Lord of the World...............................................................................................................................................1

I AM perfectly aware that this is a terribly sensational book, and open to innumerable criticisms on that

account, as well as on many others. But I did not know how else to express the principles I desired (and

which I passionately believe to be true) except by producing their lines to a sensational point. I have tried,

however, not to scream unduly loud, and to retain so far as possible reverence and consideration for the

opinions of other people. Whether I have succeeded in that attempt is quite another matter.

Persons who do not like tiresome prologues, need not read this one. It is essential only to the situation, not to

the story. R.H.B. PROLOGUE "YOU must give me a moment," said the old man, leaning back.

It was a very silent room in which the three men sat, furnished with the extreme commonsense of the period.

It had neither window nor door; for it was now sixty years since the world, recognising that space is not

confined to the surface of the globe, had begun to burrow in earnest. Old Mr. Templeton's house stood some

forty feet below the level of the Thames embankment, in what was considered a somewhat commodious

position, for he had only a hundred yards to walk before he reached the station of the Second Central

Motorcircle, and a quarter of a mile to the volorstation at Blackfriars. He was over ninety years old,

however, and seldom left his house now. The room itself was lined throughout with the delicate green

jadeenamel prescribed by the Board of Health, and was suffused with the artificial sunlight discovered by

the great Reuter forty years before; it had the colourtone of a spring wood, and was warmed and ventilated

through the classical friezegrating to the exact temperature of 18* Centigrade. Mr. Templeton was a plain

man, content to live as his father had lived before him. The furniture, too, was a little oldfashioned in make

and design, constructed however according to the prevailing system of soft asbestos enamel welded over iron,

indestructible, pleasant to the touch, and resembling mahogany. A couple of bookcases well filled ran on

either side of the bronzepedestal electric fire before which sat the three men; and in the further corners stood

the hydraulic lifts that gave entrance, the one to the bedroom, the other to the corridor fifty feet up which

Father Percy Franklin, the elder of the two priests, was rather a remarkablelooking man, not more than

thirtyfive years old, but with hair that was white throughout; his grey eyes, under black eyebrows, were

peculiarly bright and almost passionate; but his prominent nose and chin, and the extreme decisiveness of his

mouth reassured the observer as to his will. Strangers usually looked twice at him.

Father Francis, however, sitting in his upright chair on the other side of the hearth, brought down the average;

for, though his brown eyes were pleasant and pathetic, there was no strength in his face; there was even a

tendency to feminine melancholy in the corners of his mouth and the marked droop of his eyelids.

Mr. Templeton was just a very old man, with a strong face in folds, cleanshaven like the rest of the world,

"Well," he said, "it is a great business to remember exactly; but this is how I put it to myself.

"In England our party was first seriously alarmed at the Labour Parliament of 1917. That showed us how

deeply Herv�ism had impregnated the whole social atmosphere. There had been Socialists before, but none

like Gustave Herv� in his old age at least no one of the same power. He, perhaps you have read, taught

absolute Materialism and Socialism developed to their logical issues. Patriotism, he said, was a relic of

barbarism; and sensual enjoyment was the only certain good. Of course, everyone laughed at him. It was said

that without religion there could be no adequate motive among the masses for even the simplest social order.

But he was right, it seemed. After the fall of the French Church at the beginning of the century and the

massacres of 1914, the bourgeoisie settled down to organise itself; and that extraordinary movement began in

earnest, pushed through by the middle classes, with no patriotism, no class distinctions, practically no army.

Of course, Freemasonry directed it all. This spread to Germany, where the influence of Karl Marx had

"Ah, yes; England. Well, in 1917 the Labour party gathered up the reins, and Communism really began. That

was long before I can remember, of course, but my father used to date it from then. The only wonder was that

things did not go forward more quickly; but I suppose there was a good deal of Tory leaven left. Besides,

centuries generally run slower than is expected, especially after beginning with an impulse. But the new order

began then; and the Communists have never suffered a serious reverse since, except the little one in '25.

Blenkin founded `The New People' then; and the `Times' dropped out; but it was not, strangely enough, till

'35 that the House of Lords fell for the last time. The Established Church had gone finally in '29."

"And the religious effect of that?" asked Percy swiftly, as the old man paused to cough slightly, lifting his

"It was an effect itself," said the other, "rather than a cause. You see, the Ritualists, as they used to call them,

after a desperate attempt to get into the Labour swim, came into the Church after the Convocation of '19,

when the Nicene Creed dropped out; and there was no real enthusiasm except among them. But so far as

there was an effect from the final Disestablishment, I think it was that what was left of the State Church

melted into the Free Church, and the Free Church was, after all, nothing more than a little sentiment. The

Bible was completely given up as an authority after the renewed German attacks in the twenties; and the

Divinity of our Lord, some think, had gone all but in name by the beginning of the century. The Kenotic

theory had provided for that. Then there was that strange little movement among the Free Churchmen even

earlier; when ministers who did no more than follow the swimwho were sensitive to draughts, so to

speakbroke off from their old positions. It is curious to read in the history of the time how they were hailed

as independent thinkers. It was just exactly what they were not. . . . Where was I? Oh, yes. . . . Well, that

cleared the ground for us, and the Church made extraordinary progress for a whileextraordinary, that is,

under the circumstances, because, you must remember, things were very different from twenty, or even ten,

years before. I mean that, roughly speaking, the severing of the sheep and the goats had begun. The religious

people were practically all Catholics and Individualists; the irreligious people rejected the supernatural

altogether, and were, to a man, Materialists and Communists. But we made progress because we had a few

exceptional menDelaney the philosopher, McArthur and Largent, the philanthropists, and so on. It really

seemed as if Delaney and his disciples might carry everything before them. You remember his `Analogy'?

"Well, then, at the close of the Vatican Council, which had been called in the nineteenth century, and never

dissolved, we lost a great number through the final definitions. The `Exodus of the Intellectuals' the world

"That partly; and the whole conflict that began with the rise of Modernism at the beginning of the century:

but much more the condemnation of Delaney, and of the New Transcendentalism generally, as it was then

understood. He died outside the Church, you know. Then there was the condemnation of Sciotti's book on

Comparative Religion. . . . After that the Communists went on by strides, although by very slow ones. It

seems extraordinary to you, I daresay, but you cannot imagine the excitement when the Necessary Trades Bill

became law in '60. People thought that all enterprise would stop when so many professions were nationalised;

"Oh! long beforewithin a year or two of the fall of the House of Lords. It was necessary, I think, or the

Individualists would have gone raving mad. . . . Well, the Necessary Trades Bill was inevitable: people had

begun to see that even so far back as the time when the railways were municipalised. For a while there was a

burst of art; because all the Individualists who could went in for it (it was then that the Toller school was

founded); but they soon drifted back into Government employment; after all, the sixpercent. limit for all

"Yes; but I cannot understand the present state of affairs. You said just now that things went slowly?"

"Yes," said the old man, "but you must remember the Poor Laws. That established the Communists for ever.

"The abolition of the old workhouse system," said Mr. Templeton. "It is all ancient history to you, of course;

but I remember as if it was yesterday. It was that which brought down what was still called the Monarchy and

"Presently, father. . . . Well, this is what Braithwaite did. By the old system all paupers were treated alike, and

resented it. By the new system there were the three grades that we have now, and the enfranchisement of the

two higher grades. Only the absolutely worthless were assigned to the third grade, and treated more or less as

criminalsof course after careful examination. Then there was the reorganisation of the Old Age Pensions.

Well, don't you see how strong that made the Communists? The Individualiststhey were still called Tories

when I was a boythe Individualists have had no chance since. They are no more than a wornout drag

now. The whole of the workingclassesand that meant ninetynine of a hundredwere all against them."

"Then there was the Prison Reform Bill under Macpherson, and the abolition of capital punishment; there

was the final Education Act of '59 whereby dogmatic secularism was established; the practical abolition of

"Why; it seems incredible, but the old system was that all paid alike. First came the Heirloom Act, and then

the change by which inherited wealth paid three times the duty of earned wealth, leading up to the acceptance

of Karl Marx's doctrines in '89but the former came in '77. . . . Well, all these things kept England up to the

level of the Continent; she had only been just in time to join in with the final scheme of Western Free Trade.

"Oh! that's a long story; but, in a word, America stopped us; so we lost India and Australia. I think that was

the nearest to the downfall of the Communists since '25. But Braithwaite got out of it very cleverly by getting

us the protectorate of South Africa once and for all. He was an old man then, too."

Mr. Templeton stopped to cough again. Father Francis sighed and shifted in his chair.

"Ah! all that is very complicated. But she knew her strength and annexed Canada the same year. That was

Percy looked at the sheets a minute or two in silence, spreading them on his knees.

"It is all much simpler, certainly," he murmured, glancing first at the old complicated colouring of the

beginning of the twentieth century, and then at the three great washes of the twentyfirst.

He moved his finger along Asia. The words EASTERN EMPIRE ran across the pale yellow, from the Ural

Mountains on the left to the Behring Straits on the right, curling round in giant letters through India,

Australia, and New Zealand. He glanced at the red; it was considerably smaller, but still important enough,

considering that it covered not only Europe proper, but all Russia up to the Ural Mountains, and Africa to the

south. The bluelabelled AMERICAN REPUBLIC swept over the whole of that continent, and disappeared

right round to the left of the Western Hemisphere in a shower of blue sparks on the white sea.

"God knows," he said. "If the Eastern Empire chooses to move, we can do nothing. I don't know why they

"No, no. We know our danger now. And America would certainly help us. But, all the same, God help

usor you, I should rather sayif the Empire does move! She knows her strength at last."

There was silence for a moment or two. A faint vibration trembled through the deepsunk room as some

Mr. Templeton inhaled another long breath from his instrument. Then again he took up his discourse.

"Briefly," he said, "there are three forcesCatholicism, Humanitarianism, and the Eastern religions. About

the third I cannot prophesy, though I think the Sufis will be victorious. Anything may happen; Esotericism is

making enormous strides and that means Pantheism; and the blending of the Chinese and Japanese

dynasties throws out all our calculations. But, in Europe and America, there is no doubt that the struggle lies

between the other two. We can neglect everything else. And, I think, if you wish me to say what I think, that,

humanly speaking, Catholicism will decrease rapidly now. It is perfectly true that Protestantism is dead. Men

do recognise at last that a supernatural Religion involves an absolute authority, and that Private Judgement in

matters of faith is nothing else than the beginning of disintegration. And it is also true that since the Catholic

Church is the only institution that even claims supernatural authority, with all its merciless logic, she has

again the allegiance of practically all Christians who have any supernatural belief left. There are a few

faddists left, especially in America and here; but they are negligible. That is all very well; but, on the other

hand, you must remember that Humanitarianism, contrary to all persons' expectations, is becoming an actual

religion itself, though antisupernatural. It is Pantheism; it is developing a ritual under Freemasonry; it has a

creed, `God is Man,' and the rest. It has therefore a real food of a sort to offer to religious cravings; it

idealises, and yet it makes no demand upon the spiritual facilities. Then, they have the use of all the churches

except ours, and all the Cathedrals; and they are beginning at last to encourage sentiment. Then, they may

display their symbols and we may not: I think that they will be established legally in another ten years at the

"Now, we Catholics, remember, are losing; we have lost steadily for more than fifty years. I suppose that we

have, nominally, about onefortieth of America nowand that is the result of the Catholic movement of the

early twenties. In France and Spain we are nowhere; in Germany we are less. We hold our position in the

East, certainly; but even there we have not more than one in two hundredso the statistics sayand we are

scattered. In Italy? Well, we have Rome again to ourselves, but nothing else; here, we have Ireland altogether

and perhaps one in sixty of England, Wales and Scotland; but we had one in forty seventy years ago. Then

there is the enormous progress of psychologyall clean against us for at least a century. First, you see, there

was Materialism, pure and simple that failed more or lessit was too crudeuntil psychology came to

the rescue. Now psychology claims all the rest of the ground; and the supernatural sense seems accounted for.

That's the claim. No, father, we are losing; and we shall go on losing, and I think we must even be ready for a

"You think that weak for an old man on the edge of the grave. Well, it is what I think. I see no hope. In fact, it

seems to me that even now something may come on us quickly. No; I see no hope until"

"My dear father, it was exactly like the fall of the Monasteries under Henry VIIIthe same results, the same

arguments, the same incidents. They were the strongholds of Individualism, as the Monasteries were the

strongholds of Papalism; and they were regarded with the same kind of awe and envy. Then the usual sort of

remarks began about the amount of port wine drunk; and suddenly people said that they had done their work,

that the inmates were mistaking means for ends; and there was a great deal more reason for saying it. After

all, granted the supernatural, Religious Houses are an obvious consequence; but the object of secular

education is presumably the production of something visibleeither character or competence; and it became

quite impossible to prove that the Universities produced eitherwhich was worth having. The distinction

between ** and ** is not an end in itself; and the kind of person produced by its study was not one which

appealed to England in the twentieth century. I am not sure that it appealed even to me much (and I was

"Oh, it was pathetic enough. The Science Schools of Cambridge and the Colonial Department of Oxford were

the last hope; and then those went. The old dons crept about with their books, but nobody wanted themthey

were too purely theoretical; some drifted into the poorhouses, first or second grade; some were taken care of

by charitable clergymen; there was that attempt to concentrate in Dublin; but it failed, and people soon forgot

them. The buildings, as you know, were used for all kinds of things. Oxford became an engineering

establishment for a while, and Cambridge a kind of Government laboratory. I was at King's College, you

know. Of course it was all as horrible as it could bethough I am glad they kept the chapel open even as a

museum. It was not nice to see the chantries filled with anatomical specimens. However, I don't think it was

"Oh! I was in Parliament very soon; and I had a little money of my own, too. But it was very hard on some of

them; they had little pensions, at least all who were past work. And yet, I don't know: I suppose it had to

come. They were very little more than picturesque survivals, you know; and had not even the grace of a

Percy sighed again, looking at the humorously reminiscent face of the old man. Then he suddenly changed

"Oh! . . . I think it will pass," he said, "if a man can be found to push it. All this last century has been leading

up to it, as you see. Patriotism has been dying fast; but it ought to have died, like slavery and so forth, under

the influence of the Catholic Church. As it is, the work has been done without the Church; and the result is

that the world is beginning to range itself against us: it is an organised antagonisma kind of Catholic

antiChurch. Democracy has done what the Divine Monarchy should have done. If the proposal passes I

think we may expect something like persecution once more. . . . But, again, the Eastern invasion may save us,

"I must go, sir," he said, relapsing into Esperanto. "It is past nineteen o'clock. Thank you so much. Are you

Father Francis stood up also, in the dark grey suit permitted to priests, and took up his hat.

"Well, father," said the old man again, "come again some day, if I haven't been too discursive. I suppose you

"I did half of it this morning," he said, "but I felt I wanted another bird'seye view before I could understand

properly: I am so grateful to you for giving it me. It is really a great labour, this daily letter to the

"My dear father, don't do that. If I may say so to your face, I think you have a very shrewd mind; and unless

Rome has balanced information she can do nothing. I don't suppose your colleagues are as careful as

The two priests parted at the steps of the corridor, and Percy stood for a minute or two staring out at the

familiar autumn scene, trying to understand what it all meant. What he had heard downstairs seemed

The air was as bright as day; artificial sunlight had carried all before it, and London now knew no difference

between dark and light. He stood in a kind of glazed cloister, heavily floored with a preparation of rubber on

which footsteps made no sound. Beneath him, at the foot of the stairs, poured an endless double line of

persons severed by a partition, going to right and left, noiselessly, except for the murmur of Esperanto talking

that sounded ceaselessly as they went. Through the clear, hardened glass of the public passage showed a

broad sleek black roadway, ribbed from side to side, and puckered in the centre, significantly empty, but even

as he stood there a note sounded far away from Old Westminster, like the hum of a giant hive, rising as it

came, and an instant later a transparent thing shot past, flashing from every angle, and the note died to a hum

again and a silence as the great Government motor from the south whirled eastwards with the mails. This was

a privileged roadway; nothing but statevehicles were allowed to use it, and those at a speed not exceeding

Other noises were subdued in this city of rubber; the passengercircles were a hundred yards away, and the

subterranean traffic lay too deep for anything but a vibration to make itself felt. It was to remove this

vibration, and silence the hum of the ordinary vehicles, that the Government experts had been working for the

Once again before he moved there came a long cry from overhead, startlingly beautiful and piercing, and, as

he lifted his eyes from the glimpse of the steady river which alone had refused to be transformed, he saw high

above him against the heavy illuminated clouds, a long slender object, glowing with soft light, slide

northwards and vanish on outstretched wings. That musical cry, he told himself, was the voice of one of the

"Until our Lord comes back," he thought to himself; and for an instant the old misery stabbed at his heart.

How difficult it was to hold the eyes focussed on that far horizon when this world lay in the foreground so

compelling in its splendour and its strength! Oh! he had argued with Father Francis an hour ago that size was

not the same as greatness, and that an insistent external could not exclude a subtle internal; and he had

believed what he had then said; but the doubt yet remained till he silenced it by a fierce effort, crying in his

heart to the Poor Man of Nazareth to keep his heart as the heart of a little child.

Then he set his lips, wondering how long Father Francis would bear the pressure, and went down the steps.

OLIVER Brand, the new member for Croydon (4), sat in his study, looking out of the window over the top of

His house stood facing northwards at the extreme end of a spur of the Surrey Hills, now cut and tunnelled out

of all recognition; only to a Communist the view was an inspiriting one. Immediately below the wide

windows the embanked ground fell away rapidly for perhaps a hundred feet, ending in a high wall, and

beyond that the world and works of men were triumphant as far as eye could see. Two vast tracks like

streaked racecourses, each not less than a quarter of a mile in width, and sunk twenty feet below the surface

of the ground, swept up to a meeting a mile ahead at the huge junction. Of those, that on his left was the First

Trunk road to Brighton, inscribed in capital letters in the Railroad Guide, that to the right the Second Trunk

to the Tunbridge and Hastings district. Each was divided lengthways by a cement wall, on one side of which,

on steel rails, ran the electric trams, and on the other lay the motortrack itself again divided into three, on

which ran, first the Government coaches at a speed of one hundred and fifty miles an hour, second the private

motors at not more than sixty, third the cheap Government line at thirty, with stations every five miles. This

was further bordered by a road confined to pedestrians, cyclists and ordinary cars on which no vehicle was

Beyond these great tracks lay an immense plain of house roofs, with short towers here and there marking

public buildings, from the Caterham district on the left to Croydon in front, all clear and bright in smokeless

air; and far away to the west and north showed the low suburban hills against the April sky.

There was surprisingly little sound, considering the pressure of the population; and, with the exception of the

buzz of the steel rails as a train fled north or south, and the occasional sweet chord of the great motors as they

neared or left the junction, there was little to be heard in this study except a smooth, soothing murmur that

Oliver loved every hint of human lifeall busy sights and soundsand was listening now, smiling faintly to

himself as he stared out into the clear air. Then he set his lips, laid his fingers on the keys once more, and

He was very fortunate in the situation of his house. It stood in an angle of one of those huge spiderwebs

with which the country was covered, and for his purposes was all that he could expect. It was close enough to

London to be extremely cheap, for all wealthy persons had retired at least a hundred miles from the throbbing

heart of England; and yet it was as quiet as he could wish. He was within ten minutes of Westminster on the

one side, and twenty minutes of the sea on the other; and his constituency lay before him like a raised map.

Further, since the great London termini were but ten minutes away, there were at his disposal the First Trunk

lines to every big town in England. For a politician of no great means, who was asked to speak at Edinburgh

on one evening and in Marseilles on the next, he was as well placed as any man in Europe.

He was a pleasantlooking man, not much over thirty years old; black wirehaired, cleanshaven, thin, virile,

magnetic, blueeyed and whiteskinned; and he appeared this day extremely content with himself and the

world. His lips moved slightly as he worked, his eyes enlarged and diminished with excitement, and more

Then a door opened; a middleaged man came nervously in with a bundle of papers, laid them down on the

table without a word, and turned to go out. Oliver lifted his hand for attention, snapped a lever, and spoke.

Oliver did not seem to hear; he lifted the flimsy printed sheets with a sudden movement, and began turning

The fourth sheet from the top, printed in red on green, seemed to absorb Oliver's attention altogether, for he

read it through two or three times, leaning back motionless in his chair. Then he sighed, and stared again

He took up the green sheet and began to read aloud, as the girl sat down in a windowseat on his left.

She was a very charminglooking creature, tall and slender, with serious, ardent grey eyes, firm red lips, and

a beautiful carriage of head and shoulders. She had walked slowly across the room as Oliver took up the

paper, and now sat back in her brown dress in a very graceful and stately attitude. She seemed to listen with a

he. . . .' Therethat is absolutely all," ended Oliver dispiritedly. "It's interrupted as usual."

"My dear child, that is what all the world is asking. Nothing is known except that he was included in the

American deputation at the last moment. The Herald published his life last week; but it has been contradicted.

It is certain that he is quite a young man, and that he has been quite obscure until now."

"I know: it seems as if he were running the whole thing. One never hears a word of the others. It's lucky he's

"I think it is touch and go," he said. "The only remarkable thing is that here hardly anybody seems to realise

it. It's too big for the imagination, I suppose. There is no doubt that the East has been preparing for a descent

on Europe for these last five years. They have only been checked by America; and this is one last attempt to

stop them. But why Felsenburgh should come to the front" he broke off. "He must be a good linguist, at

any rate. This is at least the fifth crowd he has addressed; perhaps he is just the American interpreter. Christ! I

"Private enterprise," he said. "The European agencies have stopped work. Every telegraph station is guarded

night and day. There are lines of volors strung out on every frontier. The Empire means to settle this business

"Working night and day; so is the rest of Europe. It'll be Armageddon with a vengeance if it comes to war."

"I see two chances," said Oliver slowly: "one, that they may be afraid of America, and may hold their hands

from sheer fear; the other that they may be induced to hold their hands from charity; if only they can be made

to understand that co operation is the one hope of the world. But those damned religions of theirs"

The girl sighed, and looked out again on to the wide plain of houseroofs below the window.

