” - -“He does not wish to live?” - -“I think he longs for the other and the better world.” - -“That, at any rate, is perhaps not altogether surprising.” - -The thrust might not have been intentional, but the shadow deepened on -the vicar’s face. “It is not,” he said. “Yet he is so well cared for, -he is allowed such liberty, his relations with all the other inmates -are so charmingly harmonious, that it is hard to see how the freedom of -the outer world could add to his present happiness; that, at any rate, -is Dr. Thorp’s view. His troubles, odd as it may seem, do not spring -from his immediate surroundings; they spring from the present state -of the world. His mania has crystallized into a strange form. He has -become pathetically convinced that he is the Savior, and he spends his -whole time in fasting and prayer.” - -“Did you see him?” - -“Yes.” The vicar paused an instant, and in that instant Brandon -literally devoured the subtly changing face of the man before him. “Not -only did I see him, I was permitted to speak to him. Moreover, he sent -you a message. You are always to remember that one unconverted believer -may save the whole world.” As the vicar repeated the odd phrase, his -eye met Brandon’s and a silence followed. - -“I shall never forget the way he said it,” Mr. Perry-Hennington went -on. “The tone of his voice, the look of his eyes gave one quite an -uncanny feeling. Whether it was the mental and physical state of the -poor man himself, or whether it was his surroundings, I cannot say, -but somehow I can’t get the picture of him as he spoke those words out -of my mind. It’s weak, I know, but the whole of last night I lay awake -thinking of Wellwood, and this poor dear fellow, John Smith.” - -“Was he so different from what you expected to find him?” - -“Somehow he was. His disease has taken such a curious form. And in that -strange place, in the midst of a lot of old men, afflicted like himself -with various fantastic delusions, he has an air of authority which is -really most striking--I am bound to say is really most striking.” - -“I cannot tell you how interested I am to hear you say that,” was -Brandon’s eager rejoinder. - -“If one had not continually said to oneself: ‘This gloomy place, -haunted with dead souls, is Wellwood Asylum,’ one might even have -come under a strange spell. Dr. Thorp says the freakish power of some -of these broken-down intellects is amazing; and to see them seated -around that large and somber room engaged in what John Smith calls ‘the -correlation of human experience,’ is at once the most tragic and the -most pathetic sight I have ever witnessed.” - -“It is a sight that I, at any rate, shall take to my grave.” As Brandon -saw again the picture by the inward eye, he was shaken by a wild -tremor. “Henceforth, I shall see it always in this life, and I look to -see it in the next.” - -“Yes,” said the vicar. “I can well understand your feeling about it.” - -Brandon gave a little shudder; and then, after a silence he said: “May -I ask what impression you formed of our poor friend?” - -“It is most difficult to put it into words. Physically and mentally -he has undergone a very curious change; and he appears to wield a -strange power over all with whom he comes in contact. As I say, I felt -it myself. I shall never forget the shock I had when those eyes emerged -from that bearded face. For a moment one could have almost believed -oneself in the presence of Someone Else. Then I remembered where I was, -but it needed an effort I assure you.” - -“Do you still feel that Wellwood is the place for him?” - -“Yes, I do. I discussed the matter with Dr. Thorp, and he is strongly -of the opinion that the poor fellow is better off at Wellwood than he -would be elsewhere. They have come to love him there. He is extremely -well cared for, he never complains of the loss of personal liberty, -and, as I say, there is every reason to think that his days are -numbered.” - -“Dr. Thorp has no doubt on that point?” - -“None. The poor fellow is failing physically. At the present time he -appears to live more in another world than he does in this. One does -not pretend to know what that other world is or may be. Apparently it -is a kind of mystical dreamland, in which he persuades himself that he -communicates with departed spirits. And there are times when he enters -a soul condition which lies outside Dr. Thorp’s own experience of -psychical phenomena. In fact, he considers John Smith to be by far the -most baffling and complex case with which he has ever had to deal.” - -A number of other questions Brandon put to the vicar, in the hope -of light from an authentic source upon a very remarkable matter. -For himself he could only account for it by means of a far-fetched -hypothesis, with which he knew that Mr. Perry-Hennington was the last -man in the world likely to agree. All the same, one clear fact emerged -from this conversation. There was a change in the vicar. Could it be -that, since his recent visit to Wellwood, Mr. Perry-Hennington had -begun to realize that there might be more things in earth and heaven -than his philosophy had dreamed of hitherto? - - - - -XL - - -AFTER luncheon that same day, the salutary process now at work in -the vicar’s mind received a further stimulus. He was to find himself -involved in a matter at once painful and unexpected, and the impression -left upon him was deeply perplexing. - -At the urgent request of Professor Murdwell, who had just returned -from New York, he had promised to go to Longwood that afternoon. Mr. -Murdwell had been out of the country six months, and now that he had -got back, almost his first act had been to send for the vicar. - -As Mr. Perry-Hennington made stately progress on an antiquated tricycle -along the leafy carpet of the wind-bitten autumn lanes, he was far from -anticipating the sad surprise that was in store. In the spring, when -last at Longwood, he had been struck by the fact that his neighbor -was not looking particularly well, and he had ventured to remark upon -it. Mr. Murdwell had made light of the matter. But this afternoon, as -soon as the vicar had been ushered into the cozy room in which the -scientist sat alone, he received a shock. A great change had taken -place in a few months. The alert, far-looking eyes had lost their -luster, the cheeks had fallen in, the face of keenness and power was -terribly ravaged by disease. - -Mr. Murdwell rose with the old air of courtesy to receive his visitor, -but the effort was slow and painful. - -“Good of you to come, sir,” he said, motioning his visitor to a chair, -and then half collapsing into his own. He looked at the vicar with a -rather forlorn smile. “I’m a very sick man these days,” he said. - -The vicar was a little distressed by the air of complete helplessness. -“I hope it’s nothing serious,” he said. - -“I’ve come home to die,” said Mr. Murdwell, with the calmness of a -stoic. - -The words were a shock to the vicar. - -“The word ‘home’ mustn’t surprise you. I come of clean-run stock; I -belong to the old faith and the old blood. As the world goes just now, -I feel that I am among my own people, and I want you to lay me yonder -in your little churchyard on a good Sussex hillside.