The situation was indeed as serious as it could be. That huge Empire, consisting of a federalism of States

under the Son of Heaven (made possible by the merging of the Japanese and Chinese dynasties and the fall of

Russia), had been consolidating its forces and learning its own power during the last thirtyfive years, ever

since, in fact, it had laid its lean yellow hands upon Australia and India. While the rest of the world had

learned the folly of war, ever since the fall of the Russian republic under the combined attack of the yellow

races, the last had grasped its possibilities. It seemed now as if the civilisation of the last century was to be

swept back once more into chaos. It was not that the mob of the East cared very greatly; it was their rulers

who had begun to stretch themselves after an almost eternal lethargy, and it was hard to imagine how they

could be checked at this point. There was a touch of grimness too in the rumour that religious fanaticism was

behind the movement, and that the patient East proposed at last to proselytise by the modern equivalents of

fire and sword those who had laid aside for the most part all religious beliefs except that in Humanity. To

Oliver it was simply maddening. As he looked from his window and saw that vast limit of London laid

peaceably before him, as his imagination ran out over Europe and saw everywhere that steady triumph of

commonsense and fact over the wild fairystories of Christianity, it seemed intolerable that there should be

even a possibility that all this should be swept back again into the barbarous turmoil of sects and dogmas; for

no less than this would be the result if the East laid hands on Europe. Even Catholicism would revive, he told

himself, that strange faith that had blazed so often as persecution had been dashed to quench it; and, of all

forms of faith, to Oliver's mind Catholicism was the most grotesque and enslaving. And the prospect of all

this honestly troubled him, far more than the thought of the physical catastrophe and bloodshed that would

fall on Europe with the advent of the East. There was but one hope on the religious side, as he had told Mabel

a dozen times, and that was that the Quietistic Pantheism which for the last century had made such giant

strides in East and West alike, among Mohammedans, Buddhists, Hindus, Confucianists and the rest, should

avail to check the supernatural frenzy that inspired their exoteric brethren. Pantheism, he understood, was

what he held himself; for him "God" was the developing sum of created life, and impersonal Unity was the

essence of His being; competition then was the great heresy that set men one against another and delayed all

progress; for, to his mind, progress lay in the merging of the individual in the family, of the family in the

commonwealth, of the commonwealth in the continent, and of the continent in the world. Finally, the world

itself at any moment was no more than the mood of impersonal life. It was, in fact, the Catholic idea with the

supernatural left out, a union of earthly fortunes, an abandonment of individualism on the one side, and of

supernaturalism on the other. It was treason to appeal from God Immanent to God Transcendent; there was

Yet these two, husband and wife after a fashionfor they had entered into that terminable contract now

recognised explicitly by the Statethese two were very far from sharing in the usual heavy dullness of mere

materialists. The world, for them, beat with one ardent life blossoming in flower and beast and man, a torrent

of beautiful vigour flowing from a deep source and irrigating all that moved or felt. Its romance was the more

appreciable because it was comprehensible to the minds that sprang from it; there were mysteries in it, but

mysteries that enticed rather than baffled, for they unfolded new glories with every discovery that man could

make; even inanimate objects, the fossil, the electric current, the faroff stars, these were dust thrown off by

the Spirit of the World fragrant with His Presence and eloquent of His Nature. For example, the

announcement made by Klein, the astronomer, twenty years before, that the inhabitation of certain planets

had become a certified facthow vastly this had altered men's views of themselves. But the one condition of

progress and the building of Jerusalem, on the planet that happened to be men's dwelling place, was peace,

not the sword which Christ brought or that which Mahomet wielded; but peace that arose from, not passed,

understanding; the peace that sprang from a knowledge that man was all and was able to develop himself

only by sympathy with his fellows. To Oliver and his wife, then, the last century seemed like a revelation;

little by little the old superstitions had died, and the new light broadened; the Spirit of the World had roused

Himself, the sun had dawned in the west; and now with horror and loathing they had seen the clouds gather

"My dear," she said, "you must not be downhearted. It all may pass as it passed before. It is a great thing that

they are listening to America at all. And this Mr. Felsenburgh seems to be on the right side."

Oliver seemed altogether depressed at breakfast, halfanhour later. His mother, an old lady of nearly eighty,

who never appeared till noon, seemed to see it at once, for after a look or two at him and a word, she subsided

It was a pleasant little room in which they sat, immediately behind Oliver's own, and was furnished,

according to universal custom, in light green. Its windows looked out upon a strip of garden at the back, and

the high creepergrown wall that separated that domain from the next. The furniture, too, was of the usual

sort; a sensible round table stood in the middle, with three tall armchairs, with the proper angles and rests,

drawn up to it; and the centre of it, resting apparently on a broad round column, held the dishes. It was thirty

years now since the practice of placing the diningroom above the kitchen, and of raising and lowering the

courses by hydraulic power into the centre of the diningtable, had become universal in the houses of the

welltodo. The floor consisted entirely of the asbestos cork preparation invented in America, noiseless,

It seemed that Birmingham was beginning to fret. They were crying out once more for free trade with

America: European facilities were not enough, and it was Oliver's business to keep them quiet. It was useless,

he proposed to tell them, to agitate until the Eastern business was settled: they must not bother the

Government with such details just now. He was to tell them, too, that the Government was wholly on their

"They are pigheaded," he added fiercely; "pigheaded and selfish; they are like children who cry for food

Mabel looked at her husband with a pleased twinkle in her eyes. She knew perfectly well that his popularity

rested largely on his outspokenness: folks liked to be scolded and abused by a genial bold man who danced

"Volor. I shall catch the eighteen o'clock at Blackfriars; the meeting is at nineteen, and I shall be back at

He addressed himself vigorously to his entr�e, and his mother looked up with a patient, oldwoman smile.

Oliver gulped his last mouthful, pushed his plate over the line, glanced to see if all plates were there, and then

Instantly, without a sound, the centrepiece vanished, and the three waited unconcernedly while the clink of

Old Mrs. Brand was a halelooking old lady, rosy and wrinkled, with the mantilla headdress of fifty years

ago; but she, too looked a little depressed this morning. The entr�e was not very successful, she thought; the

new foodstuff was not up to the old, it was a trifle gritty: she would see about it afterwards. There was a

clink, a soft sound like a push, and the centrepiece snapped into its place, bearing an admirable imitation of

Oliver and his wife were alone again for a minute or two after breakfast before Mabel started down the path

"Oh! it's the foodstuff again: she's never got accustomed to it; she says it doesn't suit her."

Oliver watched his wife go down the path, reassured. He had been a little troubled once or twice lately by an

odd word or two that his mother had let fall. She had been brought up a Christian for a few years, and it

seemed to him sometimes as if it had left a taint. There was an old "Garden of the Soul" that she liked to keep

by her, though she always protested with an appearance of scorn that it was nothing but nonsense. Still,

Oliver would have preferred that she had burnt it: superstition was a desperate thing for retaining life, and, as

the brain weakened, might conceivably reassert itself. Christianity was both wild and dull, he told himself,

wild because of its obvious grotesqueness and impossibility, and dull because it was so utterly apart from the

exhilarating stream of human life; it crept dustily about still, he knew, in little dark churches here and there; it

screamed with hysterical sentimentality in Westminster Cathedral which he had once entered and looked

upon with a kind of disgusted fury; it gabbled strange, false words to the incompetent and the old and the

halfwitted. But it would be too dreadful if his own mother ever looked upon it again with favour.

Oliver himself, ever since he could remember, had been violently opposed to the concessions to Rome and

Ireland. It was intolerable that these two places should be definitely yielded up to this foolish, treacherous

nonsense: they were hot beds of sedition; plaguespots on the face of humanity. He had never agreed with

those who said that it was better that all the poison of the west should be gathered rather than dispersed. But,

at any rate, there it was. Rome had been given up wholly to that old man in white in exchange for all the

parish churches and cathedrals of Italy, and it was understood that medieval darkness reigned there supreme;

and Ireland, after receiving Home Rule thirty years before, had declared for Catholicism, and opened her

arms to Individualism in its most virulent form. England had laughed and assented, for she was saved from a

quantity of agitation by the immediate departure of half her Catholic population for that island, and had,

consistently with her Communistcolonial policy, granted every facility for Individualism to reduce itself

there ad absurdum. All kinds of funny things were happening there: Oliver had read with a bitter amusement

of new appearances there, of a Woman in Blue and shrines raised where her feet had rested; but he was

scarcely amused at Rome, for the movement to Turin of the Italian Government had deprived the Republic of

quite a quantity of sentimental prestige, and had haloed the old religious nonsense with all the

meretriciousness of historical association. However, it obviously could not last much longer: the world was

He stood a moment or two at the door after his wife had gone, drinking in reassurance from that glorious

vision of solid sense that spread itself before his eyes: the endless house roofs; the high glass vaults of the

public baths and gymnasiums; the pinnacled schools where Citizenship was taught each morning; the

spiderlike cranes and scaffoldings that rose here and there; and even the few pricking spires did not

disconcert him. There it stretched away into the grey haze of London, really beautiful, this vast hive of men

and women who had learnt at least the primary lesson of the gospel that there was no God but man, no priest

Mabel, too, was a little thoughtful as she sat with her paper on her lap, spinning down the broad line to

Brighton. This Eastern news was more disconcerting to her than she allowed her husband to see; yet it

seemed incredible that there could be any real danger of invasion. This western life was so sensible and

peaceful; folks had their feet at last upon the rock, and it was unthinkable that they could ever be forced back

on to the mudflats: it was contrary to the whole law of development. Yet she could not but recognise that

She sat very quiet, glancing once or twice at the meagre little scrap of news, and read the leading article upon

it: that too seemed significant of dismay. A couple of men were talking in the halfcompartment beyond on

the same subject; one described the Government engineering works that he had visited, the breathless haste

that dominated them; the other put in interrogations and questions. There was not much comfort there. There

were no windows through which she could look; on the main lines the speed was too great for the eyes; the

long compartment flooded with soft light bounded her horizon. She stared at the moulded white ceiling, the

delicious oakframed paintings, the deep springseats, the mellow globes overhead that poured out radiance,

at a mother and child diagonally opposite her. Then the great chord sounded; the faint vibration increased

ever so slightly; and an instant later the automatic doors ran back, and she stepped out on to the platform of

As she went down the steps leading to the station square she noticed a priest going before her. He seemed a

very upright and sturdy old man, for though his hair was white he walked steadily and strongly. At the foot of

the steps he stopped and half turned, and then, to her surprise, she saw that his face was that of a young man,

finefeatured and strong, with black eyebrows and very bright grey eyes. Then she passed on and began to

Then without the slightest warning, except one shrill hoot from overhead, a number of things happened.

A great shadow whirled across the sunlight at her feet, a sound of rending tore the air, and a noise like a

giant's sigh; and, as she stopped bewildered, with a noise like ten thousand smashed kettles, a huge thing

crashed on the rubber pavement before her, where it lay, filling half the square, writhing long wings on its

upper side that beat and whirled like the flappers of some ghastly extinct monster, pouring out human

Mabel scarcely knew what happened next; but she found herself a moment later forced forward by some

violent pressure from behind, till she stood shaking from head to foot, with some kind of smashed body of a

man moaning and stretching at her feet. There was a sort of articulate language coming from it; she caught

distinctly the names of Jesus and Mary; then a voice hissed suddenly in her ears:

She stood there a moment longer, dazed by the suddenness of the whole affair, and watched almost

unintelligently the grey haired young priest on his knees, with his coat torn open, and a crucifix out; she saw

him bend close, wave his hand in a swift sign, and heard a murmur of a language she did not know. Then he

was up again, holding the crucifix before him, and she saw him begin to move forward into the midst of the

redflooded pavement looking this way and that as if for a signal. Down the steps of the great hospital on her

right came figures running now, hatless, each carrying what looked like an oldfashioned camera. She knew

what those men were, and her heart leapt in relief. They were the ministers of euthanasia. Then she felt

herself taken by the shoulder and pulled back, and immediately found herself in the front rank of a crowd that

was swaying and crying out, and behind a line of police and civilians who had formed themselves into a

Oliver was in a panic of terror as his mother, half an hour later, ran in with the news that one of the

Government volors had fallen in the stationsquare at Brighton just after the 14* train had discharged its

passengers. He knew quite well what that meant, for he remembered one such accident ten years before, just

after the law forbidding private volors had been passed. It meant that every living creature in it was killed and

probably many more in the place where it felland what then? The message was clear enough; she would

He sent a desperate wire to her aunt asking for news; and sat, shaking in his chair, awaiting the answer. His

But Fate was merciful, and three minutes before Mr. Phillips toiled up the path with the answer, Mabel

She had not a great deal to tell him. There was no explanation of the disaster published as yet; it seemed that

"Well, my dear?" said her husband, still rather white beneath the eyes as he sat close to her patting her hand.

"He was on his knees at once," she said, "with his crucifix, even before the doctors came. My dear, do people

"It was all soso sudden; and there he was, just as if he had been expecting it all. Oliver, how can they?"

"Say! Why, nothing! What can I say? But I don't think I've ever seen anyone die."

"Nor have I till today," said the girl, and shivered a little. "The euthanasia people were soon at work."

"No; but listen. . . . You know, if I had had anything to say I could have said it too. They were all just in front

of me: I wondered; then I knew I hadn't. I couldn't possibly have talked about Humanity."

"My dear, it's all very sad; but you know it doesn't really matter. It's all over."

Mabel compressed her lips a little; then she sighed. She had an agitated sort of meditation in the train. She

knew perfectly that it was sheer nerves; but she could not just yet shake them off. As she had said, it was the

"My dear, I'll tell you what he believes. He believes that that man whom he showed the crucifix to, and said

those words over, is alive somewhere, in spite of his brain being dead: he is not quite sure where; but he is

either in a kind of smelting works being slowly burnt; or, if he is very lucky, and that piece of wood took

effect, he is somewhere beyond the clouds, before Three Persons who are only One although They are Three;

that there are quantities of other people there, a Woman in Blue, a great many others in white with their heads

under their arms, and still more with their heads on one side; and that they've all got harps and go on singing

for ever and ever, and walking about on the clouds, and liking it very much indeed. He thinks, too, that all

these nice people are perpetually looking down upon the aforesaid smeltingworks, and praising the Three

Great Persons for making them. That's what the priest believes. Now you know it's not likely; that kind of

"No, my dear, you're quite right. That sort of thing isn't true. How can he believe it? He looked quite

"My dear girl, if I had told you in your cradle that the moon was green cheese, and had hammered at you ever

since, every day and all day, that it was, you'd very nearly believe it by now. Why, you know in your heart

"Oliver, you're a most comforting person. I do like you! There! I must go to my room: I'm all shaky still."

There was a curious rustylooking splash upon it; and her husband saw her turn white. He rose abruptly.

When she was gone, he still sat on a moment where she had left him. Dear me! how pleased he was! He did

not like to think of what life would have been without her. He had known her since she was twelvethat was

seven years agoand last year they had gone together to the district official to make their contract. She had

really become very necessary to him. Of course the world could get on without her, and he supposed that he

could too; but he did not want to have to try. He knew perfectly well, for it was his creed of human love, that

there was between them a double affection, of mind as well as body; and there was absolutely nothing else:

but he loved her quick intuitions, and to hear his own thought echoed so perfectly. It was like two flames

added together to make a third taller than either: of course one flame could burn without the otherin fact,

one would have to, one daybut meantime the warmth and light were exhilarating. Yes, he was delighted

He gave no more thought to his exposition of the Christian creed; it was a mere commonplace to him that

Catholics believed that kind of thing; it was no more blasphemous to his mind so to describe it, than it would

be to laugh at a Fijian idol with motherofpearl eyes and a horsehair wig; it was simply impossible to treat

it seriously. He, too, had wondered once or twice in his life how human beings could believe such rubbish;

but psychology had helped him, and he knew now well enough that suggestion will do almost anything. And

it was this hateful thing that had so long restrained the euthanasia movement with all its splendid mercy.

His brows wrinkled a little as he remembered his mother's exclamation, "Please God"; then he smiled at the

poor old thing and her pathetic childishness, and turned once more to his table, thinking in spite of himself of

his wife's hesitation as she had seen the splash of blood on her shoe. Blood! Yes; that was as much a fact as

anything else. How was it to be dealt with? Why, by the glorious creed of Humanitythat splendid God who

died and rose again ten thousand times a day, who had died daily like the old cracked fanatic Saul of Tarsus,

ever since the world began, and who rose again, not once like the Carpenter's Son, but with every child that

came into the world. That was the answer; and was it not overwhelmingly sufficient?

PERCY Franklin's correspondence with the CardinalProtector of England occupied him directly for at least

For the past eight years the methods of the Holy See had once more been revised with a view to modern

needs, and now every important province throughout the world possessed not only an administrative

metropolitan but a representative in Rome whose business it was to be in touch with the Pope on the one side

and the people he represented on the other. In other words, centralisation had gone forward rapidly, in

accordance with the laws of life; and, with centralisation, freedom of method and expansion of power.

England's CardinalProtector was one Abbot Martin, a Benedictine, and it was Percy's business, as of a

dozen more bishops, priests and laymen (with whom, by the way, he was forbidden to hold any formal

consultation) to write a long daily letter to him on affairs that came under his notice.

It was a curious life, therefore, that Percy led. He had a couple of rooms assigned to him in Archbishop's

House at Westminster, and was attached loosely to the Cathedral staff, although with considerable liberty. He

rose early, and went to meditation for an hour, after which he said his mass. He took his coffee soon after,

said a little office, and then settled down to map out his letter. At ten o'clock he was ready to receive callers,

and till noon he was generally busy with both those who came to see him on their own responsibility and his

staff of halfadozen reporters whose business it was to bring him marked paragraphs in the newspapers and

their own comments. He then breakfasted with the other priests in the house, and set out soon after to call on

people whose opinion was necessary, returning for a cup of tea soon after sixteen o'clock. Then he settled

down, after the rest of his office and a visit to the Blessed Sacrament, to compose his letter, which though

short, needed a great deal of care and sifting. After dinner he made a few notes for next day, received visitors

again, and went to bed soon after twentytwo o'clock. Twice a week it was his business to assist at Vespers in

It was one day, a week or two after his visit to Brighton, that he was just finishing his letter, when his servant

He snapped off his last lines, drew out the sheet, and settled down to read it over, translating it unconsciously

"Since yesterday I have a little more information. It appears certain that the Bill establishing Esperanto for all

State purposes will be brought in in June. I have had this from Johnson. This, as I have pointed out before, is

the very last stone in our consolidation with the continent, which, at present, is to be regretted. . . . A great

access of Jews to Freemasonry is to be expected; hitherto they have held aloof to some extent, but the

`abolition of the Idea of God' is tending to draw in those Jews, now greatly on the increase once more, who

repudiate all notion of a personal Messiah. It is `Humanity' here, too, that is at work. Today I heard the

Rabbi Simeon speak to this effect in the City, and was impressed by the applause he received. . . . Yet among

others an expectation is growing that a man will presently be found to lead the Communist movement and

unite their forces more closely. I enclose a verbose cutting from the New People to that effect; and it is

echoed everywhere. They say that the cause must give birth to one such soon; that they have had prophets

and precursors for a hundred years past, and lately a cessation of them. It is strange how this coincides

superficially with Christian ideas. Your Eminence will observe that a simile of the `ninth wave' is used with

some eloquence. . . . I hear today of the secession of an old Catholic family, the Wargraves of Norfolk, with

their chaplain Micklem, who it seems has been busy in this direction for some while. The Epoch announces it

with satisfaction, owing to the peculiar circumstances; but unhappily such events are not uncommon now. . . .

There is much distrust among the laity. Seven priests in Westminster diocese have left us within the last three

months; on the other hand, I have pleasure in telling your Eminence that his Grace received into Catholic

Communion this morning the exAnglican Bishop of Carlisle, with halfadozen of his clergy. This has

been expected for some weeks past. I append also cuttings from the Tribune, the London Trumpet, and the

Observer, with my comments upon them. Your Eminence will see how great the excitement is with regard to

"Recommendation. That formal excommunication of the Wargraves and these eight priests should be issued

Percy laid down the sheet, gathered up the halfdozen other papers that contained his extracts and running

commentary, signed the last, and slipped the whole into the printed envelope that lay ready.

The moment he came into the glassdoored parlour he saw that the crisis was come, if not passed already.

Father Francis looked miserably ill, but there was a curious hardness, too, about his eyes and mouth, as he

Percy was careful to show no emotion at all. He made a little sign to a chair, and himself sat down too.

"It is an end of everything," said the other again in a perfectly steady voice. "I believe nothing. I have

"That won't do, father," went on the other. "I tell you there is nothing left. I can't even argue now. It is just

Percy had nothing to say. He had talked to this man during a period of over eight months, ever since Father

Francis had first confided in him that his faith was going. He understood perfectly what a strain it had been;

he felt bitterly compassionate towards this poor creature who had become caught up somehow into the dizzy

triumphant whirl of the New Humanity. External facts were horribly strong just now; and faith, except to one

who had learned that Will and Grace were all and emotion nothing, was as a child crawling about in the midst

of some huge machinery: it might survive or it might not; but it required nerves of steel to keep steady. It was

hard to know where blame could be assigned; yet Percy's faith told him that there was blame due. In the ages

of faith a very inadequate grasp of religion would pass muster; in these searching days none but the humble

and the pure could stand the test for long, unless indeed they were protected by a miracle of ignorance. The

alliance of Psychology and Materialism did indeed seem, looked at from one angle, to account for everything;

it needed a robust supernatural perception to understand their practical inadequacy. And as regards Father

Francis's personal responsibility, he could not help feeling that the other had allowed ceremonial to play too

great a part in his religion, and prayer too little. In him the external had absorbed the internal.

"My dear father," said Percy, motionless in his chair, "I know it is your fault. Listen to me. You say

Christianity is absurd and impossible. Now, you know, it cannot be that! It may be untrue,I am not

speaking of that now, even though I am perfectly certain that it is absolutely truebut it cannot be absurd so

long as educated and virtuous people continue to hold it. To say that it is absurd is simple pride; it is to

dismiss all who believe in it as not merely mistaken, but unintelligent as well"

"Very well, then," interrupted the other; "then suppose I withdraw that, and simply say that I do not believe it

"You do not withdraw it," continued Percy serenely; "you still really believe it to be absurd: you have told me

so a dozen times. Well, I repeat, that is pride, and quite sufficient to account for it all. It is the moral attitude

"If you tell me on your word of honour that there is no woman in the case, or no particular programme of sin

you propose to work out, I shall believe you. But it is an old story, as you say."

There was silence for a moment after that. Percy had really no more to say. He had talked to him, of the inner

life again and again, in which verities are seen to be true, and acts of faith are ratified; he had urged prayer

and humility till he was almost weary of the names; and had been met by the retort that this was to advise

sheer selfhypnotism; and he had despaired of making clear to one who did not see it for himself that while

Love and Faith may be called selfhypnotism from one angle, yet from another they are as much realities as,

for example, artistic faculties, and need similar cultivation; that they produce a conviction that they are

convictions, that they handle and taste things which when handled and tasted are overwhelmingly more real

and objective than the things of sense. Evidences seemed to mean nothing to this man.

So he was silent now, chilled himself by the presence of this crisis, looking unseeingly out upon the plain,

little oldworld parlour, its tall window, its strip of matting, conscious chiefly of the dreary hopelessness of

this human brother of his who had eyes but did not see, ears and was deaf. He wished he would say

Father Francis, who had been sitting in a lax kind of huddle, seemed to know his thoughts, and sat up

"I am not tired of you, my dear father," said Percy simply. "I am only terribly sorry. You see I know that it is

"And I know that it is not," he said. "It is very beautiful; I wish I could believe it. I don't think I shall be ever

Percy sighed. He had told him so often that the heart is as divine a gift as the mind, and that to neglect it in

the search for God is to seek ruin, but this priest had scarcely seen the application to himself. He had

answered with the old psychological arguments that the suggestions of education accounted for everything.

"It is you who are leaving me," said Percy. "I cannot follow, if you mean that."

"Friends?" he said. "Is sentimentality all you mean by friendship? What kind of friends can we be?"

"John!" cried Percy. "You see that, do you not? How can we pretend anything when you do not believe in

"Oh! that is all you mean by friendship, is it?I beg your pardon. Oh! we can be polite to one another, if you

He still stood holding out his hand. Father Francis looked at it a moment, his lips shook: then once more he

Percy stood motionless until he heard the automatic bell outside tell him that Father Francis was really gone,

then he went out himself and turned towards the long passage leading to the Cathedral. As he passed out

through the sacristy he heard far in front the murmur of an organ, and on coming through into the chapel used

as a parish church he perceived that Vespers were not yet over in the great choir. He came straight down the

It was drawing on towards sunset, and the huge dark place was lighted here and there by patches of ruddy

London light that lay on the gorgeous marble and gildings finished at last by a wealthy convert. In front of

him rose up the choir, with a line of white surpliced and furred canons on either side, and the vast baldachino

in the midst, beneath which burned the six lights as they had burned day by day for more than a century;

behind that again lay the high line of the apsechoir with the dim, windowpierced vault above where Christ

reigned in majesty. He let his eyes wander round for a few moments before beginning his deliberate prayer,

drinking in the glory of the place, listening to the thunderous chorus, the peal of the organ, and the thin

mellow voice of the priest. There on the left shone the refracted glow of the lamps that burned before the

Lord in the Sacrament, on the right a dozen candles winked here and there at the foot of the gaunt images,

high overhead hung the gigantic cross with that lean, emaciated Poor Man Who called all who looked on Him

Then he hid his face in his hands, drew a couple of long breaths, and set to work.

He began, as his custom was in mental prayer, by a deliberate act of selfexclusion from the world of sense.

Under the image of sinking beneath a surface he forced himself downwards and inwards, till the peal of the

organ, the shuffle of footsteps, the rigidity of the chairback beneath his wristsall seemed apart and

external, and he was left a single person with a beating heart, an intellect that suggested image after image,

and emotions that were too languid to stir themselves. Then he made his second descent, renounced all that

he possessed and was, and became conscious that even the body was left behind, and that his mind and heart,

awed by the Presence in which they found themselves, clung close and obedient to the will which was their

lord and protector. He drew another long breath, or two, as he felt that Presence surge about him; he repeated

a few mechanical words, and sank to that peace which follows the relinquishment of thought.

There he rested for a while. Far above him sounded the ecstatic music, the cry of trumpets and the shrilling of

the flutes; but they were as insignificant streetnoises to one who was falling asleep. He was within the veil

of things now, beyond the barriers of sense and reflection, in that secret place to which he had learnt the road

by endless effort, in that strange region where realities are evident, where perceptions go to and fro with the

swiftness of light, where the swaying will catches now this now that act, moulds it and speeds it; where all

things meet, where truth is known and handled and tasted, where God Immanent is one with God

Transcendent, where the meaning of the external world is evident through its inner side, and the Church and

"Lord, I am here, and Thou art here. I know Thee. There is nothing else but Thou and I. . . . I lay this all in

Thy hands Thy apostate priest, Thy people, the world, and myself. I spread it before TheeI spread it

He paused, poised in the act, till all of which he thought lay like a plain before a peak.

. . . "Myself, Lordthere but for Thy grace should I be going, in darkness and misery. It is Thou Who dost

preserve me. Maintain and finish Thy work within my soul. Let me not falter for one instant. If Thou

So his soul stood a moment, with outstretched appealing hands, helpless and confident. Then the will

flickered in self consciousness, and he repeated acts of faith, hope and love to steady it. Then he drew

another long breath, feeling the Presence tingle and shake about him, and began again.

"Lord; look on Thy people. Many are falling from Thee. Ne in �ternum irascaris nobis. Ne in �ternum

irascaris nobis. . . . I unite myself with all saints and angels and Mary Queen of Heaven; look on them and

me, and hear us. Emitte lucem tuam et veritatem tuam. Thy light and Thy truth! Lay not on us heavier

He writhed himself forward in a passion of expectant desire, hearing his muscles crack in the effort. Once

more he relaxed himself; and the swift play of wordless acts began which he knew to be the very heart of

prayer. The eyes of his soul flew hither and thither, from Calvary to heaven and back again to the tossing

troubled earth. He saw Christ dying of desolation while the earth rocked and groaned; Christ reigning as a

priest upon His Throne in robes of light, Christ patient and inexorably silent within the Sacramental species;

Then he waited for communications, and they came, so soft and delicate, passing like shadows, that his will

sweated blood and tears in the effort to catch and fix them and correspond. . . .

He saw the Body Mystical in its agony, strained over the world as on a cross, silent with pain; he saw this and

that nerve wrenched and twisted, till pain presented it to himself as under the guise of flashes of colour; he

saw the lifeblood drop by drop run down from His head and hands and feet. The world was gathered

mocking and goodhumoured beneath. "He saved others: Himself He cannot save. . . . Let Christ come down

from the Cross and we will believe." Far away behind bushes and in holes of the ground the friends of Jesus

peeped and sobbed; Mary herself was silent, pierced by seven swords; the disciple whom He loved had no

He saw, too, how no word would be spoken from heaven; the angels themselves were bidden to put sword

into sheath, and wait on the eternal patience of God, for the agony was hardly yet begun; there were a

thousand horrors yet before the end could come, that final sum of crucifixion. . . . He must wait and watch,

content to stand there and do nothing; and the Resurrection must seem to him no more than a dreamedof

hope. There was the Sabbath yet to come, while the Body Mystical must lie in its sepulchre cut off from light,

and even the dignity of the Cross must be withdrawn and the knowledge that Jesus lived. That inner world, to

which by long effort he had learned the way, was all alight with agony; it was bitter as brine, it was of that

pale luminosity that is the utmost product of pain, it hummed in his ears with a note that rose to a scream . . .

it pressed upon him, penetrated him, stretched him as on a rack. . . . And with that his will grew sick and

In an instant he was back again, drawing long breaths of misery. He passed his tongue over his lips, and

opened his eyes on the darkening apse before him. The organ was silent now, and the choir was gone, and the

lights out. The sunset colour, too, had faded from the walls, and grim cold faces looked down on him from

wall and vault. He was back again on the surface of life; the vision had melted; he scarcely knew what it was

But he must gather up the threads, and by sheer effort absorb them. He must pay his duty, too, to the Lord

that gave Himself to the senses as well as to the inner spirit. So he rose, stiff and constrained, and passed

As he came out from the block of chairs, very upright and tall, with his biretta once more on his white hair, he

saw an old woman watching him very closely. He hesitated an instant, wondering whether she were a

"I beg your pardon, sir, but were you at Brighton, at the accident two months ago?"

Percy had a spasm of impatience: he was a little tired of being identified by his white hair and young face.

She looked at him doubtfully and curiously, moving her old eyes up and down his figure. Then she

"No, madam: I am just a poor priest. Dr. Cholmondeley is Archbishop. I am Father Percy Franklin."

She said nothing, but still looking at him made a little old world movement of a bow; and Percy passed on

There was great talk that night at dinner among the priests as to the extraordinary spread of Freemasonry. It

had been going on for many years now, and Catholics perfectly recognised its dangers, for the profession of

Masonry had been for some centuries rendered incompatible with religion through the Church's unswerving

condemnation of it. A man must choose between that and his faith. Things had developed extraordinarily

during the last century. First there had been the organised assault upon the Church in France; and what

Catholics had always suspected then became a certainty in the revelations of 1918, when P. Ger�me, the

Dominican and ex Mason, had made his disclosures with regard to the MarkMasons. It had become

evident then that Catholics had been right, and that Masonry, in its higher grades at least, had been

responsible throughout the world for the strange movement against religion. But he had died in his bed, and

the public had been impressed by that fact. Then came the splendid donations in France and Italyto

hospitals, orphanages, and the like; and once more suspicion began to disappear. After all, it seemed, and

continued to seem, for seventy years and morethat Masonry was nothing more than a vast philanthropical

"I hear that Felsenburgh is a Mason," observed Monsignor Macintosh, the Cathedral Administrator. "A

Monsignor pursed his lips and shook his head. He was one of those humble persons as proud of ignorance as

others of knowledge. He boasted that he never read the papers nor any book except those that had received

the imprimatur; it was a priest's business, he often remarked, to preserve the faith, not to acquire worldly

"He's a mystery," said another priest, Father Blackmore; "but he seems to be causing great excitement. They

"I met an American senator," put in Percy, "three days ago, who told me that even there they know nothing of

him, except his extraordinary eloquence. He only appeared last year, and seems to have carried everything

before him by quite unusual methods. He is a great linguist, too. That is why they took him to Irkutsk."

"Well: the Masons" went on Monsignor. "It is very serious. In the last month four of my penitents have

"Their inclusion of women was their masterstroke," growled Father Blackmore, helping himself to claret.

A couple of the others added their evidence. It appeared that they, too, had lost penitents lately through the

spread of Masonry. It was rumoured that a Pastoral was apreparing upstairs on the subject.

Percy pointed, out that the Church had said her last word several centuries ago. She had laid her

excommunication on all members of secret societies, and there was really no more that she could do.

"Except bring it before her children again and again," put in Monsignor. "I shall preach on it next Sunday."

Percy dotted down a note when he reached his room, determining to say another word or two on the subject

to the CardinalProtector. He had mentioned Freemasonry often before, but it seemed time for another

remark. Then he opened his letters, first turning to one which he recognised as from the Cardinal.

It seemed a curious coincidence, as he read a series of questions that Cardinal Martin's letter contained, that

"What of Masonry? Felsenburgh is said to be one. Gather all the gossip you can about him. Send any English

or American biographies of him. Are you still losing Catholics through Masonry?"

He ran his eyes down the rest of the questions. They chiefly referred to previous remarks of his own, but

It was very curious, he thought, how this man's name was in everyone's mouth, in spite of the fact that so

little was known about him. He had bought in the streets, out of curiosity, three photographs that professed to

represent this strange person, and though one of them might be genuine they all three could not be. He drew

One represented a fierce, bearded creature like a Cossack, with round staring eyes. No: intrinsic evidence

condemned this: it was exactly how a coarse imagination would have pictured a man who seemed to be

The second showed a fat face with little eyes and a chin beard. That might conceivably be genuine: he

turned it over and saw the name of a New York firm on the back. Then he turned to the third. This presented

a long, cleanshaven face with pince nez, undeniably clever, but scarcely strong: and Felsenburgh was

Percy inclined to think the second was the most probable; but they were all unconvincing; and he shuffled

He tried to remember what Mr. Varhaus, the American senator, had told him of Felsenburgh; yet it did not

seem sufficient to account for the facts. Felsenburgh, it seemed, had employed none of those methods

common in modern politics. He controlled no newspapers, vituperated nobody, championed nobody: he had

no picked underlings; he used no bribes; there were no monstrous crimes alleged against him. It seemed

rather as if his originality lay in his clean hands and his stainless pastthat, and his magnetic character. He

was the kind of figure that belonged rather to the age of chivalry: a pure, clean, compelling personality, like a

radiant child. He had taken people by surprise, then, rising out of the heaving dun coloured waters of

American socialism like a visionfrom those waters so fiercely restrained from breaking into storm ever

since the extraordinary social revolution under Mr. Hearst's disciples, a century ago. That had been the end of

plutocracy; the famous old laws of 1914 had burst some of the stinking bubbles of the time; and the

enactments of 1916 and 1917 had prevented their forming again in anything like their previous force. It had

been the salvation of America, undoubtedly, even if that salvation were of a dreary and uninspiring

description; and now out of the flat socialistic level had arisen this romantic figure utterly unlike any that had

preceded it. . . . So the senator had hinted. . . . It was too complicated for Percy just now, and he gave it up.

It was a weary world, he told himself, turning his eyes homewards. Everything seemed so hopeless and

ineffective. He tried not to reflect on his fellowpriests, but for the fiftieth time he could not help seeing that

they were not the men for the present situation. It was not that he preferred himself; he knew perfectly well

that he, too, was fully as incompetent: had he not proved to be so with poor Father Francis, and scores of

others who had clutched at him in their agony during the last ten years? Even the Archbishop, holy man as he

was, with all his childlike faithwas that the man to lead English Catholics and confound their enemies?

There seemed no giants on the earth in these days. What in the world was to be done? He buried his face in

Yes; what was wanted was a new Order in the Church; the old ones were rulebound through no fault of their

own. An Order was wanted without habit or tonsure, without traditions or customs, an Order with nothing but

entire and wholehearted devotion, without pride even in their most sacred privileges, without a past history

in which they might take complacent refuge. They must be franctireurs of Christ's Army; like the Jesuits,

but without their fatal reputation, which, again, was no fault of their own. . . . But there must be a

Franctireurspriests, bishops, laymen and womenwith the three vows of course, and a special clause

forbidding utterly and for ever their ownership of corporate wealth.Every gift received must be handed to

the bishop of the diocese in which it was given, who must provide them himself with necessaries of life and

Presently he recovered, and called himself a fool. Was not that scheme as old as the eternal hills, and as

useless for practical purposes? Why, it had been the dream of every zealous man since the First Year of

Surely it was this which was wanted against the Masons; and women, too.Had not scheme after scheme

broken down because men had forgotten the power of women? It was that lack that had ruined Napoleon: he

had trusted Josephine, and she had failed him; so he had trusted no other woman. In the Catholic Church, too,

woman had been given no active work but either menial or connected with education: and was there not room

for other activities than those? Well, it was useless to think of it. It was not his affair. If Papa Angelicus who

now reigned in Rome had not thought of it, why should a foolish, conceited priest in Westminster set himself

He finished in half an hour, and again sat thinking; but this time it was of poor Father Francis. He wondered

what he was doing now; whether he had taken off the Roman collar of Christ's familiar slaves? The poor

When a tap came at his door presently, and Father Blackmore looked in for a talk before going to bed, Percy

"He has been honest enough," explained Percy. "He told me eight months ago he was in trouble."

"Father Franklin," he said, "things are really very serious. There is the same story everywhere. What in the

"It is more like a dead calm, it seems to me," he said. "Have you ever been in a typhoon?"

"Well," went on the other, "the most ominous thing is the calm. The sea is like oil; you feel halfdead: you

Percy looked at him, interested. He had not seen this mood in the priest before.

"Before every great crash there comes this calm. It is always so in history. It was so before the Eastern War;

it was so before the French Revolution. It was so before the Reformation. There is a kind of oily heaving; and

everything is languid. So everything has been in America, too, for over eighty years. . . . Father Franklin, I

"Well, I saw Templeton a week before he died, and he put the idea in my head. . . . Look here, father. It may

be this Eastern affair that is coming on us; but somehow I don't think it is. It is in religion that something is

going to happen. At least, so I think. . . . Father, who in God's name is Felsenburgh?"

Percy was so startled at the sudden introduction of this name again, that he stared a moment without

Outside, the summer night was very still. There was a faint vibration now and again from the underground

track that ran twenty yards from the house where they sat; but the streets were quiet enough round the

Cathedral. Once a hoot rang far away, as if some ominous bird of passage were crossing between London and

the stars, and once the cry of a woman sounded thin and shrill from the direction of the river. For the rest

there was no more than the solemn, subdued hum that never ceased now night or day.

"Yes: Felsenburgh," said Father Blackmore once more. "I cannot get that man out of my head. And yet, what

Percy licked his lips to answer, and drew a breath to still the beating of his heart. He could not imagine why

he felt excited. After all, who was old Blackmore to frighten him? But old Blackmore went on before he

"See how people are leaving the Church! The Wargraves, the Hendersons, Sir James Bartlet, Lady Magnier,

and then all the priests. Now they're not all knavesI wish they were; it would be so much easier to talk of

it. But Sir James Bartlet, last month! Now, there's a man who has spent half his fortune on the Church, and he

doesn't resent it even now. He says that any religion is better than none, but that, for himself, he just can't

believe any longer. Now what does all that mean? . . . I tell you something is going to happen. God knows

"Have you noticed how few great men we've got? It's not like fifty years ago, or even thirty. Then there were

Mason, Selborne, Sherbrook, and halfadozen others. There was Brightman, too, as Archbishop: and now!

Then the Communists, too. Braithwaite is dead fifteen years. Certainly he was big enough; but he was always

speaking of the future, not of the present; and tell me what big man they have had since then! And now

there's this new man, whom no one knows, who came forward in America a few months ago, and whose

"Well, this," he said, standing up. "I can't help thinking Felsenburgh is going to do something. I don't know

what; it may be for us or against us. But he is a Mason, remember that. . . . Well, well: I daresay I'm an old

"One moment, father," said Percy slowly. "Do you mean? Good Lord! What do you mean?" He

The old priest stared back under his bushy eyebrows; it seemed to Percy as if he, too, were afraid of

Percy stood perfectly still a moment when the door was shut. Then he moved across to his priedieu.

OLD Mrs. Brand and Mabel were seated at a window of the new Admiralty Offices in Trafalgar Square to

see Oliver deliver his speech on the fiftieth anniversary of the passing of the Poor Laws Reform.

It was an inspiriting sight, this bright June morning, to see the crowds gathering round Braithwaite's statue.

That politician, dead fifteen years before, was represented in his famous attitude, with arms outstretched and

down dropped, his head up and one foot slightly advanced, and today was decked, as was becoming more

and more usual on such occasions, in his Masonic insignia. It was he who had given immense impetus to that

secret movement by his declaration in the House that the key of future progress and brotherhood of nations

was in the hands of the Order. It was through this alone that the false unity of the Church with its fantastic

spiritual fraternity could be counteracted. St. Paul had been right, he declared, in his desire to break down the

partitionwalls between nations, and wrong only in his exaltation of Jesus Christ. Thus he had preluded his

speech on the Poor Law question, pointing to the true charity that existed among Masons apart from religious

motive, and appealing to the famous benefactions on the Continent; and in the enthusiasm of the Bill's

Old Mrs. Brand was in her best today, and looked out with considerable excitement at the huge throng

gathered to hear her son speak. A platform was erected round the bronze statue at such a height that the

statesman appeared to be one of the speakers, though at a slightly higher elevation, and this platform was

The whole square round about was paved with heads and resonant with sound, the murmurs of thousands of

voices, overpowered now and again by the crash of brass and thunder of drums as the Benefit Societies and

democratic Guilds, each headed by a banner, deployed from north, south, east and west, and converged

towards the wide railed space about the platform where room was reserved for them. The windows on every

side were packed with faces; tall stands were erected along the front of the National Gallery and St. Martin's

Church, gardenbeds of colour behind the mute, white statues that faced outwards round the square, from

Braithwaite in front, past the Victorians John Davidson, John Burns, and the restround to Hampden and

de Montfort towards the north. The old column was gone, with its lions. Nelson had not been found

advantageous to the Entente Cordiale, nor the lions to the new art; and in their place stretched a wide

pavement broken by slopes of steps that led up to the National Gallery. Overhead the roofs showed crowded

friezes of heads against the blue summer sky. Not less than one hundred thousand persons, it was estimated in

the evening papers, were collected within sight and sound of the platform by noon.

As the clocks began to tell the hour, two figures appeared from behind the statue and came forward, and, in

Old Lord Pemberton came first, a greyhaired, upright man, whose father had been active in denouncing the

House of which he was a member on the occasion of its fall over seventy years ago, and his son had

succeeded him worthily. This man was now a member of the Government, and sat for Manchester (3); and it

was he who was to be chairman on this auspicious occasion. Behind him came Oliver, bareheaded and

spruce, and even at that distance his mother and wife could see his brisk movement, his sudden smile and nod

as his name emerged from the storm of sound that surged round the platform. Lord Pemberton came forward,

lifted his hand and made a signal; and in a moment the thin cheering died under the sudden roll of drums

There was no doubt that these Londoners could sing. It was as if a giant voice hummed the sonorous melody,

rising to enthusiasm till the music of massed bands followed it as a flag follows a flagstick. The hymn was

one composed ten years before, and all England was familiar with it. Old Mrs. Brand lifted the printed paper

She glanced down the verses, that from the Humanitarian point of view had been composed with both skill

and ardour. They had a religious ring; the unintelligent Christian could sing them without a qualm; yet their

sense was plain enough the old human creed that man was all. Even Christ's words themselves were

quoted. The kingdom of God, it was said, lay within the human heart, and the greatest of all graces was

She glanced at Mabel, and saw that the girl was singing with all her might, with her eyes fixed on her

husband's dark figure a hundred yards away, and her soul pouring through them. So the mother, too, began to

As the hymn died away, and before the cheering could begin again, old Lord Pemberton was standing

forward on the edge of the platform, and his thin, metallic voice piped a sentence or two across the tinkling

splash of the fountains behind him. Then he stepped back, and Oliver came forward.

It was too far for the two to hear what was said, but Mabel slipped a paper, smiling tremulously, into the old

Old Mrs. Brand looked at that, too, knowing that it was an analysis of her son's speech, and aware that she

There was an exordium first, congratulating all who were present to do honour to the great man who presided

from his pedestal on the occasion of this great anniversary. Then there came a retrospect, comparing the old

state of England with the present. Fifty years ago, the speaker said, poverty was still a disgrace, now it was so

no longer. It was in the causes that led to poverty that the disgrace or the merit lay. Who would not honour a

man worn out in the service of his country, or overcome at last by circumstances against which his efforts

could not prevail? . . . He enumerated the reforms passed fifty years before on this very day, by which the

nation once and for all declared the glory of poverty and man's sympathy with the unfortunate.

So he had told them he was to sing the praise of patient poverty and its reward, and that, he supposed,

together with a few periods on the reform of the prison laws, would form the first half of his speech.

The second part was to be a panegyric of Braithwaite, treating him as the Precursor of a movement that even

The window where they sat had been reserved for them; two armchairs filled the space, but immediately

behind there were others, standing very silent now, craning forward, watching, too, with parted lips: a couple

of women with an old man directly behind, and other faces visible again behind them. Their obvious

absorption made the old lady a little ashamed of her distraction, and she turned resolutely once more to the

Ah! he was working up now to his panegyric The tiny dark figure was back, a yard nearer the statue, and as

she looked, his hand went up and he wheeled, pointing, as a murmur of applause drowned for an instant the

minute, resonant voice. Then again he was forward, half crouchingfor he was a born actorand a storm of

laughter rippled round the throng of heads. She heard an indrawn hiss behind her chair, and the next instant

There was a sharp crack, and the tiny gesticulating figure staggered back a step. The old man at the table was

up in a moment, and simultaneously a violent commotion bubbled and heaved like water about a rock at a

point in the crowd immediately outside the railed space where the bands were massed, and directly opposite

Mrs. Brand, bewildered and dazed, found herself standing up, clutching the window rail, while the girl

gripped her, crying out something she could not understand. A great roaring filled the square, the heads

tossed this way and that, like corn under a squall of wind. Then Oliver was forward again, pointing and

crying out, for she could see his gestures; and she sank back quickly, the blood racing through her old veins,

But Mabel was up, too, staring out at her husband; and a quick babble of talk and exclamations from behind

Oliver told them the explanation of the whole affair that evening at home, leaning back in his chair, with one

They had not been able to get near him at the time; the excitement in the square had been too fierce; but a

messenger had come to his wife with the news that her husband was only slightly wounded, and was in the

"He was a Catholic," explained the drawnfaced Oliver. "He must have come ready, for his repeater was

"He was killedtrampled and strangled instantly," said Oliver. "I did what I could: you saw me. Butwell,

"But you did what you could, my dear?" said the old lady, anxiously, from her corner.

"Oliver, I know this sounds stupid of me; butbut I wish they had not killed him."

"It would have been more perfect if they had not," she said. Then she broke off and sat back.

Oliver turned his eyes for an instant towards his mother, but she was knitting tranquilly.

"I said that Braithwaite had done more for the world by one speech than Jesus and all His saints put together."

He was aware that the knittingneedles stopped for a second; then they went on again as before.

Oliver leaned back a little wearily and closed his eyes; his arm still throbbed intolerably. But he was very

happy at heart. It was true that he had been wounded by a fanatic, but he was not sorry to bear pain in such a

cause, and it was obvious that the sympathy of England was with him. Mr. Phillips even now was busy in the

next room, answering the telegrams that poured in every moment. Caldecott, the Prime Minister, Maxwell,

Snowford and a dozen others had wired instantly their congratulations, and from every part of England

streamed in message after message. It was an immense stroke for the Communists; their spokesman had been

assaulted during the discharge of his duty, speaking in defence of his principles; it was an incalculable gain

for them, and loss for the Individualists, that confessors were not all on one side after all. The huge electric

placards over London had winked out the facts in Esperanto as Oliver stepped into the train at twilight.