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington felt a growing dismay. “I venture to hope,” he -said, “that you will be spared to us a long time yet.” - -“A week or so at the most.” Infinite weariness was in the voice. “You -are a good and sensible man, and I am going to talk to you frankly. The -thought of leaving my wife and girl hurts like a knife; and of course -my work means a very great deal to me. I have simply lived in it; -indeed the truth is, I have lived in it too much. And it is now being -brought home to me that it is for the ultimate good of humanity that it -should remain unfinished.” - -The vicar, grieved and amazed, was unable to say anything. He had quite -a regard for this man of original and powerful mind, and it shocked him -deeply to find him in his present state. - -“It seems that at present there are certain things which are still -forbidden to science. A year ago I was fully convinced that such was -not the case. But that view was premature. At that time the whole -question raised by Murdwell’s Law was still _sub judice_. The verdict -has now been given. I have a cancer, which must kill me long before I -am able to complete my researches. And I think you, sir, and all who -see the cosmos at your particular angle are fully entitled to regard -this as the act of God.” - -The vicar remained silent, but with an intense and painful interest he -followed the revelations of the dying man. - -“Thus far shalt thou go and no farther! The power, or the group of -powers, which controls the development of mankind, whispered those -words to me a year ago. But I chose to disregard them. I was too deeply -committed to my studies, which, had I been allowed to pursue them to -their logical conclusion, would have revolutionized war and everything -else on this planet. There is no need to make a secret of the fact -that, by the operation of Murdwell’s Law, I have been able to trace the -existence of an element hitherto unknown. It has been given the name of -vitalium, and my hope, and the hope of the distinguished men of science -associated with me, was that its bearing on present events would be -decisive. I still hold the theory that this element contains powers and -properties compared with which all others in the purview of man are -insignificant. For instance, I said that it was within the competence -of vitalium to destroy an enemy fleet at a distance of twenty thousand -miles. But as I was warned at the time the prophecy was made, and as -I know beyond all question now, I am not to be allowed to prove my -proposition. - -“Prometheus is not to be allowed to steal the fire from heaven. And -well it is for mankind that some things are still forbidden to it. -Whether that will always be the case I dare not prophesy. But at this -moment I have no doubt that Gazelee Payne Murdwell is the writing on -the wall for the human race. Put that on my tombstone in your Sussex -churchyard.” - -The vicar was strangely moved. - -“Another theory I have formed, which I am not to be allowed to prove, -is that with the aid of vitalium it is possible to communicate with -other planets. There is little doubt that some of them do communicate -with one another, and I am inclined to think that the terrible crisis -the world is now passing through is a reaction to events in other -places. Man is only at the threshold of the knowable. He is surrounded -by many forces of which he knows little or nothing. Some of these are -inimical. The future has terrible problems for the human race, and well -it is that it cannot foresee them. - -“As for this terrible struggle, in which I am proud to think my two -boys are bearing a part, the end is not yet in sight. The resources of -the enemy exceed all computation, and we don’t know what forces hostile -to man stand behind them.” - -“It may be so, Mr. Murdwell.” The vicar, greatly wrought upon, spoke -in a voice of deep emotion. “We are in the hands of God. And I am -convinced that He is fighting for us, and therefore in the end our -cause must prevail.” - -The man of science smiled wanly. “I cannot form a conception of God in -terms of atomic energy. And yet I feel with you, as I have always felt, -that there is a Friend behind phenomena. And I am inclined to believe, -now that we have a mass of evidence to guide us, that the first phase -of this war proved that very clearly. The victory of the Marne was a -signal manifestation. By all the rules of the game, at the moment the -enemy of mankind fell on Europe in her sleep, France was irretrievably -lost, and civilization with her. But something happened which was not -in the textbooks. And in the perpetual recurrence of that Something -lies the one hope for the human race.” - -“Well, Mr. Murdwell”--the vicar spoke very earnestly--“as a humble -servant and minister of God, I can only say that I share your belief. -Whatever may happen to us, I feel that the human race could not have -got as far as it has, unless a special providence had always stood -behind it. My faith is, that this providence will not be withdrawn in -the world’s darkest hour.” - -“I venture to think that you are right,” said the dying man. “But as I -say, do not ever forget that Gazelee Payne Murdwell is the writing on -the wall for the human race.” - -This talk with Mr. Murdwell made a deep impression on the vicar. Unable -by nature or mental habit to accept all the premises of an abnormal -thinker, it was beginning to strike Mr. Perry-Hennington with new and -rather bewildering force, that truth has many aspects. At Wellwood -the previous day he had felt a vague distrust of his own perceptions. -Things were not quite as they seemed. Even poor, deranged John Smith -could not be dismissed by a simple formula. It had suddenly dawned -on a closed mind that a door was opening on the unknown. Somehow the -relation of John Smith to many dimly understood phenomena could not -be bridged by a phrase. And a feeling of imperfect knowledge was -intensified by contact with this other remarkable personality. One must -be read in the light of the other. Murdwell was the antithesis, the -negation of John Smith. And the nature of things being as it was, each -must have his own meaning, his own message to be related to the sum of -human experience. - - - - -XLI - - -DISTRESSED by the interview with his neighbor, the vicar took the first -chance of going to Hart’s Ghyll with the sad news. He had a craving -to unburden his mind. And Brandon, with whom he was now on terms of -complete amity, was the one person likely to share an almost painful -interest in Murdwell’s Law and its discoverer. - -Brandon, indeed, was only too ready to discuss the matter. The tenant -of Longwood had loomed large in his thoughts from the hour in which he -had first had the privilege of knowing him. To the mind of a Gervase -Brandon, he was a portent, a phenomenon; in sober truth “the writing -on the wall for the human race.” But the vicar’s news caused Brandon -less concern than might have been the case had he not been able in a -measure to anticipate and therefore to discount it. He recalled his -last glimpse of Professor Murdwell in London, and the prophetic words -of Urban Meyer. - -“A terrible nemesis,” said the vicar. “A great tragedy.” - -“An intervention of a merciful providence,” was Brandon’s rejoinder. - -“No doubt--if his theories are rooted in scientific fact. To me, I -confess, they seem wholly fantastic. They suggest megalomania. How does -Murdwell’s Law stand scientifically?” - -“It is accepted by the mathematician, and is said to provide a key to -certain unknown forces in the physical world. It has given rise to -an immense amount of speculation, and for some little time past very -remarkable developments have been predicted.” - -“Which may not now materialize?” - -“Let us hope not. Murdwell himself is another Newton, but his Law opens -the door to sheer diabolism on a cosmic scale. May its terrible secrets -perish with him!--that’s the best the poor race of humans has to hope -for.” - -The vicar fully agreed. “Researches of this kind are surely the -negation of God,” he said. - -“I think with you. But heads vastly better than mine think otherwise. -Good and evil are interchangeable terms in our modern world of T. N. T. -and the U-boat.” - -“That I shall never believe. Black is black, white is white.” It was -the fighting tone, yet there was somehow a difference. - -“I shall not contradict you,” said Brandon, with a smile, which had -none of the old antagonism. “For one thing, the spectrum has shifted -its angle since last we discussed the subject. I see you, my dear -friend, and the views you hold, in a new light. But apart from that I -am simply burning to talk about something else. I think I once told you -that John Smith had written a play.” - -“A play, was it?” Almost in spite of himself, there came an odd -constraint to the vicar’s tone. “I was under the impression that it was -a poem.” - -“There was a poem. But there was also a play, which I think I once -mentioned.” - -“You may have.” Constraint was still there. “But whichever it is--does -it really matter? Poor dear fellow!” - -“Yes, it matters intensely.” The sudden gleam of excitement took the -vicar by surprise. “The news has just reached me that the play has been -produced in New York.