"Oliver Brand wounded. . . . Catholic assailant. . . . Indignation of the country. . . . Welldeserved fate of

He was pleased, too, that he honestly had done his best to save the man. Even in that moment of sudden and

acute pain he had cried out for a fair trial; but he had been too late. He had seen the starting eyes roll up in the

crimson face, and the horrid grin come and go as the hands had clutched and torn at his throat. Then the face

had vanished and a heavy trampling began where it had disappeared. Oh! there was some passion and loyalty

His mother got up presently and went out, still without a word; and Mabel turned to him, laying a hand on his

He raised himself a little, looking out as usual through the darkening windows on to that astonishing view.

Everywhere now lights were glowing, a sea of mellow moons just above the houses, and above the

"The effect?" he said. "It can be nothing but good. It was time that something happened. My dear, I feel very

downcast sometimes, as you know. Well, I do not think I shall be again. I have been afraid sometimes that we

were losing all our spirit, and that the old Tories were partly right when they prophesied what Communism

"Well; we have shown that we can shed our blood too. It is in the nick of time, too, just at the crisis. I don't

want to exaggerate; it is only a scratchbut it was so deliberate, and and so dramatic. The poor devil

"Not much. Besides, Christ! what do I care? If only this infernal Eastern affair would end!"

He knew he was feverish and irritable, and made a great effort to drive it down.

"Oh, my dear!" he went on, flushed a little. "If they would not be such heavy fools: they don't understand;

"They don't understand what a glorious thing it all is: Humanity, Life, Truth at last, and the death of Folly!

She looked at him with kindling eyes. She loved to see him like this, his confident, flushed face, the

enthusiasm in his blue eyes; and the knowledge of his pain pricked her feeling with passion. She bent forward

He said nothing; but she could see what she loved to see, that response to her own heart; and so they sat in

silence while the sky darkened yet more, and the click of the writer in the next room told them that the world

"Did you notice anything just now, sweetheartwhen I said that about Jesus Christ?"

"Oh! she is getting old," said the girl lightly. "Of course she looks back a little."

"No, no, my dear; you're excited and tired. It's just a little sentiment. . . . Oliver, I don't think I would say that

"No, she doesn't. Remember she hardly ever goes out. Besides, she hates it. After all, she was brought up a

"Isn't it astonishing the way in which suggestion lasts? She can't get it out of her head, even after fifty years.

"There's a little more news from the East. They say Felsenburgh's running the whole thing now. The Empire

is sending him everywhereTobolsk, Benares, Yakutskeverywhere; and he's been to Australia."

"I suppose so. There's no doubt that the Sufis are winning; but for how long is another question. Besides, the

"Europe is arming as fast as possible. I hear we are to meet the Powers next week at Paris. I must go."

"There is no more. But it is just as certain as it can be that this is the crisis. If the East can be persuaded to

hold its hand now, it will never be likely to raise it again. It will mean free trade all over the world, I suppose,

"If not, there will be a catastrophe such as never has been even imagined. The whole human race will be at

war, and either East or West will be simply wiped out. These new Benninschein explosives will make certain

"Absolutely. Benninschein sold them simultaneously to East and West; then he died, luckily for him."

Mabel had heard this kind of talk before, but her imagination simply refused to grasp it. A duel of East and

West under these new conditions was an unthinkable thing. There had been no European war within living

memory, and the Eastern wars of the last century had been under the old conditions. Now, if tales were true,

entire towns would be destroyed with a single shell. The new conditions were unimaginable. Military experts

prophesied extravagantly, contradicting one another on vital points; the whole procedure of war was a matter

of theory; there were no precedents with which to compare it. It was as if archers disputed as to the results of

cordite. Only one thing was certainthat the East had every modern engine, and, as regards male population,

half as much again as the rest of the world put together; and the conclusion to be drawn from these premisses

But imagination simply refused to speak. The daily papers had a short, careful leading article every day,

founded upon the scraps of news that stole out from the conferences on the other side of the world;

Felsenburgh's name appeared more frequently than ever: otherwise there seemed to be a kind of hush.

Nothing suffered very much; trade went on; European stocks were not appreciably lower than usual; men still

built houses, married wives, begat sons and daughters, did their business and went to the theatre, for the mere

reason that there was no good in anything else. They could neither save nor precipitate the situation; it was on

too large a scale. Occasionally people went madpeople who had succeeded in goading their imagination to

a height whence a glimpse of reality could be obtained; and there was a diffused atmosphere of tenseness. But

that was all. Not many speeches were made on the subject; it had been found inadvisable. After all, there was

Mabel remembered her husband's advice to watch, and for a few days did her best. But there was nothing that

alarmed her. The old lady was a little quiet, perhaps, but went about her minute affairs as usual. She asked the

girl to read to her sometimes, and listened unblenching to whatever was offered her; she attended in the

kitchen daily, organised varieties of food, and appeared interested in all that concerned her son. She packed

his bag with her own hands, set out his furs for the swift flight to Paris, and waved to him from the window

as he went down the little path towards the junction. He would be gone three days, he said.

It was on the evening of the second day that she fell ill; and Mabel, running upstairs, in alarm at the message

"It is nothing, my dear," said the old lady tremulously; and she added the description of a symptom or two.

She was sincerely fond of the old lady, and had always found her presence in the house a quiet sort of delight.

The effect of her upon the mind was as that of an easychair upon the body. The old lady was so tranquil and

human, so absorbed in small external matters, so reminiscent now and then of the days of her youth, so

utterly without resentment or peevishness. It seemed curiously pathetic to the girl to watch that quiet old

spirit approach its extinction, or rather, as Mabel believed, its loss of personality in the reabsorption into the

Spirit of Life which informed the world. She found less difficulty in contemplating the end of a vigorous

soul, for in that case she imagined a kind of energetic rush of force back into the origin of things; but, in this

peaceful old lady there was so little energy; her whole point, so to speak, lay in the delicate little fabric of

personality, built out of fragile things into an entity far more significant than the sum of its component parts:

the death of a flower, reflected Mabel, is sadder than the death of a lion; the breaking of a piece of china more

"It is syncope," said the doctor when he came in. "She may die at any time; she may live ten years."

He added a word or two of advice as to the use of the oxygen injector, and went away.

The old lady was lying quietly in bed, when the girl went up, and put out a wrinkled hand.

"It is just a little weakness, mother. You must lie quiet and do nothing. Shall I read to you?"

It was no part of Mabel's idea to duty to tell her that she was in danger, for there was no past to set straight,

no judge to be confronted. Death was an ending, not a beginning. It was a peaceful Gospel; at least, it became

So the girl went downstairs once more, with a quiet little ache at her heart that refused to be still.

What a strange and beautiful thing death was, she told herselfthis resolution of a chord that had hung

suspended for thirty, fifty or seventy yearsback again into the stillness of the huge Instrument that was all

in all to itself. Those same notes would be struck again, were being struck again even now all over the world,

though with an infinite delicacy of difference in the touch; but that particular emotion was gone: it was

foolish to think that it was sounding eternally elsewhere, for there was no elsewhere. She, too, herself would

Mr. Phillips arrived the next morning as usual, just as Mabel had left the old lady's room, and asked news of

"She is a little better, I think," said Mabel. "She must be very quiet all day."

The secretary bowed and turned aside into Oliver's room, where a heap of letters lay to be answered.

A couple of hours later, as Mabel went upstairs once more, she met Mr. Phillips coming down. He looked a

"Mrs. Brand sent for me," he said. "She wished to know whether Mr. Oliver would be back tonight."

"Mr. Brand said he would be here for a late dinner. He will reach London at nineteen."

"You must forgive me, Mrs. Brand," he said. "I am not at liberty to say anything."

She was not offended, for she trusted her husband too well; but she went on into the sickroom with her heart

The old lady, too, seemed excited. She lay in bed with a clear flush in her white cheeks, and hardly smiled at

"Don't trouble about me, my dear," she said. "I shall do very well now. He will be back to dinner, will he

Mabel passed an afternoon of considerable agitation. It was certain that something had happened. The

secretary, who breakfasted with her in the parlour looking on to the garden, had appeared strangely excited.

He had told her that he would be away the rest of the day: Mr. Oliver had given him his instructions. He had

refrained from all discussion of the Eastern question, and he had given her no news of the Paris Convention;

he only repeated that Mr. Oliver would be back that night. Then he had gone off in a hurry halfanhour

The old lady seemed asleep when the girl went up afterwards, and Mabel did hot like to disturb her. Neither

did she like to leave the house; so she walked by herself in the garden, thinking and hoping and fearing, till

the long shadow lay across the path, and the tumbled platform of roofs was bathed in a dusty green haze from

As she came in she took up the evening paper, but there was no news there except to the effect that the

Twenty o'clock came, but there was no sign of Oliver. The Paris volor should have arrived an hour before,

but Mabel, staring out into the darkening heavens, had seen the stars come out like jewels one by one, but no

slender winged fish pass overhead. Of course she might have missed it; there was no depending on its exact

course; but she had seen it a hundred times before, and wondered unreasonably why she had not seen it now.

But she would not sit down to dinner, and paced up and down in her white dress, turning again and again to

the window, listening to the soft rush of the trains, the faint hoots from the track, and the musical chords from

the junction a mile away. The lights were up by now, and the vast sweep of the towns looked like fairyland

between the earthly light and the heavenly darkness. Why did not Oliver come, or at least let her know why

Once she went upstairs, miserably anxious herself, to reassure the old lady, and found her again very drowsy.

The old face on the pillow nodded and murmured, and Mabel went down again. It was now an hour after

Oh! there were a hundred things that might have kept him. He had often been later than this: he might have

missed the volor he meant to catch; the Convention might have been prolonged; he might be exhausted, and

think it better to sleep in Paris after all, and have forgotten to wire. He might even have wired, to Mr. Phillips,

She went at last, hopelessly, to the telephone, and looked at it. There it was, that round silent mouth, that little

row of labelled buttons. She half decided to touch them one by one, and enquire whether anything had been

heard of her husband: there was his club, his office in Whitehall, Mr. Phillips's house, Parliamenthouse, and

the rest. But she hesitated, telling herself to be patient. Oliver hated interference, and he would surely soon

Then, even as she turned away, the bell rang sharply, and a white label flashed into sight.WHITEHALL.

She pressed the corresponding button, and, her hand shaking so much that she could scarcely hold the

Her heart leapt at the sound of her husband's voice, tiny and minute across the miles of wire.

"The best has happened. It is all over in the East. Felsenburgh has done it. Now listen. I cannot come home

to night. It will be announced in Paul's House in two hours from now. We are communicating with the

"Come then at once. It will be the greatest thing in history. Tell no one. Come before the rush begins. In

"Yes: come then. We will go back tonight anyhow, then. Tell her we shall be late."

There was nothing exceptional about him; and Percy, as he came downstairs in his walkingdress and looked

at him in the light from the tall parlourwindow, came to no conclusion at all as to his business and person,

"You wished to see me," said the priest, indicating a chair. "I fear I must not stop long."

"I shall not keep you long," said the stranger eagerly. "My business is done in five minutes."

"Aa certain person has sent me to you. She was a Catholic once; she wishes to return to the Church."

Percy made a little movement with his head. It was a message he did not very often receive in these days.

The man seemed greatly agitated; his sallow face showed a little shining with sweat, and his eyes were

"Yes, sir; but you do not know who she is. Itit would make a great stir, sir, if it was known. It must not be

"I must not make any promise of that kind," said the priest gently. "I do not know the circumstances yet."

"Well, sir," he said hastily. "You will say nothing till you have seen her? You can promise me that."

"Well, sir, you had better not know my name. Itit may make it easier for you and for me. Andand, if you

please, sir, the lady is ill; you must come today, if you please, but not until the evening. Will twentytwo

"Itit is near Croydon junction. I will write down the address presently. And you will not come until

This was rather suspicious, Percy thought: discreditable plots had been known before. But he could not refuse

"Sheshe does not know who he is, sir; she saw you once in the Cathedral, sir, and asked you for your

Percy did dimly remember something of the kind a month or two before; but he could not be certain, and said

"I must communicate with Father Dolan," said the priest. "If he gives me permission"

"If you please, sir, FatherFather Dolan must not know her name. You will not tell him?"

"Well, sir, let me tell you this first. This old lady's son is my employer, and a very prominent Communist.

She lives with him and his wife. The other two will be away tonight. That is why I am asking you all this.

Percy looked at him steadily for a moment or two. Certainly, if this was a conspiracy, the conspirators were

The stranger again licked his lips nervously, and glanced timidly from side to side. Then he seemed to gather

For a moment Percy was bewildered. It was too extraordinary to be true. He knew Mr. Oliver Brand's name

only too well; it was he who, by God's permission, was doing more in England at this moment against the

Catholic cause than any other man alive; and it was he whom the Trafalgar Square incident had raised into

"I do not know what you are, sirwhether you believe in God or not; but will you swear to me on your

The timid eyes met his, and wavered; but it was the wavering of weakness, not of treachery.

Percy leaned back, trying to realise exactly what it all meant. There was no triumph in his mindthat kind of

emotion was not his weakness; there was fear of a kind, excitement, bewilderment, and under all a

satisfaction that God's grace was so sovereign. If it could reach this woman, who could be too far removed

"Oh! no," he said. "I will be there at twentytwo o'clock. . . . Is death imminent?"

"I must be with Mr. Brand, sir; there is to be a meeting to night; but I must not speak of that. . . . No, sir; ask

for Mrs. Brand, and say that she is expecting you. They will take you upstairs at once."

He drew out a pocketbook, scribbled in it a moment, tore out the sheet, and handed it to the priest.

"The address, sir. Will you kindly destroy that when you have copied it? II do not wish to lose my place,

The man shook his head mutely. Then he took up his hat, and went towards the door.

For the last month or two little had happened to encourage him. He had been obliged to report halfadozen

more significant secessions, and hardly a conversion of any kind. There was no doubt at all that the tide was

setting steadily against the Church. The mad act in Trafalgar Square, too, had done incalculable harm last

week: men were saying more than ever, and the papers storming, that the Church's reliance on the

supernatural was belied by every one of her public acts. "Scratch a Catholic and find an assassin" had been

the text of a leading article in the New People, and Percy himself was dismayed at the folly of the attempt. It

was true that the Archbishop had formally repudiated both the act and the motive from the Cathedral pulpit,

but that too had only served as an opportunity hastily taken up by the principal papers, to recall the continual

policy of the Church to avail herself of violence while she repudiated the violent. The horrible death of the

man had in no way appeased popular indignation; there were not even wanting suggestions that the man had

been seen coming out of Archbishop's House an hour before the attempt at assassination had taken place.

And now here, with dramatic swiftness, had come a message that the hero's own mother desired

Again and again that afternoon, as Percy sped northwards on his visit to a priest in Worcester, and

southwards once more as the lights began to shine towards evening, he wondered whether this were not a plot

after allsome kind of retaliation, an attempt to trap him. Yet he had promised to say nothing, and to go.

He finished his daily letter after dinner as usual, with a curious sense of fatality; addressed and stamped it.

Victoria Station, still named after the great nineteenth century Queen, was neither more nor less busy than

usual as he came into it halfanhour later. The vast platform, sunk now nearly two hundred feet below the

ground level, showed the double crowd of passengers entering and leaving town. Those on the extreme left,

towards whom Percy began to descend in the open glazed lift, were by far the most numerous, and the stream

He arrived at last, walking in the soft light on the noiseless ribbed rubber, and stood by the door of the long

car that ran straight through to the Junction. It was the last of a series of a dozen or more, each of which slid

off minute by minute. Then, still watching the endless movement of the lifts ascending and descending

between the entrances of the upper end of the station, he stepped in and sat down.

He felt quiet now that he had actually started. He had made his confession, just in order to make certain of his

own soul, though scarcely expecting any definite danger, and sat now, his grey suit and straw hat in no way

distinguishing him as a priest (for a general leave was given by the authorities to dress so for any adequate

reason). Since the case was not imminent, he had not brought stocks or pyxFather Dolan had wired to him

that he might fetch them if he wished from St. Joseph's, near the Junction. He had only the violet thread in his

He was sliding along peaceably enough, fixing his eyes on the empty seat opposite, and trying to preserve

complete collectedness, when the car abruptly stopped. He looked out, astonished, and saw by the white

enamelled walks twenty feet from the window that they were already in the tunnel. The stoppage might arise

from many causes, and he was not greatly excited, nor did it seem that others in the carriage took it very

seriously; he could hear, after a moment's silence, the talking recommence beyond the partition.

Then there came, echoed by the walls, the sound of shouting from far away, mingled with hoots and chords;

it grew louder. The talking in the carriage stopped. He heard a window thrown up, and the next instant a car

tore past, going back to the station although on the down line. This must be looked into, thought Percy:

something certainly was happening; so he got up and went across the empty compartment to the further

window. Again came the crying of voices, again the signals, and once more a car whirled past, followed

almost immediately by another. There was a jerka smooth movement. Percy staggered and fell into a seat,

There was a clamour now in the next compartment, and Percy made his way there through the door, only to

find halfadozen men with their heads thrust from the windows, who paid absolutely no attention to his

enquiries. So he stood there, aware that they knew no more than himself, waiting for an explanation from

someone. It was disgraceful, he told himself, that any misadventure should so disorganise the line.

Twice the car stopped; each time it moved on again after a hoot or two, and at last drew up at the platform

Ah! there was no doubt that something had happened! The instant he opened the door a great roar met his

ears, and as he sprang on to the platform and looked up at the end of the station, he began to understand.

From right to left of the huge interior, across the platforms, swelling every instant, surged an enormous

swaying, roaring crowd. The flight of steps, twenty yards broad, used only in cases of emergency, resembled

a gigantic black cataract nearly two hundred feet in height. Each car as it drew up discharged more and more

men and women, who ran like ants towards the assembly of their fellows. The noise was indescribable, the

shouting of men, the screaming of women, the clang and hoot of the huge machines, and three or four times

the brazen cry of a trumpet, as an emergency door was flung open overhead, and a small swirl of crowd

poured through it towards the streets beyond. But after one look Percy looked no more at the people; for

there, high up beneath the clock, on the Government signal board, flared out monstrous letters of fire, telling

in Esperanto and English, the message for which England had grown sick. He read it a dozen times before he

moved, staring, as at a supernatural sight which might denote the triumph of either heaven or hell.

It was not until nearly two hours later that Percy was standing at the house beyond the junction.

He had argued, expostulated, threatened, but the officials were like men possessed. Half of them had

disappeared in the rush to the City, for it had leaked out, in spite of the Government's precautions, that Paul's

House, known once as St. Paul's Cathedral, was to be the scene of Felsenburgh's reception. The others

seemed demented; one man on the platform had dropped dead from nervous exhaustion, but no one appeared

to care; and the body lay huddled beneath a seat. Again and again Percy had been swept away by a rush, as he

struggled from platform to platform in his search for a car that would take him to Croydon. It seemed that

there was none to be had, and the useless carriages collected like driftwood between the platforms, as others

whirled up from the country bringing loads of frantic, delirious men, who vanished like smoke from the white

rubberboards. The platforms were continually crowded, and as continually emptied, and it was not until

Well, he was here at last, dishevelled, hatless and exhausted, looking up at the dark windows.

He scarcely knew what he thought of the whole matter. War, of course, was terrible. And such a war as this

would have been too terrible for the imagination to visualise; but to the priest's mind there were other things

even worse. What of universal peacepeace, that is to say, established by others than Christ's method? Or

Felsenburghit was he then who had done this thingthis thing undoubtedly greater than any secular event

hitherto known in civilisation. What manner of man was he? What was his character: his motive, his method?

How would he use his success? . . . So the points flew before him like a stream of sparks, each, it might be,

harmless; each, equally, capable of setting a world on fire. Meanwhile here was an old woman who desired to

He touched the button again, three or four times, and waited. Then a light sprang out overhead, and he knew

"I was sent for," he explained to the bewildered maid. "I should have been here at twentytwo: I was

"Yes, it is true, I believe," he said. "It is peace, not war. Kindly take me upstairs."

He went through the hall with a curious sense of guilt. This was Brand's house thenthat vivid orator, so

bitterly eloquent against God; and here was he, a priest, slinking in under cover of night. Well, well, it was

A little wailing cry broke from the corner, before he had time to close the door again.

Percy stood looking down at her a moment, seeing her flushed old face in the nightcap, her bright sunken

Percy drew out the purple thread, slipped it over his shoulders, and sat down by the bed.

"Well, think about it, and let me know. . . . You have heard what has happened?"

She nodded, but almost uninterestedly; and Percy was conscious of a tiny prick of compunction at his own

heart. After all, the reconciling of a soul to God was a greater thing than the reconciling of East to West.

"It may make a difference to Mr. Brand," he said. "He will be a great man, now, you know."

She still looked at him in silence, smiling a little. Percy was astonished at the youthfulness of that old face.

She looked so strange that Percy for an instant thought it was a seizure. Her face seemed to fall away in a

"Father, I am a little afraid when I think of that man. He cannot harm me, can he? I am safe now? I am a

"My child, of course you are safe. What is the matter? How can this man injure you?"

"You must not give way to fancies," he said. "Just commit yourself to our Blessed Lord. This man can do you

He was speaking now as to a child; but it was of no use. Her old mouth was still sucked in, and her eyes

"My child, tell me what is the matter. What do you know of Felsenburgh? You have been dreaming."

She nodded suddenly and energetically, and Percy for the first time felt his heart give a little leap of

apprehension. Was this old woman out of her mind, then? Or why was it that that name seemed to him

sinister? Then he remembered that Father Blackmore had once talked like this. He made an effort, and sat

She raised herself a little in bed, again glancing round the room; then she put out her old ringed hand for one

"Father, I will tell you. Dreams are nonsense, are they not? Well, at least, this is what I dreamt.

"I was somewhere in a great house; I do not know where it was. It was a house I have never seen. It was one

of the old houses, and it was very dark. I was a child, I thought, and I was . . . I was afraid of something. The

passages were all dark, and I went crying in the dark, looking for a light, and there was none. Then I heard a

With great difficulty Percy repressed a sigh. Yet he dared not leave her just now. The house was very still;

only from outside now and again sounded the clang of the cars, as they sped countrywards again from the

congested town, and once the sound of great shouting. He wondered what time it was.

"Had you better tell me now?" he asked, still talking with a patient simplicity. "What time will they be back?"

"Not yet," she whispered. "Mabel said not till two o'clock. What time is it now, father?"

"Very well, listen, father. . . . I was in this house; and I heard that talking; and I ran along the passages, till I

Percy was a little awed in spite of himself. Her voice had suddenly dropped to a whisper, and her old eyes

"I stopped, father; I dared not go in. I could hear the talking, and I could see the light; and I dared not go in.

From beneath came the sudden snap of a door then the sound of footsteps. Percy turned his head abruptly,

Two voices were talking in the hall below now, and at the sound the old woman relaxed her hold.

"My son and his wife," she said; then her face changed once more. "Whywhy, father"

Her voice died in her throat, as a step vibrated outside. For a moment there was complete silence; then a

THERE was an exclamation, then silence, as a tall, beautiful girl with flushed face and shining grey eyes

came forward and stopped, followed by a man whom Percy knew at once from his pictures. A little

whimpering sounded from the bed, and the priest lifted his hand instinctively to silence it.

"Why," said Mabel; and then stared at the man with the young face and the white hair.

Oliver opened his lips and closed them again. He, too, had a strange excitement in his face. Then he spoke.

Again the whimpering broke out from the bed; and Percy, half turning again to silence it, saw the girl

"You sent for him, mother?" snapped the man, with a tremble in his voice, and with a sudden jerk forward of

"Yes, I am a priest," said Percy again, strung up now to a desperate resistance of will, hardly knowing what

"And you come to my house!" exclaimed the man. He came a step nearer, and half recoiled. "You swear you

"Oliver," she said, still with that air of suppressed excitement, "we must not have a scene here. The poor dear

Percy took a step towards the door, and Oliver moved slightly aside. Then the priest stopped, turned and

"God bless you!" he said simply, to the muttering figure in the bed. Then he went out, and waited outside the

He could hear a low talking within; then a compassionate murmur from the girl's voice; then Oliver was

beside him, trembling all over, as white as ashes, and made a silent gesture as he went past him down the

The whole thing seemed to Percy like some incredible dream; it was all so unexpected, so untrue to life. He

felt conscious of an enormous shame at the sordidness of the affair, and at the same time of a kind of hopeless

Oliver pushed a door open, touched a button, and went through into the suddenly lit room, followed by Percy.

Still in silence, he pointed to a chair. Percy sat down, and Oliver stood before the fireplace, his hands deep in

Percy's concentrated senses became aware of every detail of the roomthe deep springy green carpet,

smooth under his feet, the straight hanging thin silk curtains, the halfdozen low tables with a wealth of

flowers upon them, and the books that lined the walls. The whole room was heavy with the scent of roses,

although the windows were wide, and the nightbreeze stirred the curtains continually. It was a woman's

room, he told himself. Then he looked at the man's figure, lithe, tense, upright; the dark grey suit not unlike

his own, the beautiful curve of the jaw, the clear pale complexion, the thin nose, the protruding curve of

idealism over the eyes, and the dark hair. It was a poet's face, he told himself, and the whole personality was

a living and vivid one. Then he turned a little and rose as the door opened, and Mabel came in, closing it

The three sat down, Percy on one side, and the husband and wife on a straightbacked settle opposite.

"This must be arranged at once," she said, "but we must have no tragedy. Oliver, do you understand? You

She spoke with a curious gaiety; and Percy to his astonishment saw that she was quite sincere: there was not

"Oliver, my dear," she said again, "don't mouth like that! It is all perfectly right. I am going to manage this."

Percy saw a venomous look directed at him by the man; the girl saw it too, moving her strong humorous eyes

"Oliver, attend! Don't look at this gentleman so bitterly. He has done no harm."

"Nono harm in the world. What does it matter what that poor dear upstairs thinks? Now, sir, would you

"Father Franklin?" asked the girl, with just the faintest tinge of mocking emphasis on the first word.

"Yes. Father Percy Franklin, from Archbishop's House, Westminster," said the priest steadily.

"Well, then, Father Percy Franklin; can you tell us why you came here? I mean, who sent for you?"

"Oh, very good. . . . May we know what good comes of being `received into the Church?'"

The girl looked at him in openeyed astonishment, still with her hand on her husband's knee.

"The use, Father Franklin! Why, we want to know. There is no church law against your telling us, is there?"

Percy hesitated again. He did not understand in the least what she was after. Then he saw that he would give

"Certainly not. I will tell you if you wish to know. I heard Mrs. Brand's confession, and gave her absolution."

"She ought to receive Holy Communion, and anointing, if she is in danger of death."

"Oliver!" cried the girl entreatingly. "Please leave this to me. It is much better so.And then, I suppose,

"They are not absolutely necessary," said the priest, feeling, he did not know why, that he was somehow

It required all his will to keep quiet. He was as a man who had armed himself in steel, only to find that his

enemy was in the form of a subtle vapour. He simply had not an idea what to do next. He would have given

anything for the man to have risen and flown at his throat, for this girl was too much for them both.

"Yes," she said softly. "Well, it is hardly to be expected that my husband should give you leave to come here

again. But I am very glad that you have done what you think necessary. No doubt it will be a satisfaction to

you, Father Franklin, and to the poor old thing upstairs, too. While wewe" she pressed her husband's

"You Christiansforgive me if I say anything rudebut, you know, you Christians have a reputation for

counting heads, and making the most of converts. We shall be so much obliged, Father Franklin, if you will

give us your word not to advertise thisthis incident. It would distress my husband, and give him a great

"One moment. . . . You see, we have not treated you badly. There has been no violence. We will promise not

"Well, that is all right. We are so much obliged. . . . And I think we may say this, that perhaps after

consideration my husband may see his way to letting you come here again to do Communion andand the

"Well, we will see about that. At any rate, we know your address, and can let you know. . . . By the way,

"Ah! I hope you will get through. You will find London very much excited. Perhaps you heard"

"Yes. Julian Felsenburgh," said the girl softly, again with that strange excitement suddenly alight in her eyes.

"Julian Felsenburgh," she repeated. "He is there, you know. He will stay in England for the present."

Again Percy was conscious of that slight touch of fear at the mention of that name.

"Yes," she said, almost compassionately, "there is to be peace. Peace at last." (She moved half a step towards

him, and her face glowed like a rose of fire. Her hand rose a little.) "Go back to London, Father Franklin, and

use your eyes. You will see him, I daresay, and you will see more besides." (Her voice began to vibrate.)

"And you will understand, perhaps, why we have treated you like thiswhy we are no longer afraid of

youwhy we are willing that my mother should do as she pleases. Oh! you will understand, Father

Franklinif not tonight, tomorrow; or if not tomorrow, at least in a very short time."

"Oh! I am not ashamed, Oliver, my dear. Let him go and see for himself. Goodnight, Father Franklin."

As he went towards the door, hearing the ping of the bell that someone touched in the room behind him, he

turned once more, dazed and bewildered; and there were the two, husband and wife, standing in the soft,

sunny light, as if transfigured. The girl had her arm round the man's shoulder, and stood upright and radiant

as a pillar of fire; and even on the man's face there was no anger nownothing but an almost supernatural

Percy understood nothing except that he was afraid, as he sat in the crowded car that whirled him up to

London. He scarcely even heard the talk round him, although it was loud and continuous; and what he heard

meant little to him. He understood only that there had been strange scenes, that London was said to have gone

He was afraid at the way in which he had been treated, and he asked himself dully again and again what it

was that had inspired that treatment; it seemed that he had been in the presence of the supernatural; he was

conscious of shivering a little, and of the symptoms of an intolerable sleepiness. It was scarcely strange to

Thrice the car stopped, and he stared out at the signs of confusion that were everywhere; at the figures that

ran in the twilight between the tracks, at a couple of wrecked carriages, a tumble of tarpaulins; he listened

As he stepped out at last on to the platform, he found it very much as he had left it two hours before. There

was the same desperate rush as the car discharged its load, the same dead body beneath the seat; and above

all, as he ran helplessly behind the crowd, scarcely knowing whither he ran or why, above him burned the

same stupendous message beneath the clock. Then he found himself in the lift, and a minute later he was out

There, too, was an astonishing sight. The lamps still burned overhead, but beyond them lay the first pale

streaks of the false dawn. The street that ran now straight to the old royal palace, uniting there, as at the

centre of a web, with those that came from Westminster, the Mall and Hyde Park, was one solid pavement of

heads. On this side and that rose up the hotels and "Houses of Joy," the windows all ablaze with light, solemn

and triumphant as if to welcome a king; while far ahead against the sky stood the monstrous palace outlined

in fire, and alight from within like all other houses within view. The noise was bewildering. It was impossible

to distinguish one sound from another. Voices, horns, drums, the tramp of a thousand footsteps on the rubber

pavements, the sombre roll of wheels from the station behind,all united in one overwhelmingly solemn

He found himself standing in a position of extraordinary advantage, at the very top of the broad flight of steps

that led down into the old station yard, now a wide space that united, on the left the broad road to the palace,

and on the right Victoria Street, that showed like all else one vivid perspective of lights and heads. Against

the sky on his right rose up the illuminated head of the Cathedral Campanile. It appeared to him as if he had

He edged himself mechanically a foot or two to his left, till he clasped a pillar; then he waited, trying not to

Gradually he became aware that this crowd was as no other that he had ever seen. To his psychical sense it

seemed to him that it possessed a unity unlike any other. There was magnetism in the air. There was a

sensation as if a creative act were in process, whereby thousands of individual cells were being welded more

and more perfectly every instant into one huge sentient being with one will, one emotion, and one head. The

crying of voices seemed significant only as the stirrings of this creative power which so expressed itself. Here

rested this giant humanity, stretching to his sight in living limbs so far as he could see on every side, waiting,

waiting for some consummation stretching, too, as his tired brain began to guess, down every thoroughfare

He did not even ask himself for what they waited. He knew, yet he did not know. He knew it was for a

revelationfor something that should crown their aspirations, and fix them so for ever.

He had a sense that he had seen all this before; and, like a child, he began to ask himself where it could have

happened, until he remembered that it was so that he had once dreamt of the Judgement Dayof humanity

gathered to meet Jesus Christ Jesus Christ! Ah! how tiny that Figure seemed to him nowhow far

awayreal indeed, but insignificant to himselfhow hopelessly apart from this tremendous life! He

glanced up at the Campanile. Yes; there was a piece of the True Cross there, was there not?a little piece of

the wood on which a Poor Man had died twenty centuries ago. . . . Well, well. It was a long way off. . . .

He did not quite understand what was happening to him. "Sweet Jesus, be to me not a Judge but a Saviour,"

he whispered beneath his breath, gripping the granite of the pillar; and a moment later knew how futile was

that prayer. It was gone like a breath in this vast, vivid atmosphere of man. He had said mass, had he not? this

morningin white vestments.Yes; he had believed it all thendesperately, but truly; and now. . . .

To look into the future was as useless as to look into the past. There was no future, and no past: it was all one

The dawn was coming up the sky now, a steady soft brightening that appeared in spite of its sovereignty to be

as nothing compared with the brilliant light of the streets. "We need no sun," he whispered, smiling piteously;

"no sun or light of a candle. We have our light on earththe light that lighteneth every man. . . ."

The Campanile seemed further away than ever now, in that ghostly glimmer of dawnmore and more

helpless every moment, compared with the beautiful vivid shining of the streets.

Then he listened to the sounds, and it seemed to him as if somewhere, far down eastwards, there was a silence

beginning. He jerked his head impatiently, as a man behind him began to talk rapidly and confusedly. Why

would he not be silent, and let silence be heard? . . . The man stopped presently, and out of the distance there

swelled up a roar, as soft as the roll of a summer tide; it passed up towards him from the right; it was about

him, dinning in his ears. There was no longer any individual voice: it was the breathing of the giant that had

been born; he was crying out too; he did not know what he said, but he could not be silent. His veins and

nerves seemed alight with wine; and as he stared down the long street, hearing the huge cry ebb from him and

A slender, fishshaped thing, as white as milk, as ghostly as a shadow, and as beautiful as the dawn, slid into

sight halfa mile away, turned and came towards him, floating, as it seemed, on the very wave of silence

that it created, up, up the long curving street on outstretched wings, not twenty feet above the heads of the

When Percy could think consciously againfor his will was only capable of efforts as a clock of ticksthe

strange white thing was nearer. He told himself that he had seen a hundred such before; and at the same

Then it was nearer still, floating slowly, slowly, like a gull over the sea; he could make out its smooth nose,

its low parapet beyond, the steersman's head motionless; he could even hear now the soft winnowing of the

High on the central deck there stood a chair, draped, too, in white, with some insignia visible above its back;

and in the chair sat the figure of a man, motionless and lonely. He made no sign as he came; his dark dress

showed vividly against the whiteness; his head was raised, and he turned it gently now and again from side to

It came nearer still, in the profound stillness; the head turned, and for an instant the face was plainly visible in

It was a pale face, strongly marked, as of a young man, with arched, black eyebrows, thin lips, and white hair.

Then the face turned once more, the steersman shifted his head, and the beautiful shape, wheeling a little,

There was an hysterical yelp somewhere, a cry, and again the tempestuous groan broke out.

OLIVER Brand was seated at his desk, on the evening of the next day, reading the leading article of the New

"We have had time," he read, "to recover ourselves a little from the intoxication of last night. Before

embarking on prophecy, it will be as well to recall the facts. Up to yesterday evening our anxiety with regard

to the Eastern crisis continued; and when twentyone o'clock struck there were not more than forty persons in

Londonthe English delegates, that is to say,who knew positively that the danger was over. Between that

moment and halfanhour later the Government took a few discreet steps: a select number of persons were

informed; the police were called out, with halfadozen regiments, to preserve order; Paul's House was

cleared; the railroad companies were warned; and at the half hour precisely the announcement was made by

means of the electric placards in every quarter of London, as well as in all large provincial towns. We have

not space now to adequately describe the admirable manner in which the public authorities did their duty; it is

enough to say that not more than seventy fatalities took place in the whole of London; nor is it our business to

criticise the action of the Government, in choosing this mode of making the announcement.

"By twentytwo o'clock Paul's House was filled in every corner, the old Choir was reserved for members of

Parliament and public officials, the quarterdome galleries were filled with ladies, and to the rest of the floor

the public was freely admitted. The volorpolice also inform us now that for about the distance of one mile in

every direction round this centre every thoroughfare was blocked with pedestrians, and, two hours later, as

we all know, practically all the main streets of the whole of London were in the same condition.

"It was an excellent choice by which Mr. OLIVER BRAND was selected as the first speaker. His arm was

still in bandages; and the appeal of his figure as well as his passionate words struck the first explicit note of

the evening. A report of his words will be found in another column. In their turns, the PRIME MINISTER,

AFFAIRS, and LORD PEMBERTON, all spoke a few words, corroborating the extraordinary news. At a

quarter before twentythree, the noise of cheering outside announced the arrival of the American delegates

from Paris, and one by one these ascended the platform by the south gates of the Old Choir. Each spoke in

turn. It is impossible to appreciate words spoken at such a moment as this; but perhaps it is not invidious to

name Mr. MARKHAM as the orator who above all others appealed to those who were privileged to hear him.

It was he, too, who told us explicitly what others had merely mentioned, to the effect that the success of the

American efforts was entirely due to Mr. JULIAN FELSENBURGH. As yet Mr. FELSENBURGH had not

arrived; but in answer to a roar of enquiry, Mr. MARKHAM announced that this gentleman would be

amongst them in a few minutes. He then proceeded to describe to us, so far as was possible in a few

sentences, the methods by which Mr. FELSENBURGH had accomplished what is probably the most

astonishing task known to history. It seems from his words that Mr. FELSENBURGH (whose biography, so

far as it is known, we give in another column) is probably the greatest orator that the world has ever

knownwe use these words deliberately. All languages seem the same to him; he delivered speeches during

the eight months through which the Eastern Convention lasted, in no less than fifteen tongues. Of his manner

in speaking we shall have a few remarks to make presently. He showed also, Mr. MARKHAM told us, the

most astonishing knowledge, not only of human nature, but of every trait under which that divine thing

manifests itself. He appeared acquainted with the history, the prejudices, the fears, the hopes, the expectations

of all the innumerable sects and castes of the East to whom it was his business to speak. In fact, as Mr.

MARKHAM said, he is probably the first perfect product of that new cosmopolitan creation to which the

world has laboured throughout its history. In no less than nine placesDamascus, Irkutsk, Constantinople,

Calcutta, Benares, Nanking, among them,he was hailed as Messiah by a Mohammedan mob. Finally, in

America, where this extraordinary figure has arisen, all speak well of him. He has been guilty of none of

those crimesthere is not one that convicts him of sinthose crimes of the Yellow Press, of corruption, of

commercial or political bullying which have so stained the past of all those old politicians who made the

sister continent what she has become. Mr. FELSENBURGH has not even formed a party. He, and not his

underlings, have conquered. Those who were present in Paul's House on this occasion will understand us

"When Mr. MARKHAM sat down, there was a silence; then, in order to quiet the rising excitement, the

organist struck the first chords of the Masonic Hymn; the words were taken up, and presently not only the

whole interior of the building rang with it, but outside, too, the people responded, and the city of London for

"Now indeed we come to the most difficult part of our task, and it is better to confess at once that anything

resembling journalistic descriptiveness must be resolutely laid aside. The greatest things are best told in the

"Towards the close of the fourth verse, a figure in a plain dark suit was observed ascending the steps of the

platform. For a moment this attracted no attention, but when it was seen that a sudden movement had broken

out among the delegates, the singing began to falter; and it ceased altogether as the figure, after a slight

inclination to right and left, passed up the further steps that led to the rostrum. Then occurred a curious

incident. The organist aloft at first did not seem to understand, and continued playing, but a sound broke out

from the crowd resembling a kind of groan, and instantly he ceased. But no cheering followed. Instead a

profound silence dominated in an instant the huge throng; this, by some strange magnetism, communicated

itself to those without the building, and when Mr. FELSENBURGH uttered his first words, it was in a

stillness that was like a living thing. We leave the explanation of this phenomenon to the expert in

"Of his actual words we have nothing to say. So far as we are aware no reporter made notes at the moment;

but the speech, delivered in Esperanto, was a very simple one, and very short. It consisted of a brief

announcement of the great fact of Universal Brotherhood, a congratulation to all who were yet alive to

witness this consummation of history; and, at the end, an ascription of praise to that Spirit of the World

"So much we can say; but we can say nothing as to the impression of the personality who stood there. In

appearance the man seemed to be about thirtythree years of age, clean shaven, upright, with white hair and

dark eyes and brows; he stood motionless with his hands on the rail, he made but one gesture that drew a kind

of sob from the crowd, he spoke these words slowly, distinctly, and in a clear voice; then he stood waiting.

"There was no response but a sigh which sounded in the ears of at least one who heard it as if the whole

world drew breath for the first time; and then that strange heartshaking silence fell again. Many were

weeping silently, the lips of thousands moved without a sound, and all faces were turned to that simple

figure, as if the hope of every soul were centred there. So, if we may believe it, the eyes of many, centuries

"Mr. FELSENBURGH stood so a moment longer, then he turned down the steps, passed across the platform

"Of what took place outside we have received the following account from an eyewitness. The white volor,

so well known now to all who were in London that night, had remained stationary outside the little south door

of the Old Choir aisle, poised about twenty feet above the ground. Gradually it became known to the crowd,

in those few minutes, who it was who had arrived in it, and upon Mr. FELSENBURGH's reappearance that

same strange groan sounded through the whole length of Paul's Churchyard, followed by the same silence.

The volor descended; the master stepped on board, and once more the vessel rose to a height of twenty feet. It

was thought at first that some speech would be made, but none was necessary; and after a moment's pause,

the volor began that wonderful parade which London will never forget. Four times during the night Mr.

FELSENBURGH went round the enormous metropolis, speaking no word; and everywhere the groan

preceded and followed him, while silence accompanied his actual passage. Two hours after sunrise the white

ship rose over Hampstead and disappeared towards the north; and since then he, whom we call, in truth, the

"Comment is useless. It is enough to say in one short sentence that the new era has begun, to which prophets

and kings, and the suffering, the dying, all who labour and are heavyladen, have aspired in vain. Not only

has intercontinental rivalry ceased to exist, but the strife of home dissensions has ceased also. Of him who

has been the herald of its inauguration we have nothing more to say. Time alone can show what is yet left for

"But what has been done is as follows. The Eastern peril has been for ever dissipated. It is understood now,

by fanatic barbarians as well as by civilised nations, that the reign of War is ended. `Not peace but a sword,'

said CHRIST; and bitterly true have those words proved to be. `Not a sword but peace' is the retort, articulate

at last, from those who have renounced CHRIST's claims or have never accepted them. The principle of love

and union learned however falteringly in the West during the last century, has been taken up in the East as

well. There shall be no more an appeal to arms, but to justice; no longer a crying after a God Who hides

Himself, but to Man who has learned his own Divinity. The Supernatural is dead; rather, we know now that it

never yet has been alive. What remains is to work out this new lesson, to bring every action, word and

thought to the bar of Love and Justice; and this will be, no doubt, the task of years. Every code must be

reversed; every barrier thrown down; party must unite with party, country with country, and continent with

continent. There is no longer the fear of fear, the dread of the hereafter, or the paralysis of strife. Man has

groaned long enough in the travails of birth; his blood has been poured out like water through his own

"Let it be seen at least that England is not behind the nations in this work of reformation; let no national

isolation, pride of race, or drunkenness of wealth hold her hands back from this enormous work. The

responsibility is incalculable, but the victory certain. Let us go softly, humbled by the knowledge of our

crimes in the past, confident in the hope of our achievements in the future, towards that reward which is in

sight at lastthe reward hidden so long by the selfishness of men, the darkness of religion, and the strife of

tonguesthe reward promised by one who knew not what he said and denied what he assertedBlessed are

the meek, the peacemakers, the merciful, for they shall inherit the earth, be named the children of God, and

Oliver, white to the lips, with his wife kneeling now beside him, turned the page and read one more short

"It is understood that the Government is in communication with Mr. Felsenburgh." (II)

"Ah! it is journalese," said Oliver, at last, leaning back. "Tawdry stuff! Butbut the thing!"

Mabel got up, passed across to the windowseat, and sat down. Her lips opened once or twice, but she said

Again she got up restlessly, came across the floor, and knelt down by her husband once more, taking his

"My dear," she said. "I tell you it is not a dream. It is reality at last. I was there toodo you not remember?

You waited for me when all was overwhen He was gone outwe saw Him together, you and I. We heard

Himyou on the platform and I in the gallery. We saw Him again pass up the Embankment as we stood in

Her face was transfigured as she spoke. It was as of one who saw a Divine Vision. She spoke very quietly,

without excitement or hysteria. Oliver stared at her a moment; then he bent forward and kissed her gently.

"Yes, my darling: it is true. But I want to hear it again and again. Tell me again what you saw."

"I saw the Son of Man," she said. "Oh! there is no other phrase. The Saviour of the world, as that paper says.

I knew Him in my heart as soon as I saw Himas we all didas soon as He stood there holding the rail. It

was like a glory round his head. I understand it all now. It was He for whom we have waited so long; and He

has come, bringing Peace and Goodwill in His hands. When He spoke, I knew it again. His voice was asas

the sound of the seaas simple as thatasas lamentableas strong as that.Did you not hear it?"

"I can trust Him for all the rest," went on the girl softly. "I do not know where He is, nor when He will come

back, nor what He will do. I suppose there is a great deal for Him to do, before He is fully knownlaws,

reformsthat will be your business, my dear. And the rest of us must wait, and love, and be content."

"Oh! I knew it even last night," she said, "but I did not know that I knew it till I awoke today and

"I mean just that," she said. "The rest only know what He has donenot what He is; but that, too, will come

"Meanwhile, you must work; the rest will come by and bye. Oh! Oliver, be strong and faithful."

Oliver sat on without moving, staring, as his habit was, out at the wide view beyond his windows. This time

yesterday he was leaving Paris, knowing the fact indeedfor the delegates had arrived an hour beforebut

ignorant of the Man. Now he knew the Man as wellat least he had seen Him, heard Him, and stood

enchanted under the glow of His personality. He could explain it to himself no more than could anyone

elseunless, perhaps, it were Mabel. The others had been as he had been: awed and overcome, yet at the

same time kindled in the very depths of their souls. They had come outSnowford, Cartwright, Pemberton,

and the reston to the steps of Paul's House, following that strange figure. They had intended to say

something, but they were dumb as they saw the sea of white faces, heard the groan and the silence, and

experienced that compelling wave of magnetism that surged up like something physical, as the volor rose and

Once more he had seen Him, as he and Mabel stood together on the deck of the electric boat that carried them

south. The white ship had passed along overhead, smooth and steady, above the heads of that vast multitude,

bearing Him who, if any had the right to that title, was indeed the Saviour of the world. Then they had come

That, too, had been a shock to him; for, at first sight, it seemed that this priest was the very man he had seen

ascend the rostrum two hours before. It was an extraordinary likenessthe same young face and white hair.