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington agreed that the fact was remarkable, but far -less so than its production in London would have been. After all, the -Americans were a very curious people. - -“But it starts with every augury of world-wide success.” - -“Isn’t that the American way? Mustn’t they always be licking creation -over there?” - -Brandon was inclined to admit the indictment. “But,” said he, “they -generally have a solid basis of fact to work on before they start doing -that. And in this case they appear to have found it. The man who has -dared to produce this play is convinced that it will prove a landmark -in the history of the drama at any rate.” - -“Really!” The vicar pursed cautious, half-incredulous lips. “But I’m -afraid the theater conveys nothing to me--the modern theater, that is. -Of course I’ve read Shakespeare and the Greek tragedies, and I once -saw Irving in Hamlet--very impressive he was--but to me the theater in -general is so much Volapuk.” - -“Still,” persisted Brandon, “I hope you will allow it to be truly -remarkable that a people so sagacious, who in works of creative -imagination are better judges than ourselves, should be carried off -their feet by the dramatic genius of our local village idiot.” - -An ever-increasing perception of the situation’s irony lured Brandon to -a little intellectual byplay. Perhaps to have resisted it would have -been more than human. And as he had staked all upon the transcendent -powers of his friend, and an impartial court had now declared in -his favor, this moment of self-vindication came to him as the most -delicious of his life. - -Somehow it did him good to watch a cloud gather slowly over the -vicar’s craggily unexpressive face. An abyss was opening in Mr. -Perry-Hennington’s mental life. Things were happening which threatened -to undermine his moral and intellectual values. Brandon could almost -have pitied him. And yet it was hardly possible to pity the vicar’s -particular brand of arrogance, or, in this case, to forget the crime it -had wrought. - -“Urban Meyer,” Brandon went on in his quiet voice, “is the world’s -foremost theatrical manager. And he writes to say that, were his -theater six times its present size, it could not accommodate the crowds -which flock to it daily.” - -“Really!” said the vicar. “A very curious people, the Americans.” - -“As you say, a very curious people. And this abnormally shrewd and -far-sighted little German Jew has already arranged for the play’s -production at Stockholm, Christiania, and also at the Hague.” - -“Some kind of propaganda, I presume.” There was a sudden stiffening of -the vicar’s tone. - -“It may be so. The aim of the play is to heal the wounds of the world, -so I suppose it is a kind of propaganda. But it may interest you to -know that Christiansen, the great Scandinavian poet and dramatist, -has already prepared a version for the Stockholm state theater, that -Hjalmars is doing the same for Denmark, Van Roon for Holland, and that -it has been banned in London.” - -“Ah!” said Mr. Perry-Hennington. And then with a show of fight which -amused Brandon, he added, “Wisely, no doubt.” - -“In other words, the Censor of Stage Plays has completely justified his -existence.” - -“I’m afraid I can’t offer an opinion on that point,” said the vicar, -slowly renewing his dignity. - -“Only the pen of a Swift or a Voltaire could do justice to that sublime -individual. Here we have a country whose proud boast is that it alone -among European states is really free, which is sacrificing its young -men by the million in order to overthrow Prussianism, imposing such -fetters upon intellectual liberty that one can only gasp.” - -“Rightly no doubt.” Of late deadly blows had been aimed at the vicar’s -mental security, but there was still a kick in the old Adam. “In -intellectual matters absolute freedom becomes anarchy, and that would -be intolerable, even in a democratic country. The state is bound to -devise a means of holding it in check. Of this play I know nothing, -nor am I competent to speak of plays in general, but prima facie the -government is fully justified in suppressing it. No good thing can come -out of Babylon.” - -“Or in other words out of Wellwood Asylum.” - -“One does not go quite so far as to say that,” said the vicar -thoughtfully. - -“An interesting admission!” - -“Which perhaps one oughtn’t to make,” said the vicar rather uneasily. -And then, as if a little shocked by his own boldness, he hastened to -quit such perilous ground. “To return to stage plays. Things of that -kind will not help us to win the war.” - -“And yet the pen is mightier than the sword.” - -“That is a dark saying I have never been able to understand. We live -not by words but by deeds, and never more so than in this stern time.” - -“A play may be a great deed.” - -“If it be sufficiently inspired. But there is much virtue in an ‘if.’” - -Brandon did not continue the argument. Feeling the ground on which he -stood to be impregnable, he could well afford not to do so. Besides -it was scarcely the act of a friend to press the vicar too hard in -the present amazing circumstances. He was no longer intrenched in -self-security. If certain odd changes of manner meant anything, -the walls of his little world were falling in, and a perplexed and -bewildered Thomas Perry-Hennington was now visible amid the ruins. - - - - -XLII - - -THE very remarkable news from New York gave Brandon, for the rest -of his brief stay at Hart’s Ghyll, a feeling of almost perilous -exhilaration. Since his recovery, less than a year ago, his whole life -had been a subtle embodiment of the miraculous. And the letter from -Urban Meyer had intensified the sense of the miraculous to such a -degree, that at first it hardly seemed possible to meet the bald facts -of the case in its new aspect and remain perfectly rational. For more -years than Brandon cared to count, he had held the cold faith that -miracles do not occur; it had now been proved to him, beyond a doubt, -that miracles do occur, and he had to face the truth squarely, and yet -continue in the work of the world. - -To make his task the more difficult, he could not help feeling that his -present job was one for which he was ill-qualified; certainly it was -not the one he would have chosen. Somehow it filled him with a deep -repugnance to train others in the art of killing, even in the art of -killing the Hun; but it was not for him to decide where such powers as -he had could be of most use to the state. He did not quarrel with the -edict which declared him unfit for the trenches, but there were times -when he would almost have preferred their particularly foul brand of -boredom to the dismal routine of acquiring a parade voice, and the -grind of rubbing up his mathematics, a branch of knowledge in which he -had never shone. - -It came to him, therefore, with a sense of grateful relief, when one -day, about a week after he had returned to his unit, a letter reached -him of an informal friendliness, yet written on government paper. It -said: - - _Whitehall, - December 2._ - - MY DEAR BRANDON: - - If a square peg can be persuaded to forsake a round hole, some of us - here feel that the country might make a more profitable use of your - services, that is to say, there is an opportunity to give your highly - specialized qualities freer play. A ministry of Social Reconstruction - is being formed, to deal mainly with post-war problems--it is not - quite our English way to take time by the forelock in this audacious - fashion, but some of our Colonial friends are teaching us a thing or - two--and last night in conversation with Prowse and Mortimer among - others, your name came up. We agreed that your particular light is - not one to hide under a bushel of coal. One shudders to think of the - number of tricks of the kind that have been played already, but at - last we are beginning to realize that the country can’t afford it. So - if you will consent to work under Prowse, with or without payment, I - think the War Office can be persuaded to spare you for a larger sphere - of usefulness. - - Yours ever, - GEORGE SPEKE. - -In the depths of his boredom Brandon could have kissed the