Mabel, of course, had not noticed it; for she had only seen Felsenburgh at a great distance; and he himself had

soon been reassured. And as for his motherit was terrible enough; if it had not been for Mabel there would

have been violence done last night. How collected and reasonable she had been! And, as for his mother he

must leave her alone for the present. By and bye, perhaps, something might be done. The future! It was that

which engrossed himthe future, and the absorbing power of the personality under whose dominion he had

fallen last night. All else seemed insignificant noweven his mother's defection, her illnessall paled

before this new dawn of an unknown sun. And in an hour he would know more; he was summoned to

Westminster to a meeting of the whole House; their proposals to Felsenburgh were to be formulated; it was

Yes, as Mabel had said; this was now their workto carry into effect the new principle that had suddenly

become incarnate in this greyhaired young Americanthe principle of Universal Brotherhood. It would

mean enormous labour; all foreign relations would have to be readjustedtrade, policy, methods of

governmentall demanded restatement. Europe was already organised internally on a basis of mutual

protection: that basis was now gone. There was no more any protection, because there was no more any

menace. Enormous labour, too, awaited the Government in other directions. A Bluebook must be prepared,

containing a complete report of the proceedings in the East, together with the text of the Treaty which had

been laid before them in Paris signed by the Eastern Emperor, the feudal kings, the Turkish Republic, and

countersigned by the American plenipotentiaries. . . . Finally, even home politics required reform: the friction

of old strife between centre and extremes must cease forthwiththere must be but one party now, and that at

the Prophet's disposal. . . . He grew bewildered as he regarded the prospect, and saw how the whole plane of

the world was shifted, how the entire foundation of western life required readjustment. It was a Revolution

indeed, a cataclysm more stupendous than even invasion itself; but it was the conversion of darkness into

Mabel came down to him halfanhour later, as he dined early before starting for Whitehall.

"Mother is quieter," she said. "We must be very patient, Oliver. Have you decided yet as to whether the priest

"I can think of nothing," he said, "but of what I have to do. You decide, my dear; I leave it in your hands."

"I will talk to her again presently. Just now she can understand very little of what has happened. . . . What

"I will telephone in the morning . . . Mabel, do you remember what I told you about the priest?"

"Oh, mother," said Mabel, kneeling by the bed; "cannot you understand what has happened?"

She had tried desperately to tell the old lady of the extraordinary change that had taken place in the

worldand without success. It seemed to her that some great issue depended on it; that it would be piteous if

the old woman went out into the dark unconscious of what had come. It was as if a Christian knelt by the

deathbed of a Jew on the first Easter Monday. But the old lady lay in her bed, terrified but obdurate.

"Mother," said the girl, "let me tell you again. Do you not understand that all which Jesus Christ promised has

come true, though in another way? The reign of God has really begun; but we know now who God is. You

said just now you wanted the Forgiveness of Sins; well, you have that; we all have it, because there is no such

thing as sin. There is only Crime. And then Communion. You used to believe that that made you a partaker of

God; well, we are all partakers of God, because we are human beings. Don't you see that Christianity is only

one way of saying all that? I daresay it was the only way, for a time; but that is all over now. Oh! and how

She paused a moment, forcing herself to look at that piteous old face, the flushed wrinkled cheeks, the

"Look how Christianity has failedhow it has divided people; think of all the crueltiesthe Inquisition, the

Religious Wars; the separations between husband and wife and parents and childrenthe disobedience to the

State, the treasons. Oh! you cannot believe that these were right. What kind of a God would that be! And then

Hell; how could you ever have believed in that? . . . Oh! mother, don't believe anything so frightful. . . . Don't

you understand that that God has gonethat He never existed at allthat it was all a hideous nightmare;

and that now we all know at last what the truth is. . . . Mother! think of what happened last nighthow He

camethe Man of whom you were so frightened. I told you what He was likeso quiet and stronghow

everyone was silentof thethe extraordinary atmosphere, and how six millions of people saw Him. And

think what He has donehow He has healed all the old woundshow the whole world is at peace at

lastand of what is going to happen. Oh! mother, give up those horrible old lies; give them up; be brave."

"The priest! the priest!" moaned the other again. "He can tell you; he knows the answer."

Her face was convulsed with effort, and her old fingers fumbled and twisted with the rosary. Mabel grew

"Oh! mother!" She stooped and kissed her. "There! I won't say any more now. But just tank about it quietly.

She stood a moment, still looking compassionately down; torn by sympathy and desire. No! it was no use

"I'll look in again presently," she said, "when you have had dinner. Mother! don't look like that! Kiss me!"

It was astonishing, she told herself that evening, how anyone could be so blind. And what a confession of

She herself was filled with an extraordinary peace. Even death itself seemed now no longer terrible, for was

not death swallowed up in victory? She contrasted the selfish individualism of the Christian, who sobbed and

shrank from death, or, at the best, thought of it only as the gate to his own eternal life, with the free altruism

of the New Believer who asked no more than that Man should live and grow, that the Spirit of the World

should triumph and reveal Himself, while he, the unit, was content to sink back into that reservoir of energy

from which he drew his life. At this moment she would have suffered anything, faced death cheerfullyshe

contemplated even the old woman upstairs with pityfor was it not piteous that death should not bring her to

She was in a quiet whirl of intoxication; it was as if the heavy veil of sense had rolled back at last and shown

a sweet, eternal landscape behinda shadowless land of peace where the lion lay down with the lamb, and

the leopard with the kid. There should be war no more: that bloody spectre was dead, and with him the brood

of evil that lived in his shadow superstition, conflict, terror, and unreality. The idols were smashed, and

rats had run out; Jehovah was fallen; the wild eyed dreamer of Galilee was in his grave; the reign of priests

was ended. And in their place stood a strange, quiet figure of indomitable power and unruffled tenderness. . . .

He whom she had seenthe Son of Man, the Saviour of the world, as she had called Him just nowHe who

bore these titles was no longer a monstrous figure, half God and half man, claiming both natures and

possessing neither; one who was tempted without temptation, and who conquered without merit, as his

followers said. Here was one instead whom she could follow, a god indeed and a man as wella God

She said no more that night. She looked into the bedroom for a few minutes, and saw the old woman asleep.

Her old hand lay out on the coverlet, and still between the fingers was twisted the silly string of beads. Mabel

went softly across in the shaded light, and tried to detach it; but the wrinkled fingers writhed and closed, and

a murmur came from the half open lips. Ah! how piteous it was, thought the girl, how hopeless that a soul

should flow out into such darkness, unwilling to make the supreme, generous surrender, and lay down its life

The clocks were chiming three, and the grey dawn lay on the walls, when she awoke to find by her bed the

Oliver was with them by six o'clock; he came straight up into his mother's room to find that all was over.

The room was full of the morning light and the clean air, and a bubble of birdmusic poured in from the

lawn. But his wife kneeled by the bed, still holding the wrinkled hands of the old woman, her face buried in

her arms. The face of his mother was quieter than he had ever seen it, the lines showed only like the faintest

shadows on an alabaster mask; her lips were set in a smile. He looked for a moment, waiting until the spasm

that caught his throat had died again. Then he put his hand on his wife's shoulder.

She released the dead hands and showed the rosary still twisted there; it had snapped in the last struggle, and

"I did what I could," sobbed Mabel. "I was not hard with her. But she would not listen. She kept on crying out

"My dear . . ." began the man. Then he, too, went down on his knees by his wife, leaned forward and kissed

"Yes, yes," he said. "Leave her in peace. I would not move it for the world: it was her toy, was it not?"

"We can be generous, too," he said. "We have all the world at last. And sheshe has lost nothing: it was too

"Yes, my darling, and you were right. But she was too old; she could not understand."

"Yes," she said; "just as the last agony began. She resisted, but I knew you would wish it."

They talked together for an hour in the garden before Oliver went to his room; and he began to tell her

"He has refused," he said. "We offered to create an office for Him; He was to have been called Consultor, and

He refused it two hours ago. But He has promised to be at our service. . . . No, I must not tell you where He

is. . . . He will return to America soon, we think; but He will not leave us. We have drawn up a programme,

"It concerns the Franchise, the Poor Laws and Trade. I can tell you no more than that. It was He who

"Yes; it is quite extraordinary. I have never seen such things. There was practically no argument."

"I think so. We shall have to guard against a reaction. They say that the Catholics will be in danger. There is

an article this morning in the Era. The proofs were sent to us for sanction. It suggests that means must be

"It is a strange irony," he said. "But they have a right to exist. How far they have a right to share in the

government is another matter. That will come before us, I think, in a week or two."

"There is really nothing to tell; we know nothing, except that He is the supreme force in the world. France is

in a ferment, and has offered him Dictatorship. That, too, he has refused. Germany has made the same

proposal as ourselves; Italy, the same as France, with the title of Perpetual Tribune. America has done

Mabel drew a long breath, and stood looking out across the heat haze that was beginning to rise from the

town beneath. These were matters so vast that she could not take them in. But to her imagination Europe lay

like a busy hive, moving to and fro in the sunshine. She saw the blue distance of France, the towns of

Germany, the Alps, and beyond them the Pyrenees and sunbaked Spain; and all were intent on the same

business, to capture if they could this astonishing figure that had risen over the world. Sober England, too,

was alight with zeal. Each country desired nothing better than that this man should rule over them; and He

"Yes, all. We think He may be waiting to hear from America. He still holds office there, you know."

"Not more than thirtytwo or three. He has only been in office a few months. Before that He lived alone in

Vermont. Then He stood for the Senate; then He made a speech or two; then He was appointed delegate,

"We know nothing," she said. "Nothing; nothing! Where did He learn His languages?"

"It is supposed that He travelled for many years. But no one knows. He has said nothing."

"Well, Markham said that it was his incorruptionthat and his oratory; but that explains nothing."

"It is just personality," went on Oliver, "at least, that's the label to use. But that, too, is only a label."

"Yes, just a label. But it is that. They all felt it in Paul's house, and in the streets afterwards. Did you not feel

They went back to the house presently, and it was not till they reached the door that either said a word about

"They are with her now," said Mabel softly. "I will communicate with the people."

"It had better be this afternoon," he said. "I have a spare hour at fourteen o'clock. Oh! by the way, Mabel, do

But Oliver's face softened again as he nodded to his wife at the foot of the stairs, and turned to go up once

IT seemed to Percy Franklin as he drew near Rome, sliding five hundred feet high through the summer dawn,

that he was approaching the very gates of heaven, or, still better, he was as a child coming home. For what he

had left behind him ten hours before in London was not a bad specimen, he thought, of the superior mansions

of hell. It was a world whence God seemed to have withdrawn Himself, leaving it indeed in a state of

profound complacencya state without hope or faith, but a condition in which, although life continued, there

was absent the one essential to wellbeing. It was not that there was not expectationfor London was on

tiptoe with excitement. There were rumours of all kinds: Felsenburgh was coming back; he was back; he

had never gone. He was to be President of the Council, Prime Minister, Tribune, with full capacities of

democratic government and personal sacrosanctity, even Kingif not Emperor of the West. The entire

constitution was to be remodelled, there was to be a complete rearrangement of the pieces; crime was to be

abolished by the mysterious power that had killed war; there was to be free foodthe secret of life was

discovered, there was to be no more deathso the rumours ran. . . . Yet that was lacking, to the priest's mind,

In Paris, while the volor waited at the great station at Montmartre, once known as the Church of the Sacred

Heart, he had heard the roaring of the mob in love with life at last, and seen the banners go past. As it rose

again over the suburbs he had seen the long lines of trains streaming in, visible as bright serpents in the

brilliant glory of the electric globes, bringing the country folk up to the Council of the Nation which the

legislators, mad with drama, had summoned to decide the great question. At Lyons it had been the same. The

night was as clear as the day, and as full of sound. Mid France was arriving to register its votes.

He had fallen asleep as the cold air of the Alps began to envelope the car, and had caught but glimpses of the

solemn moonlit peaks below him, the black profundities of the gulfs, the silver glint of the shieldlike lakes,

and the soft glow of Interlaken and the towns in the Rhone valley. Once he had been moved in spite of

himself, as one of the huge German volors had passed in the night, a blaze of ghostly lights and gilding,

resembling a huge moth with antenn� of electric light, and the two ships had saluted one another through half

a league of silent air, with a pathetic cry as of two strange nightbirds who have no leisure to pause. Milan

and Turin had been quiet, for Italy was organised on other principles than France, and Florence was not yet

half awake. And now the Campagna was slipping past like a greygreen rug, wrinkled and tumbled, five

hundred feet beneath, and Rome was all but in sight. The indicator above his seat moved its finger from one

He shook off the doze at last, and drew out his office book; but as he pronounced the words his attention was

elsewhere, and, when Prime was said, he closed the book once more, propped himself more comfortably,

drawing the furs round him, and stretching his feet on the empty seat opposite. He was alone in his

He had been remarkably relieved when the message had come three days before from the CardinalProtector,

bidding him make arrangements for a long absence from England, and, as soon as that was done, to come to

Rome. He understood that the ecclesiastical authorities were really disturbed at last.

He reviewed the last day or two, considering the report he would have to present. Since his last letter, three

days before, seven notable apostasies had taken place in Westminster diocese alone, two priests and five

important laymen. There was talk of revolt on all sides; he had seen a threatening document, called a

"petition," demanding the right to dispense with all ecclesiastical vestments, signed by one hundred and

twenty priests from England and Wales. The "petitioners" pointed out that persecution was coming swiftly at

the hands of the mob; that the Government was not sincere in the promises of protection; they hinted that

religious loyalty was already strained to breakingpoint even in the case of the most faithful, and that with all

And as to his comments Percy was clear. He would tell the authorities, as he had already told them fifty

times, that it was not persecution that mattered; it was this new outburst of enthusiasm for Humanityan

enthusiasm which had waxed a hundredfold more hot since the coming of Felsenburgh and the publication of

the Eastern newswhich was melting the hearts of all but the very few. Man had suddenly fallen in love

with man. The conventional were rubbing their eyes and wondering why they had ever believed, or even

dreamed, that there was a God to love, asking one another what was the secret of the spell that had held them

so long. Christianity and Theism were passing together from the world's mind as a morning mist passes when

the sun comes up. His recommendations? Yes, he had those clear, and ran them over in his mind with a

For himself, he scarcely knew if he believed what he professed. His emotions seemed to have been finally

extinguished in the vision of the white car and the silence of the crowd that evening three weeks before. It

had been so horribly real and positive; the delicate aspirations and hopes of the soul appeared so shadowy

when compared with that burning, heartshaking passion of the people. He had never seen anything like it;

no congregation under the spell of the most kindling preacher alive had ever responded with onetenth of the

fervour with which that irreligious crowd, standing in the cold dawn of the London streets, had greeted the

coming of their saviour. And as for the man himselfPercy could not analyse what it was that possessed him

as he had stared, muttering the name of Jesus, on that quiet figure in black with features and hair so like his

own. He only knew that a hand had gripped his hearta hand warm, not coldand had quenched, it

seemed, all sense of religious conviction. It had only been with an effort that sickened him to remember, that

he had refrained from that interior act of capitulation that is so familiar to all who have cultivated an inner life

and understand what failure means. There had been one citadel that had not flung wide its gatesall else had

yielded. His emotions had been stormed, his intellect silenced, his memory of grace obscured, a spiritual

nausea had sickened his soul, yet the secret fortress of the will had, in an agony, held fast the doors and

Ah! how he had prayed during those three weeks! It appeared to him that he had done little else; there had

been no peace. Lances of doubt thrust again and again through door and window; masses of argument had

crashed from above; he had been on the alert day and night, repelling this, blindly, and denying that,

endeavouring to keep his foothold on the slippery plane of the supernatural, sending up cry after cry to the

Lord Who hid Himself. He had slept with his crucifix in his hand, he had awakened himself by kissing it;

while he wrote, talked, ate, walked, and sat in cars, the inner life had been busymaking frantic speechless

acts of faith in a religion which his intellect denied and from which his emotions shrank. There had been

moments of ecstasynow in a crowded street, when he recognised that God was all, that the Creator was the

key to the creature's life, that a humble act of adoration was transcendently greater than the most noble

natural act, that the Supernatural was the origin and end of existencethere had come to him such moments

in the night, in the silence of the Cathedral, when the lamp flickered, and a soundless air had breathed from

the iron door of the tabernacle. Then again passion ebbed, and left him stranded on misery, but set with a

determination (which might equally be that of pride or faith) that no power in earth or hell should hinder him

from professing Christianity even if he could not realise it. It was Christianity alone that made life tolerable.

Percy drew a long vibrating breath, and changed his position; for far away his unseeing eyes had descried a

dome, like a blue bubble set on a carpet of green; and his brain had interrupted itself to tell him that this was

He got up presently, passed out of his compartment, and moved forward up the central gangway, seeing, as

he went, through the glass doors to right and left his fellowpassengers, some still asleep, some staring out at

the view, some reading. He put his eye to the glass square in the door, and for a minute or two watched,

fascinated, the steady figure of the steerer at his post. There he stood motionless, his hands on the steel circle

that directed the vast wings, his eyes on the windgauge that revealed to him as on the face of a clock both

the force and the direction of the high gusts; now and again his hands moved slightly, and the huge fans

responded, now lifting, now lowering. Beneath him and in front, fixed on a circular table, were the glass

domes of various indicatorsPercy did not know the meaning of halfone seemed a kind of barometer,

intended, he guessed, to declare the height at which they were travelling, another a compass. And beyond,

through the curved windows, lay the enormous sky. Well, it was all very wonderful, thought the priest, and it

was with the force of which all this was but one symptom that the supernatural had to compete.

It was an astonishing vision that began presently to open before him,scarcely beautiful except for its

strangeness, and as unreal as a raised map. Far to his right, as he could see through the glass doors, lay the

grey line of the sea against the luminous sky, rising and falling ever so slightly as the car, apparently

motionless, tilted imperceptibly against the western breeze; the only other movement was the faint pulsation

of the huge throbbing screw in the rear. To the left stretched the limitless country, flitting beneath, in

glimpses seen between the motionless wings, with here and there the streak of a village, flattened out of

recognition, or the flash of water, and bounded far away by the low masses of the Umbrian hills; while in

front, seen and gone again as the car veered, lay the confused line of Rome and the huge new suburbs, all

crowned by the great dome growing every instant. Around, above and beneath, his eyes were conscious of

wide airspaces, overhead deepening into lapislazuli down to horizons of pale turquoise. The only sound, of

which he had long ceased to be directly conscious, was that of the steady rush of air, less shrill now as the

speed began to drop downdownto forty miles an hour. There was a clang of a bell, and immediately he

was aware of a sense of faint sickness as the car dropped in a glorious swoop, and he staggered a little as he

grasped his rugs together. When he looked again the motion seemed to have ceased; he could see towers

ahead, a line of houseroofs, and beneath he caught a glimpse of a road and more roofs with patches of green

between. A bell clanged again, and a long sweet cry followed. On all sides he could hear the movement of

feet; a guard in uniform passed swiftly along the glazed corridor; again came the faint nausea; and as he

looked up once more from his luggage for an instant he saw the dome, grey now and lined, almost on a level

with his own eyes, huge against the vivid sky. The world span round for a moment; he shut his eyes, and

when he looked again walls seemed to heave up past him and stop, swaying. There was the last bell, a faint

vibration as the car grounded in the steelnetted dock; a line of faces rocked and grew still outside the

He still felt a sense of insecure motion as he sat alone over coffee an hour later in one of the remote rooms of

the Vatican; but there was a sense of exhilaration as well, as his tired brain realised where he was. It had been

strange to drive over the rattling stones in the weedy little cab, such as he remembered ten years ago when he

had left Rome, newly ordained. While the world had moved on, Rome had stood still; she had other affairs to

think of than physical improvements, now that the spiritual weight of the earth rested entirely upon her

shoulders. All had seemed unchangedor rather it had reverted to the condition of nearly one hundred and

fifty years ago. Histories related how the improvements of the Italian government had gradually dropped out

of use as soon as the city, eighty years before, had been given her independence; the trams ceased to run;

volors were not allowed to enter the wails; the new buildings, permitted to remain, had been converted to

ecclesiastical use; the Quirinal became the offices of the "Red Pope"; the embassies, huge seminaries; even

the Vatican itself, with the exception of the upper floor, had become the abode of the Sacred College, who

It was an extraordinary city, said antiquariansthe one living example of the old days. Here were to be seen

the ancient inconveniences, the insanitary horrors, the incarnation of a world given over to dreaming. The old

Church pomp was back, too; the cardinals drove again in gilt coaches; the Pope rode on his white mule; the

Blessed Sacrament went through the illsmelling streets with the sound of bells and the light of lanterns. A

brilliant description of it had interested the civilised world immensely for about fortyeight hours; the

appalling retrogression was still used occasionally as the text for violent denunciations by the poorly

educated; the well educated had ceased to do anything but take for granted that superstition and progress

Yet Percy, even in the glimpses he had had in the streets, as he drove from the volor station outside the

People's Gate, of the old peasant dresses, the blue and redfringed wine carts, the cabbagestrewn gutters, the

wet clothes flapping on strings, the mules and horsesstrange though these were, he had found them a

refreshment. It had seemed to remind him that man was human, and not divine as the rest of the world

proclaimed human, and therefore careless and individualistic; human, and therefore occupied with interests

The room in which he sat now by the window with shading blinds, for the sun was already hot, seemed to

revert back even further than to a centuryandahalf. The old damask and gilding that he had expected was

gone, and its absence gave the impression of great severity. There was a wide deal table running the length of

the room, with upright wooden arm chairs set against it; the floor was redtiled, with strips of matting for the

feet, the white, distempered walls had only a couple of old pictures hung upon them, and a large crucifix

flanked by candles stood on a little altar by the further door. There was no more furniture than that, with the

exception of a writing desk between the windows, on which stood a typewriter. That jarred somehow in his

He finished the last drop of coffee in the thickrimmed white cup, and sat back in his chair.

Already the burden was lighter, and he was astonished at the swiftness with which it had become so. Life

looked simpler here; the interior world was taken more for granted; it was not even a matter of debate. There

it was, imperious and objective, and through it glimmered to the eyes of the soul the old Figures that had

become shrouded behind the rush of worldly circumstance. The very shadow of God appeared to rest here; it

was no longer impossible to realise that the saints watched and interceded, that Mary sat on her throne, that

the white disc on the altar was Jesus Christ. Percy was not yet at peaceafter all, he had been but an hour in

Rome; and air, charged with never so much grace, could scarcely do more than it had done. But he felt more

at ease, less desperately anxious, more childlike, more content to rest on the authority that claimed without

explanation, and asserted that the world, as a matter of fact, proved by evidences without and within, was

made this way and not that, for this purpose and not the other. Yet he had used the conveniences which he

hated; he had left London a bare twelve hours before, and now here he sat in a place which was either a

stagnant backwater of life, or else the very mid current of it; he was not yet sure which.

There was a step outside, a handle was turned; and the CardinalProtector came through.