letter, -and have wept for joy. The tact of an expert handler of men, who well -understood the bundle of quixotisms with whom he had to deal, had -played the tempter’s part with rare success. A letter of that kind left -no doubt that the country was about to gain enormously by depleting the -Tynesi de Terriers of a morbidly conscientious subaltern, while at the -same time enriching a government department with a real live ex-fellow -of Gamaliel. - -It was not until early in the new year, however, that Brandon -was transferred to a wooden structure in Saint James’s Park, the -headquarters of the newly-created department. He was almost ashamed -to find how much more congenial was the work he had now to do. To the -really constructive mind, there is something repellent in the naïve -formulas, and the crude paraphernalia of mere destruction. Here in the -new “billet” was scope for a rather special order of brain. He was able -to look forward to a future in which a new England would arise. There -were already portents in the sky, portents which told him that the -world of the future was going to be a very different place from the -world of the past. Much depended on whether the grim specter of war -could be laid with reasonable finality for a long time to come, but -from the day in which he took up his new labors he did not doubt that, -whatever the final fate of Prussia, the issue of Armageddon itself -would be a nobler, a broader spirit in the old land which he loved so -dearly, and a freer, humaner world for every race that had to live in -it. - -His position in the Social Reconstruction Bureau was one of importance. -Long before the war, even before he came into the Hart’s Ghyll -property, it had been his ambition to make the world a rather better -place for other people to inhabit. And the opportunities which came to -him now gave rare scope to a reawakened energy. A marvelous field had -been offered to this protagonist of works and faith. - -In spite of the last terrible clinch in which the new world as well as -the old was now involved, these were great days for Brandon. His powers -burgeoned nobly in the service of that nation which had now definitely -emerged, in spite of all her limitations and her legacies from the -past, as the banner bearer of civilization. - -Deep in his heart lay the faith that through blood and tears the whole -race of men would be born again. And month by month that faith grew, -even amid the final stupendous phase when the specter of famine stalked -through the land. Moreover, he had a sense of personal election. A -promise had been made to him, and through him, to his fellows. “One -unconverted believer” was now the living witness that all the old -prophecies were true. - -Every living thing in the world around him, of which a supernal Being -was the center, had a new meaning, a new force, a new divinity. -Unsuspected powers were now his; latent faculties allowed him to live -more abundantly. He looked up where once a skeptic’s eye had looked -down, and the difference was that between a life in the full glory of -light and sorry groping in darkness. - -The news always reaching him of the growth of the miracle was now the -motive power of a great belief, yet to one able to trace it from the -germ it hardly seemed credible or at the best too good to be true. From -many sources there came tidings of the new force at work in the world. -The play was making history; wherever it appeared, reverberations -followed. From one end of North America to the other, it had gone like -fire. Irenic in tone and intention it might be, but also within it was -that which raised it above party and above creed. - -The people who saw and heard “A Play Without a Name” were able to -fulfill Urban Meyer’s prediction. A great world religion had found a -miraculous birth in the theater. By the wave of an enchanter’s wand, -the stage had become an inspired teacher who received the sanction of -the few, and met the need of the many. The message it had to deliver -was simple as truth itself, yet the divine charm of its setting forth -haunted even the smallest soul with a magic glimpse of the Kingdom of -the Something Else. The play’s appeal was so remarkable that many who -saw it simply lived for the time when they could see it again. It was -a draught from the waters of Helicon; and, for them who drank of the -Pierian spring, arose enchanted vistas of what the world might be if -love and fellowship, works and faith, were allowed to remake it. - -Urban Meyer had said that the world might be born again through the -power of a great play. And in the first months of its production the -signs were many that he was a true prophet. Through the wedding of -insight with beauty, sympathy with truth, it reconciled factions, -harmonized creeds. - -Those who asked too much of life rejoiced as greatly in its sovereign -humanity as those who asked too little. A divine simplicity spoke to -all sorts of men. The pillar of the Church and the despiser of all -religions, the over-good and the average person received from the well -of a pure and infinite love, a new evidence, a new portent of the risen -Christ. - -It was said of those who saw it, that they were never quite the same -afterward. An enchantment was laid upon the heart of man. Feeling, -humor, imaginative truth, formed the basis of its triumph. A desire to -do good was evoked, not because it was a sound spiritual investment or -because others might be induced to do good to oneself, but it made of -well-doing a natural act, like the eating of food or the drawing of -breath. - -Among the evidences of the new magic now at work in the world was a -remarkable letter which Brandon received at the beginning of February. -It said: - - _Independence Theater, - New York, - January 24._ - - DEAR MR. BRANDON: - - I cannot tell you what an effect the play is making here. You will - remember that, when I read it, I set my heart on the greatest - production ever seen. And it was because the spirit of the play made - me _feel_ that I owed it to a world which had suffered me sixty-eight - years, in which I had prospered exceedingly, and from which I have on - the whole derived much happiness. Well, after many unforeseen trials, - difficulties and disappointments, this aim has been achieved. Having - at last brought together the cast I wanted, with great players in the - chief parts, and having made sure of a noble interpretation, I opened - the doors of this theater, for the first time in its history, at a - democratic price, so that the downtown seamstress could have a glimpse - of the Something Else, as well as her sister on Fifth Avenue. - - That was not the act of a man of business, although it has proved a - business action. I am not out to make money by this play. I don’t want - to make money out of it, because I feel, and this will make you smile, - that it’s like trafficking in the Word of God. But under the terms of - the contract entered into between us on behalf of the unknown author, - who I am sorry to learn from Mr. Pomfret is seriously ill, large sums - are going to be earned by it in all parts of the world. In the course - of the next few months it will be played here and in Canada, by at - least fifty stock companies. Next month I start for Stockholm, in - order to produce it at the state theater. Christiansen, the poet, has - prepared a version which I believe to have true inspiration. As you - know, his reputation has European significance, and several of his - German friends, among them the Director of the National Theater, will - be present at the first performance. The fame of the play has already - reached Europe, and Christiansen hopes for an early performance in - Berlin. Arrangements are also being made in Paris, Rome, Petrograd, - and Vienna, and in the course of a few months I expect versions of - it to appear in all these places. Van Roon’s beautiful version for - the Hague, Hjalmar’s for Christiania and Ximena’s for Madrid, will be - produced within a few weeks, so you see that the grass is not growing - under our feet. - - There is every reason to look for great developments. It is hoped that - the play may be a means of keeping open the door for civilization. - - Believe