Percy had not seen him for four years, and for a moment scarcely recognised him.

It was a very old man that he saw now, bent and feeble, his face covered with wrinkles, crowned by very thin,

white hair, and the little scarlet cap on top; he was in his black Benedictine habit with a plain abbatial cross

on his breast, and walked hesitatingly, with a black stick. The only sign of vigour was in the narrow bright

slit of his eyes showing beneath drooping lids. He held out his hand, smiling, and Percy, remembering in time

"Welcome to Rome, father," said the old man, speaking with an unexpected briskness. "They told me you

were here halfan hour ago; I thought I would leave you to wash and have your coffee."

"But I must have a word with you. The Holy Father wishes to see you at eleven o'clock."

"We move quickly in these days, father. . . . There is no time to dawdle. You understand that you are to

"That is very well. . . . We are pleased with you here, Father Franklin. The Holy Father has been greatly

impressed by your comments. You have foreseen things in a very remarkable manner."

Percy flushed with pleasure. It was almost the first hint of encouragement he had had. Cardinal Martin went

"I may say that you are considered our most valuable correspondentcertainly in England. That is why you

are summoned. You are to help us here in futurea kind of consultor: anyone can relate facts; not everyone

"Ah! your white hair helps you. . . . Now, father, will you come with me into my room? It is now eight

o'clock. I will keep you till nineno longer. Then you shall have some rest, and at eleven I shall take you up

Percy rose with a strange sense of elation, and ran to open the door for the Cardinal to go through. (III)

At a few minutes before eleven Percy came out of his little whitewashed room in his new ferraiuola, soutane

He felt a great deal more selfpossessed now. He had talked to the Cardinal freely and strongly, had

described the effect that Felsenburgh had had upon London, and even the paralysis that had seized upon

himself. He had stated his belief that they were on the edge of a movement unparalleled in history: he related

little scenes that he had witnesseda group kneeling before a picture of Felsenburgh, a dying man calling

him by name, the aspect of the crowd that had waited in Westminster to hear the result of the offer made to

this stranger. He showed him halfadozen cuttings from newspapers, pointing out their hysterical

enthusiasm; he even went so far as to venture upon prophecy, and to declare his belief that persecution was

"The world seems very oddly alive," he said; "it is as if the whole thing was flushed and nervous."

For the rest the Cardinal had sat watching him out of his narrow eyes, nodding from time to time, putting an

"And your recommendations, father" he had said, and then interrupted himself. "No, that is too much to

He had congratulated him upon his Latin thenfor they had spoken in that language throughout this second

interview; and Percy had explained how loyal Catholic England had been in obeying the order, given ten

years before, that Latin should become to the Church what Esperanto was becoming to the world.

At his second tap the door opened and the Cardinal came out, taking him by the arm without a word; and

Percy ventured to make a remark as they slid noiselessly up towards the papal apartment.

"I am surprised at the lift, your Eminence, and the typewriter in the audienceroom."

A Swiss guard flung back the door of the lift, saluted and went before them along the plain flagged passage to

where his comrade stood. Then he saluted again and went back. A Pontifical chamberlain, in all the sombre

glory of purple, black, and a Spanish ruff, peeped from the door, and made haste to open it. It really seemed

It was a little square room, with halfadozen doors, plainly contrived out of one of the huge old halls, for it

was immensely high, and the tarnished gilt cornice vanished directly in two places into the white walls. The

partitions, too, seemed thin; for as the two men sat down there was a murmur of voices faintly audible, the

shuffling of footsteps, and the old eternal click of the typewriter from which Percy hoped he had escaped.

They were alone in the room, which was furnished with the same simplicity as the Cardinal'sgiving the

impression of a curious mingling of ascetic poverty and dignity by its redtiled floor, its white walls, its altar

and two vast bronze candlesticks of incalculable value that stood on the dais. The shutters here, too, were

drawn; and there was nothing to distract Percy from the excitement that surged up now tenfold in heart and

It was Papa Angelicus whom he was about to see; that amazing old man who had been appointed Secretary of

State just fifty years ago, at the age of thirty, and Pope nine years previously. It was he who had carried out

the extraordinary policy of yielding the churches throughout the whole of Italy to the Government, in

exchange for the temporal lordship of Rome, and who had since set himself to make it a city of saints. He had

cared, it appeared, nothing whatever for the world's opinion; his policy, so far as it could be called one,

consisted in a very simple thing: he had declared in Epistle after Epistle that the object of the Church was to

do glory to God by producing supernatural virtues in man, and that nothing at all was of any significance or

importance except so far as it effected this object. He had further maintained that since Peter was the Rock,

the City of Peter was the Capital of the world, and should set an example to its dependency: this could not be

done unless Peter ruled his City, and therefore he had sacrificed every church and ecclesiastical building in

the country for that one end. Then he had set about ruling his city: he had said that on the whole the

latterday discoveries of man tended to distract immortal souls from a contemplation of eternal veritiesnot

that these discoveries could be anything but good in themselves, since after all they gave insight into the

wonderful laws of Godbut that at present they were too exciting to the imagination. So he had removed the

trams, the volors, the laboratories, the manufactoriessaying that there was plenty of room for them outside

Romeand had allowed them to be planted in the suburbs: in their place he had raised shrines, religious

houses and Calvaries. Then he had attended further to the souls of his subjects. Since Rome was of limited

area, and, still more because the world corrupted without its proper salt, he allowed no man under the age of

fifty to live within its walls for more than one month in each year, except those who received his permit.

They might live, of course, immediately outside the city (and they did, by tens of thousands), but they were to

understand that by doing so they sinned against the spirit, though not the letter, of their Father's wishes. Then

he had divided the city into national quarters, saying that as each nation had its peculiar virtues, each was to

let its light shine steadily in its proper place. Rents had instantly begun to rise, so he had legislated against

that by reserving in each quarter a number of streets at fixed prices, and had issued an ipso facto

excommunication against all who erred in this respect. The rest were abandoned to the millionaires. He had

retained the Leonine City entirely at his own disposal. Then he had restored Capital Punishment, with as

much serene gravity as that with which he had made himself the derision of the civilised world in other

matters, saying that though human life was holy, human virtue was more holy still; and he had added to the

crime of murder, the crimes of adultery, idolatry and apostasy, for which this punishment was theoretically

sanctioned. There had not been, however, more than two such executions in the eight years of his reign, since

criminals, of course, with the exception of devoted believers, instantly made their way to the suburbs, where

But he had not stayed here. He had sent once more ambassadors to every country in the world, informing the

Government of each of their arrival. No attention was paid to this, beyond that of laughter; but he had

continued, undisturbed, to claim his rights, and, meanwhile, used his legates for the important work of

disseminating his views. Epistles appeared from time to time in every town, laying down the principles of the

papal claims with as much tranquillity as if they were everywhere acknowledged. Freemasonry was steadily

denounced, as well as democratic ideas of every kind; men were urged to remember their immortal souls and

the Majesty of God, and to reflect upon the fact that in a few years all would be called to give their account to

Him Who was Creator and Ruler of the world, Whose Vicar was John XXIV, P.P., whose name and seal

That was a line of action that took the world completely by surprise. People had expected hysteria, argument,

and passionate exhortation; disguised emissaries, plots, and protests. There were none of these. It was as if

progress had not yet begun, and volors were uninvented, as if the entire universe had not come to disbelieve

in God, and to discover that itself was God. Here was this silly old man, talking in his sleep, babbling of the

Cross, and the inner life and the forgiveness of sins, exactly as his predecessors had talked two thousand

years before. Well, it was only one sign more that Rome had lost not only its power, but its commonsense as

And this was the man, thought Percy, Papa Angelicus, whom he was to see in a minute or two.

The Cardinal put his hand on the priest's knee as the door opened, and a purple prelate appeared, bowing.

Percy stood up, trembling. Then he followed his patron towards the inner door. (IV)

A white figure sat in the green gloom, beside a great writing table, three or four yards away, but with the

chair wheeled round to face the door by which the two entered. So much Percy saw as he performed the first

genuflection. Then he dropped his eyes, advanced, genuflected again with the other, advanced once more,

and for the third time genuflected, lifting the thin white hand, stretched out, to his lips. He heard the door

A whitesleeved arm waved to a couple of chairs set a yard away, and the two sat down.

While the Cardinal, talking in slow Latin, said a few sentences, explaining that this was the English priest

whose correspondence had been found so useful, Percy began to look with all his eyes.

He knew the Pope's face well, from a hundred photographs and moving pictures; even his gestures were

familiar to him, the slight bowing of the head in assent, the tiny eloquent movement of the hands; but Percy,

with a sense of being platitudinal, told himself that the living presence was very different.

It was a very upright old man that he saw in the chair before him, of medium height and girth, with hands

clasping the bosses of his chairarms, and an appearance of great and deliberate dignity. But it was at the

face chiefly that he looked, dropping his gaze three or four times, as the Pope's blue eyes turned on him. They

were extraordinary eyes, reminding him of what historians said of Pius X; the lids drew straight lines across

them, giving him the look of a hawk, but the rest of the face contradicted them. There was no sharpness in

that. It was neither thin nor fat, but beautifully modelled in an oval outline: the lips were cleancut, with a

look of passion in their curves; the nose came down in an aquiline sweep, ending in chiselled nostrils; the

chin was firm and cloven, and the poise of the whole head was strangely youthful. It was a face of great

generosity and sweetness, set at an angle between defiance and humility, but ecclesiastical from ear to ear and

brow to chin; the forehead was slightly compressed at the temples, and beneath the white cap lay white hair.

It had been the subject of laughter at the musichalls nine years before, when the composite face of

wellknown priests had been thrown on a screen, side by side with the new Pope's, for the two were almost

Percy found himself trying to sum it up, but nothing came to him except the word "priest." It was that, and

that was all. Ecce sacerdos magnus! He was astonished at the look of youth, for the Pope was eightyeight

this year; yet his figure was as upright as that of a man of fifty, his shoulders unbowed, his head set on them

like an athlete's, and his wrinkles scarcely perceptible in the half light. Papa Angelicus! reflected Percy.

The Cardinal ceased his explanations, and made a little gesture. Percy drew up all his faculties tense and tight

The Pope dropped his eyes again, lifted a paperweight with his left hand, and began to play with it gently as

"Now, my son, deliver a little discourse. I suggest to you three headswhat has happened, what is

Percy drew a long breath, settled himself back, clasped the fingers of his left hand in the fingers of his right,

fixed his eyes firmly upon the crossembroidered red shoe opposite, and began. (Had he not rehearsed this a

He first stated his theme; to the effect that all the forces of the civilised world were concentrating into two

campsthe world and God. Up to the present time the forces of the world had been incoherent and

spasmodic, breaking out in various ways revolutions and wars had been like the movements of a mob,

undisciplined, unskilled, and unrestrained. To meet this, the Church, too, had acted through her

Catholicitydispersion rather than concentration: franctireurs had been opposed to franctireurs. But

during the last hundred years there had been indications that the method of warfare was to change. Europe, at

any rate, had grown weary of internal strife; the unions first of Labour, then of Capital, then of Labour and

Capital combined, illustrated this in the economic sphere; the peaceful partition of Africa, in the political

sphere; the spread of Humanitarian religion in the spiritual sphere. Over against this must be placed the

increased centralisation of the Church. By the wisdom of her pontiffs, overruled by God Almighty, the lines

had been drawing tighter every year. He instanced the abolition of all local usages, including those so long

cherished by the East, the establishment of the CardinalProtectorates in Rome, the enforced merging of all

friars into one Order, though retaining their familiar names, under the authority of the supreme General; all

monks, with the exception of the Carthusians, the Carmelites and the Trappists, into another; of the three

excepted into a third: and the classification of nuns after the same plan. Further, he remarked on the more

recent decrees, establishing the sense of the Vatican decision on infallibility, the new version of Canon Law,

the immense simplification that had taken place in ecclesiastical government, the hierarchy, rubrics and the

affairs of missionary countries, with the new and extraordinary privileges granted to mission priests. At this

point he became aware that his selfconsciousness had left him, and he began, even with little gestures, and a

slightly raised voice, to enlarge on the significance of the last month's events.

All that had gone before, he said, pointed to what had now actually taken placenamely, the reconciliation

of the world on a basis other than that of Divine Truth. It was the intention of God and of His Vicars to

reconcile all men in Christ Jesus; but the cornerstone had once more been rejected, and instead of the chaos

that the pious had prophesied, there was coming into existence a unity unlike anything known in history. This

was the more deadly from the fact that it contained so many elements of indubitable good. War, apparently,

was now extinct, and it was not Christianity that had done it; union was now seen to be better than disunion,

and the lesson had been learnt apart from the Church. In fact, natural virtues had suddenly waxed luxuriant,

and supernatural virtues were despised. Friendliness took the place of charity, contentment the place of hope,

What else? . . . Very well, continued Percy, movements such as these brought forth men, and the Man of this

movement was Julian Felsenburgh. He had accomplished a work thatapart from Godseemed

miraculous. He had broken down the eternal division between East and West, coming himself from the

continent that alone could produce such powers; he had prevailed by sheer force of personality over the two

supreme tyrants of lifereligious fanaticism and party government. His influence over the impassive English

was another miracle, yet he had also set on fire France, Germany, and Spain. Percy here described one or two

of his little scenes, saying that it was like the vision of a god: and he quoted freely some of the titles given to

the Man by sober, unhysterical newspapers. Felsenburgh was called the Son of Man, because he was so pure

bred a cosmopolitan; the Saviour of the World, because he had slain war and himself

survivedevenevenhere Percy's voice falteredeven Incarnate God, because he was the perfect

The quiet, priestly face watching opposite never winced or moved; and he went on.

Persecution, he said, was coming. There had been a riot or two already. But persecution was not to be feared.

It would no doubt cause apostasies, as it had always done, but these were deplorable only on account of the

individual apostates. On the other hand, it would reassure the faithful, and purge out the halfhearted. Once,

in the early ages, Satan's attack had been made on the bodily side, with whips and fire and beasts; in the

sixteenth century it had been on the intellectual side; in the twentieth century on the springs of moral and

spiritual life. Now it seemed as if the assault was on all three planes at once. But what was chiefly to be

feared was the positive influence of Humanitarianism: it was coming, like the kingdom of God, with power;

it was crushing the imaginative and the romantic, it was assuming rather than asserting its own truth; it was

smothering with bolsters instead of wounding and stimulating with steel or controversy. It seemed to be

forcing its way, almost objectively, into the inner world. Persons who had scarcely heard its name were

professing its tenets; priests absorbed it, as they absorbed God in Communionhe mentioned the names of

the recent apostateschildren drank it in like Christianity itself. The soul "naturally Christian" seemed to be

becoming the soul "naturally infidel." Persecution, cried the priest, was to be welcomed like salvation, prayed

for, and grasped; but he feared that the authorities were too shrewd, and knew the antidote and the poison

apart. There might be individual martyrdomsin fact there would be, and very many but they would be in

spite of secular government, not because of it. Finally, he expected, Humanitarianism would presently put on

the dress of liturgy and sacrifice, and when that was done, the Church's cause, unless God intervened, would

"Holy Fatherthe mass prayer, the rosary. These first and last. The world denies their power: it is on their

power that Christians must throw all their weight. All things in Jesus Christin Jesus Christ, first and last.

"Yes, my son. . . . But so long as Jesus Christ deigns to use us, we must be used. He is Prophet and King as

well as Priest. We then, too, must be prophet and king as well as priest. What of Prophecy and Royalty?"

"Yes, Holiness . . . For prophecy, then, let us preach charity; for Royalty, let us reign on crosses. We must

love and suffer. . . ." (He drew one sobbing breath.) "Your Holiness has preached charity always. Let charity

then issue in good deeds. Let us be foremost in them; let us engage in trade honestly, in family life chastely,

His old scheme leaped back to his mind, and stood poised there convincing and imperious.

"Your Holinessit is oldold as Romeevery fool has desired it: a new Order, Holinessa new Order,"

The white hand dropped the paperweight; the Pope leaned forward, looking intently at the priest.

"A new Order, Holinessno habit or badgesubject to your Holiness onlyfreer than Jesuits, poorer than

Franciscans, more mortified than Carthusians: men and women alikethe three vows with the intention of

martyrdom; the Pantheon for their Church; each bishop responsible for their sustenance; a lieutenant in each

country. . . . (Holiness, it is the thought of a fool). . . . And Christ Crucified for their patron."

The Pope stood up abruptlyso abruptly that Cardinal Martin sprang up too, apprehensive and terrified. It

"God bless you, my son. You have leave to go. . . . Will your Eminence stay for a few minutes?"

THE Cardinal said very little to Percy when they met again that evening, beyond congratulating him on the

way he had borne himself with the Pope. It seemed that the priest had done right by his extreme frankness.

Percy was to retain the couple of rooms that had been put at his disposal; he was to say mass, as a rule, in the

Cardinal's oratory; and after that, at nine, he was to present himself for instructions: he was to dine at noon

with the Cardinal, after which he was to consider himself at liberty till Ave Maria: then, once more he was to

be at his master's disposal until supper. The work he would principally have to do would be the reading of all

Percy found it a very pleasant and serene life, and the sense of home deepened every day. He had an

abundance of time to himself, which he occupied resolutely in relaxation. From eight to nine he usually

walked abroad, going sedately through the streets with his senses passive, looking into churches, watching

the people, and gradually absorbing the strange naturalness of life under ancient conditions. At times it

appeared to him like an historical dream; at times it seemed that there was no other reality; that the silent,

tense world of modern civilisation was itself a phantom, and that here was the simple naturalness of the soul's

childhood back again. Even the reading of the English correspondence did not greatly affect him, for the

stream of his mind was beginning to run clear again in this sweet old channel; and he read, dissected,

There was not, after all, a great deal of news. it was a kind of lull after storm. Felsenburgh was still in

retirement; he had refused the offers made to him by France and Italy, as that of England; and, although

nothing definite was announced, it seemed that he was confining himself at present to an unofficial attitude.

Meanwhile the Parliaments of Europe were busy in the preliminary stages of coderevision. Nothing would

Life in Rome was very strange. The city had now become not only the centre of faith but, in a sense, a

microcosm of it. It was divided into four huge quartersAngloSaxon, Latin, Teutonic and

Easternbesides Trastevere, which was occupied almost entirely by Papal offices, seminaries, and schools.

AngloSaxondom occupied the southwestern quarter, now entirely covered with houses, including the

Aventine, the Celian and Testaccio. The Latins inhabited old Rome, between the Course and the river; the

Teutons the northeastern quarter, bounded on the south by St. Laurence's Street; and the Easterns the

remaining quarter, of which the centre was the Lateran. In this manner the true Romans were scarcely

conscious of intrusion; they possessed a multitude of their own churches, they were allowed to revel in

narrow, dark streets and hold their markets; and it was here that Percy usually walked, in a passion of

historical retrospect. But the other quarters were strange enough, too. It was curious to see how a progeny of

Gothic churches, served by northern priests, had grown up naturally in the AngloSaxon and Teutonic

districts, and how the wide, grey streets, the neat pavements, the severe houses, showed how the northerns

had not yet realised the requirements of southern life. The Easterns, on the other hand, resembled the Latins;

their streets were as narrow and dark, their smells as overwhelming, their churches as dirty and as homely,

Outside the walls the confusion was indescribable. If the city represented a carved miniature of the world, the

suburbs represented the same model broken into a thousand pieces, tumbled in a bag and shot out at random.

So far as the eye could see, on all sides from the roof of the Vatican, there stretched an endless plain of

houseroofs, broken by spires, towers, domes and chimneys, under which lived human beings of every race

beneath the sun. Here were the great manufactories, the monster buildings of the new world, the stations, the

schools, the offices, all under secular dominion, yet surrounded by six millions of souls who lived here for

love of religion. It was these who had despaired of modern life, tired out with change and effort, who had fled

from the new system for refuge to the Church, but who could not obtain leave to live in the city itself. New

houses were continually springing up in all directions. A gigantic compass, fixed by one leg in Rome, and

with a span of five miles, would, if twirled, revolve through packed streets through its entire circle. Beyond

But Percy did not realise the significance of all that he saw, until the occasion of the Pope's nameday

It was yet cool and early, when he followed his patron, whom he was to serve as chaplain, along the broad

passages of the Vatican towards the room where the Pope and Cardinals were to assemble. Through a

window, as he looked out into the Piazza, the crowd was yet more dense, if that were possible, than it had

been an hour before. The huge oval square was cobbled with heads, through which ran a broad road, kept by

papal troops for the passage of the carriages; and up the broad ribbon, white in the eastern light, came

monstrous vehicles, a blaze of gilding and colour and cream tint; slow cheers swelled up and died, and

through all came the rush and patter of wheels over the stones, like the sound of a tideswept pebbly beach.

As they waited in an antechamber, halted by the pressure in front and behinda pack of scarlet and white

and purplehe looked out again, and realised what he had known only intellectually before, that here before

his eyes was the royalty of the old world assembledand he began to perceive its significance.

Round the steps of the basilica spread a great fan of coaches, each yoked to eight horsesthe white of

France and Spain, the black of Germany, Italy and Russia, and the creamcoloured of England. Those stood

out in the near halfcircle, and beyond was the sweep of the lesser powers: Greece, Norway, Sweden,

Roumania and the Balkan States. One, the Turk, was alone wanting, he reminded himself. The emblems of

some were visibleeagles, lions, leopardsguarding the royal crown above the roof of each. From the foot

Here was all that was left of Royalty. He had seen their palaces before, here and there in the various quarters,

with standards flying, and scarletliveried men lounging on the steps. He had raised his hat a dozen times as

a landau thundered past him up the Course; he had even seen the lilies of France and the leopards of England

pass together in the solemn parade of the Pincian Hill. He had read in the papers every now and again during

the last five years that family after family had made its way to Rome, after papal recognition had been

granted; he had been told by the Cardinal on the previous evening that William of England, with his Consort,

had landed at Ostia in the morning and that the tale of the Powers was complete. But he had never before

realised the stupendous, overwhelming fact of the assembly of the world's royalty under the shadow of Peter's

Throne, nor the appalling danger that its presence constituted in the midst of a democratic world. That world,

he knew, affected to laugh at the folly and the childishness of it all at the desperate playacting of Divine

Right on the part of fallen and despised families; but the same world, he knew very well, had not yet lost

quite all its sentiment; and if that sentiment should happen to become resentful

The pressure relaxed; Percy slipped out of the recess, and followed in the slowmoving stream.

Halfanhour later he was in his place among the ecclesiastics, as the papal procession came out through the

glimmering dusk of the chapel of the Blessed Sacrament into the nave of the enormous church; but even

before he had entered the chapel he heard the quiet roar of recognition and the cry of the trumpets that

greeted the Supreme Pontiff as he came out, a hundred yards ahead, borne on the sedia gestatoria, with the

fans going behind him. When Percy himself came out, five minutes later, walking in his quaternion, and saw

the sight that was waiting, he remembered with a sudden throb at his heart that other sight he had seen in

Far ahead, seeming to cleave its way through the surging heads, like the poop of an ancient ship, moved the

canopy beneath which sat the Lord of the world, and between him and the priest, as if it were the wake of that

same ship, swayed the gorgeous processionProtonotaries Apostolic, Generals of Religious Orders and the

restmaking its way along with white, gold, scarlet and silver foam between the living banks on either side.