me, dear Mr. Brandon, - Very sincerely yours, - URBAN MEYER. - - P.S. I have just heard that the play has been awarded the Nobel Prize - for peace. Christiansen writes that he has been asked to go to England - and offer an address to the author on behalf of the Scandinavian - Government. - - U. M. - - - - -XLIII - - -THE blinds were down at the vicarage. Prince, whose stealthy grace of -movement was that of the perfect parlor maid, walked with more than -usual delicacy. Her master had not slept in his bed for two nights. -Miss Edith was working in a Paris hospital, and news had come from -France that Mr. Tom was gone. - -In the absence of Miss Edith, Prince felt herself to be the most -authoritative female in that diminished household; and she was much -concerned for her master, whom she adored. It was the nature of Prince -to adore. In her face was the look of stern beauty worn by nearly every -Englishwoman of her generation. It seemed but yesterday that she had -ordered a wedding dress she was never to wear, because “her boy,” a -lusty towheaded young sergeant of the Sussex Regiment, had gone to -sleep on the Somme. - -Ever since the telegram had come from the War Office, the vicar had not -been himself. But his first act had been to go up to town for the day, -and comfort and advise the brave girl whose three bairns would never -see their father again. It had called for a great effort, for he was -stunned by the sense of loss. To a father, the first-born is a symbol. -And there is nothing to replace an eldest son in the heart of a lonely -man who lives in the memory of a great happiness. He had only to look -at gifted, rare-spirited Tom to see the mother, to watch the play of -her features, to behold the light of her eyes. - -Of his four children he had never disguised the fact that Tom was the -fine flower. Like many men of rather abrupt mental limitation, the -vicar had, at bottom, a reverence for a good brain. This boy had been -given a talent, and many a time had the father amused himself with the -pious fancy that the brilliant barrister, of whom much was predicted, -would be the second Lord Chancellor of his name and blood. - -On the third morning of the news, as the vicar sat at breakfast -solitary and without appetite, Prince brought him a letter. It bore a -service postmark. It was from Somewhere in France, and it said: - - _1st Metropolitan Regiment._ - - DEAR SIR: - - It is with the deepest regret that I have to inform you that Captain - Perry-Hennington was killed on the 5th inst. His loss falls very - heavily indeed upon his brother officers and the men of his Regiment. - I will not attempt to say how much he meant to all ranks, for no - man could have been more looked up to, or more generally beloved. - All knew him for what he was, a good soldier, a true Christian, a - great gentleman. He was in the act of writing you a letter (which I - inclose) when word was brought to him that a man of another battalion, - mortally hit, had asked for Captain Perry-Hennington. He went out at - once, across the danger zone to a communication trench, where the - poor fellow lay, but half way he was caught by a shell and killed - instantly. If it was his turn, it was the end he would have asked for, - and the end those who loved him would have asked for him. Assuring you - of the Regiment’s deepest sympathy in your great loss, - - I am, very sincerely yours, - G. H. ARBUTHNOT, - Lieutenant Colonel. - -Inclosed in the letter was a scrap of paper on which was written: - - DEAREST DAD: - - “I fear the will is going. For nearly three years it has been my - continual prayer to Our Father in Heaven that the mind be not taken - before the soul is released, but if----” - -As soon as the vicar had read these strange words he rose unsteadily -from the table, went into the study and locked the door. Then kneeling -under a favorite portrait of the boy’s mother, he offered a humble -prayer of thanks. A little afterward, unable to bear the restraint of -four walls, he went out, hatless, into the sunlight of a very perfect -day. Very slowly, yet hardly knowing what he did, he passed through the -vicarage gate, and turned into the steep and narrow path leading to the -village green. Half way up some familiar lines of Milton began to ring -oddly in his ears: - - Methought I saw my late espousèd saint - Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave. - -And they were accompanied by an odd phrase he had once heard on the -lips of Gervase Brandon. In the height of a forgotten controversy, -Brandon had said that “for him the image of the spectrum had altered.” -As the phrase now came to the vicar he caught a glimpse of its meaning. -Somehow he perceived a change of mental vision. At that moment he -seemed to walk closer with God than he had ever walked; at that moment -he was in more intimate communion with an adored wife, a beloved son. -Even the sweet upland air and the flow of the sun through the leaves -had a new quality. The feeling of personal loss was yielding to praise -and thanksgiving; never had the vicar been so sure of that loving mercy -upon which his boy had implicitly relied. - -Filled with a new, a greater life, he found himself, without knowing -it, on the village green. And then in a flash, as he came to the -priest’s stone, the angle of the spectrum shifted again. He was pierced -by the recognition of a great presence. A voice, faint, far off, yet -clear as the sound of flowing water, touched his ear with such ecstasy -that he looked around to see whence it came. A sky gloriously burnished -with the presence of God alone could have winged it; and as he looked -up, came the words: “And, lo, the heavens opened unto him, and he saw -the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting upon him.” - -Thrilled by a joy which was half fear, the vicar leaned against the -stone. And as he did so a rush of wild thoughts swept his mind like a -tide. His eyes grew dark as he saw again a summer twilight and a frail -figure of fantasy kneeling upon the spot to which he was now rooted. -In a series of pictures, a terrible and strange scene was reënacted. -A motor car glided stealthily past the door of the widow’s cottage; -it came round the bend of the road; as it stopped by the edge of the -green, two heavy somber men descended from it, and from his own base -ambush, but a few yards off, he saw them cautiously approach the -kneeling figure. - -Again he was the witness of the acts and the words that passed. He saw -the figure rise as they came up; he heard the greeting of the calm, -expecting voice: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they -do.” Again he saw the grim procession move across the grass, he saw the -upward gesture to the God in the sky, which at the moment had revolted -him; and then he saw the car stealthily turn the bend in the track and -fade among the dark-glowing gorse. - -A nausea came upon the vicar. Sick with sudden terror, he realized -what he had done. To the fate which his own boy could not face and had -been allowed, as a crowning mercy, to escape, he had himself condemned -a fellow creature without a hearing, and perhaps against the weight -of evidence. By what authority had he immured a fellow citizen in a -living tomb? By what authority had he denied the first and highest of -all sanctions to a human soul? The doom that his own poor lad, with all -his heroism, had not the superhuman courage to meet, this defenseless -villager had embraced in the spirit of a martyr and a saint. - -“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” - -Again the vicar saw him rise from his knees, and with a wan but happy -smile go forth to a fate by comparison with which the grave was very -kind. Overborne by a sudden passion of illogical remorse, the vicar -sank to his own knees by the stone, on a spot bare of grass, the -fruit, perhaps, of John Smith’s many kneelings in many bygone years. -Broken and bereaved, a lone animal wounded and terrified, he humbly -asked that he might be allowed to meet his wife and his boy in Heaven. - -The vicar rose from his knees. Faint and chill of heart, he hardly -cared to look up for a visible answer to his prayer. He was now in -outer darkness. For Thomas Perry-Hennington there was no descent of -the Spirit from the hard sky, glowing with strange beauty. He listened -wildly, yet he could only hear the water flowing by Burkett’s mill. - -“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” - -The living words were spurring him to frenzy. But the soul of man, -naked and shuddering, helpless and lonely, recoiled upon itself with -the fear that there was none of whom to seek forgiveness. For one, -Thomas Perry-Hennington, there was no means of access to the Father. By -an idolatrous act, setting the state above the Highest, he had severed -all communication. In bigotry, arrogance, imperfect faith he had -betrayed the Master; in pharisaic blindness he had crucified the Son of -Man. - -Thoughts like these, coming at this moment, were too much for human -endurance; in that direction madness lay. A little while he stood by -the stone, trying to hold on to the thing he called “himself.” And then -a strange desire came upon him to crave the light of one whom he had -traduced. He dare not set his act higher, he dare not state his treason -in other terms; at that moment the will itself forbade his so doing. An -issue was now upon him which reason could not accept. To the inner eye -within the mind itself all was darkness, but looking now with the ear -alone he thought he heard a far, faint voice in the infinite stellar -spaces, a voice telling him to go at once to Wellwood. - -Suddenly he turned and trailed off back to the vicarage, like some -hapless, hunted thing of the fields, that flees too madly for hope of -escape. As he half ran down the steep path, his white face gleaming in -the sun, he began to repeat mechanically, in order still to keep in -touch with the central forces: - - Methought I saw my late espousèd saint - Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave. - -By the time he had reached the middle of the lane, it came to him that -he was obeying his wife’s voice. - -Turning in at the vicarage gate he called across the privet to the -ancient Hobson to leave his roots, and go and put the harness on old -Alice. - - - - -XLIV - - -VIA Grayfield, Easing and Chettleford the distance to Wellwood was -nearly twenty miles. He might train from Brombridge, but the service -was bad and there would be three miles to walk at the end. So he -decided that old Alice should take him to Grayfield, and then he would -ask Whymper to lend him his car. - -But long before he came to Grayfield he felt that this could not be. -At that moment his old Magdalen friend was the last person in the -universe he desired to meet. If he had now to face his kind it must be -some other. Thus, as the stately chimneys and fine gables of the Manor -house, rising proudly behind an enchanted copse of fern and Canterbury -bells, came into view, he urged old Alice past them at her best pace -and on to the Chequers, Grayfield’s model public house. Its landlord, -Hickman, a civil, obliging fellow, was known to the vicar, who in this -dilemma was very glad of his help. It was not fair to ask the full -journey of poor old Alice. - -He was able to exchange her temporarily for the landlord’s young mare. -But in the process he had to submit to an ordeal that he would have -given much to be spared. - -“I see, sir, in the _Advertiser_,” said Hickman, as he gave the ostler -a hand in the inn yard, “that the Captain’s gone. My boy went the same -day. He was not in the Captain’s lot, but I happen to know that he -thought there was no one like him. He was such a gentleman, and he had -a way with him that had a rare power over young chaps.” - -The vicar could not answer the honest fellow, whose voice failed -suddenly and whose eyes were full of tears. But he held out his hand -very simply, and Hickman, his tears now falling softly, like those of a -child, took it. - -“Excuse me, sir. Bill was my all. You see, I buried the wife in the -spring. Things are at a dead end for me now.” - -The vicar, unable to speak, offered his hand again. - -All at once Hickman took him firmly by the coat-sleeve and led him -a dozen paces away from the ostler. “Excuse the great freedom, -sir”--the big, not over-bright fellow’s whisper was excessive in its -humility--“but, as a minister of the Gospel, there’s one question I’d -like to ask you.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington shuddered at the perception of what was coming. - -“The only hope for a chap like me is that I’ll meet the wife and the -boy in Heaven. Otherwise, I’m at a dead end as you might say. As one -man to another, what chance do you think there is?” - -The vicar grew cold at the heart. - -“Of course, I’m not a churchgoer; I am not a religious man or anything -of that kind. My father wasn’t. I’ve always tried to go straight, keep -sober, pay my way and so on, but of course, I’ve never taken Communion -or read the Bible or done anything to curry favor. That’s not my -nature. Still, I reckon myself a fairish, decentish chap; and on Sunday -evening, after the service, I went round to talk to our vicar here, Mr. -Pierce.” - -“Yes.” Mr. Perry-Hennington gave an eager gasp. “That was very wise. -What did he say to you?” His lips could hardly shape the question. - -“Why, sir, he said that a Christian couldn’t doubt for a moment that -one day he would be with his wife and children in Heaven.” - -“Mr. Pierce said that!” - -“He did. And I told him I didn’t pretend to be a Christian and I asked -him if he thought I had left it too late.” - -“Yes?” - -“Well, sir, he said it was never too late to be a Christian. And he -gave me a prayer book--he’s a very nice gentleman--and told me to take -it home and read it.” - -“Yes?” - -“I’ve tried to read it, sir, but to be quite honest, I don’t feel that -I shall ever be much of a Christian.” - -“Well, Hickman--” suddenly Mr. Perry-Hennington found his -voice--“always try to remember this: Jesus Christ came to us here -in order that you might be with your dear wife and your dear boy in -Heaven, and--and--we have His pledged Word--and we must believe in -that.” - -“But how is a chap to believe what he can’t prove?” - -“We must have faith--we must all have faith.” - -“All very well, sir,” said Hickman dourly, “but suppose He has promised -more than He can perform?” - -“In what way? How do you mean?” - -“According to the Bible He was to come again, but as far as I can make -out there doesn’t seem much sign of Him yet.” - -Mr. Perry-Hennington was silent a moment and then he took one of the -landlord’s large hands in both of his own and said in an abrupt, -half grotesque, wholly illogical way, “My dear friend, we are all -members one of another. It is our duty to hope for the best--our duty -to believe that the best will happen.” And as he turned aside, he -added with another curious change of voice, which he could not have -recognized as belonging to himself, “You see, we are all in the same -boat.” - -Saying these words, the vicar climbed into his trap with almost the -stagger of a drunken man. He hardly knew what he said or what he did, -but as soon as the mare was out of the inn yard it came upon him that -he had to go to Wellwood, and that the way to get there was through -Easing and Chettleford. - -Why at that particular moment that particular place should be his -destination he didn’t quite know, unless it was in obedience to a voice -he had heard in the sky. A modern man, whose supreme desire was to -take reason for his guide in all things, even if the vows of his faith -forced him to accept the supernatural in form and sum, he feared in -this hour to apply it too rigidly. - -As the publican’s mare went steadily forward along the winding, humid -lanes of a woodland country, a feeling of hopelessness came upon him. -What did he expect to do when he got to the end of his journey? Such a -question simply admitted of no answer. It was not to be faced by Thomas -Perry-Hennington on his present plane of being. The logic of the -matter could not be met. - -That was the case, no doubt, but a compromise was equally impossible. -Something would have to happen. Either he must go forward or he must go -back. A soul in strange, terrible torment passed unseen and unseeing -through the tiny hamlet of Easing and on and on up a steep hill and -then down through a long valley of trees and a gloom of massively -beautiful furze country. There was not a ripple of wind in the tense -air, and in the early afternoon it grew very dark, with an occasional -growl of thunder over the far hills. On the outskirts of Chettleford it -began to rain in large slow drops; and as his sweating face perceived -the soft, cool splash he half dared to take it as the explicit kindness -of Heaven. Upon the wings of that thought came the automatic intrusion -into his mind of the words: - - Methought I saw my late espousèd saint - Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave. - -And with them came the strange fancy that these tears out of Heaven -were those of his wife and his boy. - -A mile beyond Chettleford, at the dark edge of a wood, the sudden fear -struck him that the soul of Thomas Perry-Hennington was about to enter -unending night. A recollection dread and spectral, which might have -been Dante or the far distant ages of the past, engulfed him swiftly -and completely. It was impossible to turn back now or he would have -done so. - -The narrow road grew darker and darker as it wound under the heavy, -rain-pattered canopy of the wood. Earth and sky were without form, and -void. He lost touch with time and place; he began to lose touch with -his own identity. He only knew that Thomas Perry-Hennington was his -name and that his destination was Wellwood Asylum. - -The rain grew heavier, but there was no comfort in it now. He was -already far beyond any kind of physical aid. A grisly demon was in him, -urging him onward to his doom. His soul’s reaction to it was beyond -pity and terror. Quite suddenly, and long before he expected to see -them, the heavy iron gates of the asylum were before him. At the sound -of wheels an old man, very bent and grim, whom in the wet half-light he -almost took for Charon, came slowly out of his lodge and fitted a key -to the lock. - - - - -XLV - - -THE vicar and his trap passed through the gates of Wellwood and along -a short drive, flanked by wet bushes of rhododendron to the main -entrance. In a voice not at all like his own he said to a heavy, rather -brutal-looking man who opened one of the doors, “Mr. Perry-Hennington -to see Dr. Thorp.” - -He was admitted at once to a dim, somber interior, and shown into a -small, stuffy waiting room in which he could hardly breathe. It was -perhaps a relief to find himself quite alone, but in a very short time -the doctor came to him. - -The two men were known to each other. It was not Mr. Perry-Hennington’s -first visit to Wellwood; and from time to time they had sat together on -various committees affecting the social welfare of the county. - -The vicar’s state of mind did not allow him to give much attention to -Dr. Thorp, otherwise he could hardly have failed to notice that the -chief medical officer of the establishment was in a state of suppressed -excitement. - -“I am particularly glad to see you, Mr. Perry-Hennington,” he said. -“I am afraid we are about to lose one of our patients under remarkable -and tragic circumstances. He has not asked for the sacrament to be -administered, but now you are so providentially here, I have no doubt -he will welcome it if he is still able to receive it.” - -Dr. Thorp paused, but the vicar did not speak. - -“It is our poor dear friend, John Smith. For months he has been slowly -dying. But the end is now at hand. And it comes in very singular -circumstances.” - -Again Dr. Thorp paused, again the vicar did not speak. - -“I will tell you what they are. Our dear friend, in the course of his -stay among us, wrote a stage play. It was given by him to Mr. Brandon, -who gave it to Mr. Urban Meyer, the great American impresario, who has -caused it to be played all over the world. And its success has been so -extraordinary that it has been awarded the Nobel Prize for peace. But -perhaps you know all this?” - -The vicar shook his head. - -“The whole story seems incredible,” the doctor went on. “But there -it is. Further, I am informed that Dr. Kurt Christiansen, the great -Scandinavian poet and thinker is coming here this afternoon to present -an address on behalf of his Government. And he is to be accompanied -by Mr. Sigismund Prosser, C.B., representing the Royal Academy of -Literature, by Mr. Brandon, representing our own Government, and by a -representative of the press. - -“Of course, Mr. Perry-Hennington, I needn’t say that not only are the -circumstances very unusual, they are also extremely difficult and -embarrassing. The first intimation of this arrangement was from the -Home Office, saying that out of regard for the activities of a neutral -Power, our Government lent its sanction; and that if the patient was -able to receive this act of homage it was felt to be in the public -interest that he should do so. But at the same time it was pointed -out that it would be a further public advantage if the distinguished -visitor was not enlightened as to the nature of this establishment, or -the circumstances in which the play had been written. Well, I mentioned -the matter at once to our poor friend, and I was able to reply that, -although the patient was extremely weak and his death perhaps a -question of a few days, he would gladly receive the deputation. - -“On the strength of that assurance the arrangements have gone forward. -The deputation is due at Wellwood in rather less than half an hour, -but I grieve to say that our poor dear, but evidently greatly -gifted, friend, whose loss we shall all mourn deeply, is now losing -consciousness.” - -“Losing consciousness.” The vicar repeated the words as if he hardly -understood them. - -“Yes.” The doctor spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “It may or may not -be a final phase. There may be a slight rally which will enable him to -receive the honor about to be paid him. On the other hand it is almost -too much to hope for now. Every kind of stimulant has been already -administered, but the action of the heart is very feeble and I am sadly -afraid that the deputation is making its journey in vain.” - -“Am I too late?” gasped the vicar. - -“Not to do your office, I hope. The patient may still be able to -receive the sacrament.” - -“May I see him?” - -“I shall be very glad for you to do so.” - -“Let me go to him at once,” gasped the vicar wildly. - - - - -XLVI - - -HIS eyes growing dark, the vicar asked for a prayer book. When this had -been procured, the doctor led him through a maze of dismal corridors to -a small door at the extreme end of a long passage. - -At the doctor’s gentle tap it was opened by the head attendant. - -“Any change, Boswell?” whispered the doctor. - -There was no change it appeared. - -At first the vicar stood irresolute on the threshold of the cell. His -manner made it clear that he desired to be alone with the dying man, -and in a few moments the doctor and the attendant went away. The vicar, -grasping his prayer book like a staff, then passed in alone, and the -heavy door swung to behind him with a self-closing click which locked -it securely. - -The room had only a bedstead. It was very hard to see in that night of -time through which the vicar was now looking. Not daring to approach -the bed, he stood hopelessly by the door, naked in spirit, faint of -soul. He could neither speak nor move. There was not a sound in the -room, nor any light. He stood alone. - -He stood alone and without any kind of power; he could neither hear -nor see; he was in a void in which time was awfully revealed in a new -notation. Broken with fear, he began slowly to lose apperception. - -How long he remained solitary there was no means of knowing, but at -last he heard a voice in the room. It was hardly more than a sigh, yet -so strangely familiar and expected was the sound that the vicar knew it -at once for the voice of One. - -“You did as your light directed. Faithful servant, kiss me.” - -Transfigured with a wild emotion, like music and wine in his heart, the -vicar moved to the bed. He fell on his knees, and flung his arms round -the form which lay there. He pressed wild kisses upon the luminous -face. At the contact of his lips, the image of the spectrum altered -and Truth itself was translated to a higher value. Then he seemed to -realize that he was holding in his arms a heroic son----. - -“My darling boy!” he whispered. “My darling boy!” - -Again he rained kisses on the upturned face. - -He suddenly perceived that a third presence was by his side. He knew it -for the happy mother and beloved wife. Again the image of the spectrum -altered. He was born again. There came to him with new, intenser -meaning the doctrine of the Trinity and through it the mystic union of -husband, wife and child in the Father’s Love. - -After a further lapse of time which was measureless, the ecstasy of the -human father was terminated by the sound of a key turning in the door -of the room. Instantly the spell was broken and he realized that he was -fondling the face of a corpse. - -The vicar rose from his knees as the doctor entered the room. He stood -by the bed, shivering now with strange happiness, while the doctor -lifted the hand and looked at the face of his patient. - -“I was afraid,” said the doctor in a hushed voice, “that he would not -be able to receive the deputation. Dear fellow! He is now with the -souls in whom he believed.” - -“And who believed in Him,” said the vicar in a tone that the doctor -could hardly recognize. - -“Yes, there were souls who believed in him,” said the doctor in a -matter-of-fact voice which had a kind of gentle indulgence. “There must -have been. More than one of our poor old men here died with his name on -their lips. You would hardly believe what an influence he had among us. -We shall miss him very much. In his way he was a true saint, a real -teacher, and he has left this place better than he found it.” - -“If only he could have received the homage that awaited him,” the vicar -whispered. - -“Yes, if only he could have done so! But it is written otherwise. -Still, we all feel that a very remarkable honor has been paid to one -of our inmates. By the way, isn’t it Aristotle--or is it Plato?--who -says that it is a part of probability that many improbabilities will -happen?” - - - - -XLVII - - -AS the vicar and the doctor left John Smith’s cell, there came out of -the deep shadows of the long corridor a figure, old, forlorn, very -infirm. With a haunted look this rather grotesque creature shuffled -forward, and fixing tragic eyes upon the doctor’s face muttered in an -alien tongue: - -“He is risen. He is risen.” - -The doctor reproved him sharply. “Why, Goethe, what in fortune’s name -are you doing here! Go at once to your own side and don’t let me -see you here again. Strict instructions were given that none of the -patients were to be seen in the west wing just now. I must look into -this. Go at once to your own side.” - -The old man slunk away, still muttering softly, “He is risen. He is -risen.” - -The doctor was obviously annoyed by the incident. “Gross carelessness -on the part of someone,” he said. “The deputation is already due, and -the Home Office desires us in the special and quite unprecedented -circumstances of the case to present as normal an appearance as we can. -In other words, it doesn’t want representatives of our own and foreign -governments to be welcomed by a parcel of lunatics. That will not help -anybody; besides, as the Home Office says, it is desirable that no slur -should be cast on the profession of literature.” - -“And on the memory of the Master,” whispered the vicar in his hushed -voice. - -“Quite so. I fully agree. The dear fellow! And to think he was able to -win a prize of seven thousand pounds, not to mention the many thousands -his work is earning all over the world, from which, by the way, -deserving charities are benefiting.” - -“Did he know that his work was producing these large sums?” - -“Oh, yes. And I think the knowledge gave him pleasure. But he never -regarded a penny as his own. He left it to Mr. Brandon and myself--two -just men I am proud to think he called us--to give back again, as he -said, ‘that which had been given to him, in the way likely to do the -most good.’” - -“He was quite selfless,” said the vicar. - -“Absolutely. And he is the only man I have known, or am ever likely to -know, of whom that statement could be truly made. I have known good -men, I have known men with high, forward-looking souls, but I have -never known a man so near His model that if it had not existed already -one almost felt that such a man must have created it. In fact, John -Smith will stand out in my experience as the most remarkable case I -have known. He believed until he became.” - -“As you say, he believed until he became. And he made a prophecy which -he has lived to fulfill.” - -“What was the prophecy he made?” - -“That he would heal the wounds of the world.” - -“I wonder, I wonder.” - -“Oh ye of little faith!” whispered the vicar. The tears that rose to -his eyes were like the blood of his heart. - -Hardly had Mr. Perry-Hennington spoken the words when both he and -Doctor Thorp perceived a stir at the doors of the main entrance to the -institution, now in view at the far end of the corridor along which -they were passing. No more than a glance was needed to tell them that -the deputation was in the act of arrival. Beyond the open doors, a -large motor car and an imposing array of silk hats were clearly visible -in the half-light of the wet afternoon. - -As the doctor and the vicar came to the main entrance, several persons -entered the building. Foremost of these were Gervase Brandon and a very -noble-looking old man with snow-white hair and the eyes of a child. In -one hand he carried his hat, in the other a large bunch of lilies held -together with a broad ribbon of white satin. - -“Dr. Thorp,” said Brandon, with a happy and proud smile. “I have -the great honor and privilege to present Dr. Kurt Christiansen, -whose reputation has long preceded him. At the instance of a neutral -government he has come to this country to pay in the name of humanity -the world’s homage to our dear friend.” - -Solemn but cordial bows were exchanged and then Dr. Thorp replied, -“I grieve to have to tell you, sir, that our dear friend has already -passed.” - -The childlike bearer of the lilies looked very simply into the doctor’s -eyes. “Dead,” he said. - -“But being dead liveth,” said a tall clergyman from the background in a -whispered tone of new authority. - -There followed a moment of silence and constraint. And then it was very -unexpectedly shattered by a wild appearance, grinning with strange joy -and crying in an alien tongue, “He is risen! He is risen!” - -Only the prompt intervention of Dr. Thorp prevented this figure of -fantasy flinging its arms round the neck of Mr. Sigismund Prosser, C.B. -An international incident of some magnitude was thus averted, for the -representative of the Royal Academy of Literature had recently said at -a public meeting that “he had done with Goethe forever.” - - - - -EPILOGUE - - _Whitehall, - Friday._ - - _Strictly confidential._ - - DEAR BRANDON: - - Your moving account of the proceedings at Wellwood Sanatorium was read - at the Cabinet meeting this afternoon and you will be glad to know - that the Lord Chamberlain is being advised to license the production - of the Play in this country. In the present state of the public mind - it is felt to be the best course to take. It is hoped that further - questions will not arise in the House, otherwise it may be impossible - to avoid an inquiry into all the circumstances of a most singular - case, and this, I think you will agree, would be undesirable just now - from every point of view. - - Yours, - GEORGE SPEKE. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -On page 33, threshhold has been changed to threshold. - -On page 35, bedridden has been changed to bed-ridden. - -On page 45, Grevase has been changed to Gervase. - -On page 63, ferrago has been changed to farrago. - -On page 125, wartime has been changed to war time. - -On page 130, nonplused has been changed to nonplussed. - -On page 269, prevaded has been changed to pervaded. - -On page 287, musn’t has been changed to mustn’t. - -All other spelling, hyphenation and variants have been retained as -typeset. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMING *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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