Overhead hung the splendid barrel of the roof, and far in front the haven of God's altar reared its monstrous

pillars, beneath which burned the seven yellow stars that were the harbour lights of sanctity. It was an

astonishing sight, but too vast and bewildering to do anything but oppress the observers with a consciousness

of their own futility. The enormous enclosed air, the giant statues, the dim and distant roofs, the indescribable

concert of soundof the movement of feet, the murmur of ten thousand voices, the peal of organs like the

crying of gnats, the thin celestial musicthe faint suggestive smell of incense and men and bruised bay and

myrtle and, supreme above all, the vibrant atmosphere of human emotion, shot with supernatural

aspiration, as the Hope of the World, the holder of Divine ViceRoyalty, passed on his way to stand between

God and manthis affected the priest as the action of a drug that at once lulls and stimulates, that blinds

while it gives new vision, that deafens while it opens stopped ears, that exalts while it plunges into new gulfs

of consciousness. Here, then, was the other formulated answer to the problem of life. The two Cities of

Augustine lay for him to choose. The one was that of a world selforiginated, self organised and self

sufficient, interpreted by such men as Marx and Herv�, socialists, materialists, and, in the end, hedonists,

summed up at last in Felsenburgh. The other lay displayed in the sight he saw before him, telling of a Creator

and of a creation, of a Divine purpose, a redemption, and a world transcendent and eternal from which all

sprang and to which all moved. One of the two, John and Julian, was the Vicar, and the other the Ape, of

God. . . . And Percy's heart in one more spasm of conviction made its choice. . . .

As Percy came at last out from the nave beneath the dome, on his way to the tribune beyond the papal throne,

A great space was cleared about the altar and confession, extending, as he could see at least on his side, to the

point that marked the entrance to the transepts; at this point ran rails straight across from side to side,

continuing the lines of the nave. Beyond this redhung barrier lay a gradual slope of faces, white and

motionless; a glimmer of steel bounded it, and above, a third of the distance down the transept, rose in

solemn serried array a line of canopies. These were of scarlet, like cardinalitial baldachini, but upon the

upright surface of each burned gigantic coats supported by beasts and topped by crowns. Under each was a

figure or twono morein splendid isolation, and through the interspaces between the thrones showed

His heart quickened as he saw itas he swept his eyes round and across to the right and saw as in a mirror

the replica of the left in the right transept. It was there then that they sat those lonely survivors of that

strange company of persons who, till halfacentury ago, had reigned as God's temporal Vicegerents with

the consent of their subjects. They were unrecognised, now, save by Him from whom they drew their

sovereigntypinnacles clustering and hanging from a dome, from which the walls had been withdrawn.

These were men and women who had learnt at last that power comes from above, and their title to rule came

not from their subjects but from the Supreme Ruler of allshepherds without sheep, captains without

soldiers to command. It was piteoushorribly piteous, yet inspiring. The act of faith was so sublime; and

Percy's heart quickened as he understood it. These, then, men and women like himself, were not ashamed to

appeal from man to God, to assume insignia which the world regarded as playthings, but which to them were

emblems of supernatural commission. Was there not mirrored here, he asked himself, some faroff shadow

of One Who rode on the colt of an ass amid the sneers of the great and the enthusiasm of children? . . .

It was yet more kindling as the mass went on, and he saw the male sovereigns come down to do their services

at the altar, and to go to and fro between it and the Throne. There they went bareheaded, the stately silent

figures. The English king, once again Fidei Defensor, bore the train in place of the old king of Spain, who,

with the Austrian Emperor, alone of all European sovereigns, had preserved the unbroken continuity of faith.

The old man leaned over his faldstool, mumbling and weeping, even crying out now and again in love and

devotion, as, like Simeon, he saw his Salvation. The Austrian Emperor twice administered the Lavabo; the

German sovereign, who had lost his throne and all but his life upon his conversion four years before, by a

new privilege placed and withdrew the cushion, as his Lord kneeled before the Lord of them both. So

movement by movement the gorgeous drama was enacted; the murmuring of the crowds died to a stillness

that was but one wordless prayer as the tiny White Disc rose between the white hands, and the thin angelic

music pealed in the dome. For here was the one hope of these thousands, as mighty and as little as once

within the Manger. There was none other that fought for them but only God. Surely then, if the blood of men

and the tears of women could not avail to move the Judge and Observer of all from His silence, surely at least

here the bloodless Death of His only Son, that once on Calvary had darkened heaven and rent the earth,

pleaded now with such sorrowful splendour upon this island of faith amid a sea of laughter and hatredthis

Percy had just sat down, tired out with the long ceremonies, when the door opened abruptly, and the Cardinal,

"Father Franklin," he said, in a strange breathless voice, "there is the worst of news. Felsenburgh is appointed

It was late that night before Percy returned, completely exhausted by his labours. For hour after hour he had

sat with the Cardinal, opening despatches that poured into the electric receivers from all over Europe, and

were brought in one by one into the quiet sittingroom. Three times in the afternoon the Cardinal had been

There was no doubt at all that the news was true; and it seemed that Felsenburgh must have waited

deliberately for the offer. All others he had refused. There had been a Convention of the Powers, each of

whom had been anxious to secure him, and each of whom had severally failed; these private claims had been

withdrawn, and an united message sent. The new proposal was to the effect that Felsenburgh should assume a

position hitherto undreamed of in democracy; that he should receive a House of Government in every capital

of Europe; that his veto of any measure should be final for three years; that any measure he chose to

introduce three times in three consecutive years should become law; that his title should be that of President

of Europe. From his side practically nothing was asked, except that he should refuse any other official

And all this, Percy saw very well, involved the danger of an united Europe increased tenfold. It involved all

the stupendous force of Socialism directed by a brilliant individual. It was the combination of the strongest

characteristics of the two methods of government. The offer had been accepted by Felsenburgh after eight

It was remarkable, too, to observe how the news had been accepted by the two other divisions of the world.

The East was enthusiastic; America was divided. But in any case America was powerless: the balance of the

Percy threw himself, as he was, on to his bed, and lay there with drumming pulses, closed eyes and a huge

despair at his heart. The world indeed had risen like a giant over the horizons of Rome, and the holy city was

no better now than a sand castle before a tide. So much he grasped. As to how ruin would come, in what form

and from what direction, he neither knew nor cared. Only he knew now that it would come.

He had learnt by now something of his own temperament; and he turned his eyes inwards to observe himself

bitterly, as a doctor in mortal disease might with a dreadful complacency diagnose his own symptoms. It was

even a relief to turn from the monstrous mechanism of the world to see in miniature one hopeless human

heart. For his own religion he no longer feared; he knew, as absolutely as a man may know the colour of his

eyes, that it was secure again and beyond shaking. During those weeks in Rome the cloudy deposit had run

clear and the channel was once more visible. Or, better still, that vast erection of dogma, ceremony, custom

and morals in which he had been educated, and on which he had looked all his life (as a man may stare upon

some great setpiece that bewilders him), seeing now one spark of light, now another, flare and wane in the

darkness, had little by little kindled and revealed itself in one stupendous blaze of divine fire that explains

itself. Huge principles, once bewildering and even repellent, were again luminously selfevident; he saw, for

example, that while HumanityReligion endeavoured to abolish suffering the Divine Religion embraced it, so

that the blind pangs even of beasts were within the Father's Will and Scheme; or that while from one angle

one colour only of the web of life was visible material, or intellectual, or artisticfrom another the

Supernatural was as eminently obvious. HumanityReligion could only be true if at least half of man's nature,

aspirations and sorrows were ignored. Christianity, on the other hand, at least included and accounted for

these, even if it did not explain them. This . . . and this . . . and this . . . all made the one and perfect whole.

There was the Catholic Faith, more certain to him than the existence of himself: it was true and alive. He

might be damned, but God reigned. He might go mad, but Jesus Christ was Incarnate Deity, proving Himself

so by death and Resurrection, and John his Vicar. These things were as the bones of the Universefacts

beyond doubtingif they were not true, nothing anywhere was anything but a dream.

Difficulties?Why, there were ten thousand. He did not in the least understand why God had made the

world as it was, nor how Hell could be the creation of Love, nor how bread was transubstantiated into the

Body of Godbutwell, these things were so. He had travelled far, he began to see, from his old status of

faith, when he had believed that divine truth could be demonstrated on intellectual grounds. He had learnt

now (he knew not how), that the supernatural cried to the supernatural; the Christ without to the Christ

within; that pure human reason indeed could not contradict, yet neither could it adequately prove the

mysteries of faith, except on premisses visible only to him who receives Revelation as a fact, that it is the

moral state, rather than the intellectual, to which the Spirit of God speaks with the greater certitude. That

which he had both learned and taught he now knew, that Faith, having, like man himself, a body and a

spiritan historical expression and an inner verityspeaks now by one, now by another. This man believes

because he seesaccepts the Incarnation or the Church from its credentials; that man, perceiving that these

things are spiritual facts, yields himself wholly to the message and authority of her who alone professes them,

as well as to the manifestation of them upon the historical plane; and in the darkness leans upon her arm. Or,

First, there was his intellect, puzzled beyond description, demanding, Why, why, why? Why was it allowed?

How was it conceivable that God did not intervene, and that the Father of men could permit His dear world to

be so ranged against Him? What did He mean to do? Was this eternal silence never to be broken? It was very

well for those that had the Faith, but what of the countless millions who were settling down in contented

blasphemy? Were these not, too, His children and the sheep of His pasture? What was the Catholic Church

made for if not to convert the world, and why then had Almighty God allowed it, on the one side, to dwindle

He considered his emotions, but there was no comfort there, no stimulus. Oh! yes; he could pray still, by

mere cold acts of the will, and his theology told him that God accepted such. He could say "Adveniat regnum

tuum. . . . Fiat voluntas tua," five thousand times a day, if God wanted that; but there was no sting or touch,

no sense of vibration through the cords that his will threw up to the Heavenly Throne. What in the world then

did God want him to do? Was it just then to repeat formulas, to lie still, to open despatches, to listen through

And then the rest of the worldthe madness that had seized upon the nations; the amazing stories that had

poured in that day of the men in Paris, who, raving like Bacchantes, had stripped themselves naked in the

Place de Concorde, and stabbed themselves to the heart, crying out to thunders of applause that life was too

enthralling to be endured; of the woman who sang herself mad last night in Spain, and fell laughing and

foaming in the concert hall at Seville; of the crucifixion of the Catholics that morning in the Pyrenees, and the

apostasy of three bishops in Germany. . . . And this . . . and this . . . and a thousand more horrors were

He looked horribly worn; and his eyes had a kind of sunken brilliance that revealed fever. He made a little

motion to Percy to sit down, and himself sat in the deep chair, trembling a little, and gathering his buckled

"You must forgive me, father," he said. "I am anxious for the Bishop's safety. He should be here by now."

This was the Bishop of Southwark, Percy remembered, who had left England early that morning.

"Yes: he should have been here by twentythree. It is after midnight, is it not?"

It was nearly quiet now. All day the air had been full of sound; mobs had paraded the suburbs; the gates of

the City had been barred, yet that was only an earnest of what was to be expected when the world understood

"Why, yes," he said. "I shall not last much longer, father. And then it will be you to suffer."

"Why, yes," said the Cardinal. "The Holy Father has arranged it. You are to succeed me, you know. It need

"I understand all that," he said softly. "You wish to die, is it not so?and be at peace. There are many who

wish that. But we must suffer first. Et pati et mori. Father Franklin, there must be no faltering."

The news was too stunning to convey anything to the priest but a sense of horrible shock. The thought had

simply never entered his mind that he, a man under forty, should be considered eligible to succeed this wise,

patient old prelate. As for the honourPercy was past that now, even had he thought of it. There was but one

view before himof a long and intolerable journey, on a road that went uphill, to be traversed with a burden

Yet he recognised its inevitability. The fact was announced to him as indisputable; it was to be; there was

nothing to be said. But it was as if one more gulf had opened, and he stared into it with a dull, sick horror,

"Father Franklin," he said, "I have seen today a picture of Felsenburgh. Do you know whom I at first took it

"There was a murder in the City today," he said. "A Catholic stabbed a blasphemer."

"Oh! yes; he has not attempted to escape," went on the old man. "He is in jail."

"He will be executed. The trial will begin tomorrow. . . . It is sad enough. It is the first murder for eight

The irony of the position was evident enough to Percy as he sat listening to the deepening silence outside in

the starlit night. Here was this poor city pretending that nothing was the matter, quietly administering its

derided justice; and there, outside, were the forces gathering that would put an end to all. His enthusiasm

seemed dead. There was no thrill from the thought of the splendid disregard of material facts of which this

was one tiny instance, none of despairing courage or drunken recklessness. He felt like one who watches a fly

washing his face on the cylinder of an enginethe huge steel slides along bearing the tiny life towards

enormous deathanother moment and it will be over; and yet the watcher cannot interfere. The supernatural

thus lay, perfect and alive, but immeasurably tiny; the huge forces were in motion, the world was heaving up,

and Percy could do nothing but stare and frown. Yet, as has been said, there was no shadow on his faith; the

fly he knew was greater than the engine from the superiority of its order of life; if it were crushed, life would

As the two sat there, again came a step and a tap; and a servant's face looked in.

The Cardinal rose painfully, supporting himself by the table. Then he paused, seeming to remember

"See that, father," he said, and pushed a small silver disc towards the priest. "No; when I am gone."

It was a coin, fresh from the mint. On one side was the familiar wreath with the word "fivepence" in the

midst, with its Esperanto equivalent beneath, and on the other the profile of a man, with an inscription. Percy

It was at ten o'clock on the following morning that the Cardinals were summoned to the Pope's presence to

Percy, from his seat among the Consultors, watched them come in, men of every nation and temperament and

agethe Italians all together, gesticulating, and flashing teeth; the AngloSaxons steadyfaced and serious;

an old French Cardinal leaning on his stick, walking with the English Benedictine. It was one of the great

plain stately rooms of which the Vatican now chiefly consisted, seated lengthwise like a chapel. At the lower

end, traversed by the gangway, were the seats of the Consultors; at the upper end, the dais with the papal

throne. Three or four benches with desks before them, standing out beyond the Consultors' seats, were

reserved for the arrivals of the day beforeprelates and priests who had poured into Rome from every

Percy had not an idea as to what would be said. It was scarcely possible that nothing but platitudes would be

uttered, yet what else could be said in view of the complete doubtfulness of the situation? All that was known

even this morning was that the Presidentship of Europe was a fact; the little silver coin he had seen witnessed

to that; that there had been an outburst of persecution, repressed sternly by local authorities; and that

Felsenburgh was today to begin his tour from capital to capital. He was expected in Turin by the end of the

week. From every Catholic centre throughout the world had come in messages imploring guidance; it was

said that apostasy was rising like a tidal wave, that persecution threatened everywhere, and that even bishops

As for the Holy Father, all was doubtful. Those who knew, said nothing; and the only rumour that escaped

was to the effect that he had spent all night in prayer at the tomb of the Apostle. . . .

The murmur died suddenly to a rustle and a silence; there was a ripple of sinking heads along the seats as the

door beside the canopy opened, and a moment later John, Pater Patrum, was on his throne.

At first Percy understood nothing. He stared only, as at a picture, through the dusty sunlight that poured in

through the shrouded windows, at the scarlet lines to right and left, up to the huge scarlet canopy, and the

white figure that sat there. Certainly, these southerners understood the power of effect. It was as vivid and

impressive as a vision of the Host in a jewelled monstrance. Every accessory was gorgeous, the high room,

the colour of the robes, the chains and crosses, and, as the eye moved along to its climax it was met by a

piece of dead whiteas if glory was exhausted and declared itself impotent to tell the supreme secret. Scarlet

and purple and gold were well enough for those who stood on the steps of the throne they needed it; but

for Him who sat there nothing was needed. Let colours die and sounds faint in the presence of God's Viceroy.

Yet what expression was required found itself adequately provided in that beautiful oval face, the poised

imperious head, the sweet brilliant eyes and the cleancurved lips that spoke so strongly. There was not a

sound in the room, not a rustle, nor a breathingeven without it seemed as if the world were allowing the

supernatural to state its defence uninterruptedly, before summing up and clamouring condemnation.

". . . Since this then is so, sons in Jesus Christ, it is for us to answer. We wrestle not, as the Doctor of the

Gentiles teaches us, against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the

world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places. Wherefore, he continues, take

unto you the armour of God; and he further declares to us its naturethe girdle of truth, the breastplate of

justice, the shoes of Peace, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit.

"By this, therefore, the Word of God bids us to war, but not with the weapons of this world, for neither is His

kingdom of this world; and it is to remind you of the principles of this warfare that we have summoned you

The voice paused, and there was a rustling sigh along the seats. Then the voice continued on a slightly higher

"It has ever been the wisdom of Our predecessors, as is also their duty, while keeping silence at certain

seasons, at others to speak freely the whole counsel of God. From this duty We Ourself must not be deterred

by the knowledge of Our own weakness and ignorance, but to trust rather that He Who has placed Us on this

"First, then, it is necessary to utter Our sentence as to the new movement, as men call it, which has latterly

"We are not unmindful of the blessings of peace and unity, nor do We forget that the appearance of these

things has been the fruit of much that we have condemned. It is this appearance of peace that has deceived

many, causing them to doubt the promise of the Prince of Peace that it is through Him alone that we have

access to the Father. That true peace, passing understanding, concerns not only the relations of men between

themselves, but, supremely, the relations of men with their Maker; and it is in this necessary point that the

efforts of the world are found wanting. It is not indeed to be wondered at that in a world which has rejected

God this necessary matter should be forgotten. Men have thoughtled astray by seducersthat the unity of

nations was the greatest prize of this life, forgetting the words of our Saviour, Who said that He came to bring

not peace but a sword, and that it is through many tribulations that we enter God's Kingdom. First, then, there

should be established the peace of man with God, and after that the unity of man with man will follow. Seek

ye first, said Jesus Christ, the kingdom of Godand then all these things shall be added unto you.

"First, then, We once more condemn and anathematise the opinions of those who teach and believe the

contrary of this; and we renew once more all the condemnations uttered by Ourself or Our predecessors

against all those societies, organisations and communities that have been formed for the furtherance of an

unity on another than a divine foundation; and We remind Our children throughout the world that it is

forbidden to them to enter or to aid or to approve in any manner whatsoever any of those bodies named in

Percy moved in his seat, conscious of a touch of impatience. The manner was superb, tranquil and stately as a

river; but the matter a trifle banal. Here was this old reprobation of Freemasonry, repeated in unoriginal

"Secondly," went on the steady voice, "We wish to make known to you Our desires for the future; and here

Again came that rustle. Percy saw more than one cardinal lean forward with hand crooked at ear to hear the

"There are many points," went on the high voice, "of which it is not Our intention to speak at this time, for of

their own nature they are secret, and must be treated of on another occasion. But what We say here, We say

to the world. Since the assaults of Our enemies are both open and secret, so too must be Our defences. This

The Pope paused again, lifted one hand as if mechanically to his breast, and grasped the cross that hung there.

"While the army of Christ is one, it consists of many divisions, each of which has its proper function and

object. In times past God has raised up companies of His servants to do this or that particular workthe sons

of St. Francis to preach poverty, those of St. Bernard to labour in prayer with all holy women dedicating

themselves to this purpose, the Society of Jesus for the education of youth and the conversion of the

heathentogether with all the other Religious Orders whose names are known throughout the world. Each

such company was raised up at a particular season of need, and each has corresponded nobly with the divine

vocation. It has also been the especial glory of each, for the furtherance of its intention, while pursuing its

end, to cut off from itself all such activities (good in themselves) which would hinder that work for which

God had called it into beingfollowing in this matter the words of our Redeemer, Every branch that beareth

fruit, He purgeth it that it may bring forth more fruit. At this present season, then, it appears to Our Humility

that all such Orders (which once more We commend and bless) are not perfectly suited by the very conditions

of their respective Rules to perform the great work which the time requires. Our warfare lies not with

ignorance in particular, whether of the heathens to whom the Gospel has not yet come, or of those whose

fathers have rejected it, nor with the deceitful riches of this world, nor with science falsely socalled, nor

indeed with any one of those strongholds of infidelity against whom We have laboured in the past. Rather it

appears as if at last the time was come of which the apostle spoke when he said that that day shall not come,

except there come a falling away first, and that Man of Sin be revealed, the Son of Perdition, who opposeth

"It is not with this or that force that we are concerned, but rather with the unveiled immensity of that power

The voice paused again, and Percy gripped the rail before him to stay the trembling of his hands. There was

no rustle now, nothing but a silence that tingled and shook. The Pope drew a long breath, turned his head

"It seems good, then, to Our Humility, that the Vicar of Christ should himself invite God's children to this

new warfare; and it is Our intention to enrol under the title of the Order of Christ Crucified the names of all

who offer themselves to this supreme service. In doing this We are aware of the novelty of Our action, and

the disregard of all such precautions as have been necessary in the past. We take counsel in this matter with

"First, then, let Us say, that although obedient service will be required from all who shall be admitted to this

Order, Our primary intention in instituting it lies in God's regard rather than in man's, in appealing to Him

Who asks our generosity rather than to those who deny it, and dedicating once more by a formal and

deliberate act our souls and bodies to the heavenly Will and service of Him Who alone can rightly claim such

"None shall be capable of entering the Order except such as shall be above the age of seventeen years.

"The Three Evangelical Counsels shall be the foundation of the Rule, to which we add a fourth intention,

namely, that of a desire to receive the crown of martyrdom and a purpose of embracing it.

"The bishop of every diocese, if he himself shall enter the Order, shall be the superior within the limits of his

own jurisdiction, and alone shall be exempt from the literal observance of the Vow of Poverty so long as he

retains his see. Such bishops as do not feel the vocation to the Order shall retain their sees under the usual

"Further, We announce Our intention of Ourself entering the Order as its supreme prelate, and of making Our

"Further, We declare that in Our Own pontificate none shall be elevated to the Sacred College save those who

have made their profession in the Order; and We shall dedicate shortly the Basilica of St. Peter and St. Paul

as the central church of the Order, in which church We shall raise to the altars without any delay those happy

"Of that vocation it is unnecessary to speak beyond indicating that it may be pursued under any conditions

laid down by the Superiors. As regards the novitiate, its conditions and requirements, we shall shortly issue

the necessary directions. Each diocesan superior (for it is Our hope that none will hold back) shall have all

such rights as usually appertain to Religious Superiors, and shall be empowered to employ his subjects in any

work that, in his opinion, shall subserve the glory of God and the salvation of souls. It is Our Own intention

"So far, then, We have determined. On other matters We shall take counsel immediately; but it is Our wish

that these words shall be communicated to all the world, that there may be no delay in making known what it

is that Christ through His Vicar asks of all who profess the Divine Name. We offer no rewards except those

which God Himself has promised to those that love Him, and lay down their life for Him; no promise of

peace, save of that which passeth understanding; no home save that which befits pilgrims and sojourners who

seek a City to come; no honour save the world's contempt; no life, save that which is hid with Christ in God."

OLIVER Brand, seated in his little private room at Whitehall, was expecting a visitor. It was already close

upon ten o'clock, and at halfpast he must be in the House. He had hoped that Mr. Francis, whoever he might

be, would not detain him long. Even now, every moment was a respite, for the work had become simply

But he was not reprieved for more than a minute, for the last boom from the Victoria Tower had scarcely

ceased to throb when the door opened and a clerkly voice uttered the name he was expecting.

Oliver shot one quick look at the stranger, at his drooping lids and downturned mouth, summed him up

fairly and accurately in the moments during which they seated themselves, and went briskly to business.

"At twentyfive minutes past, sir, I must leave this room," he said. "Until then" he made a little gesture.

"Thank you, Mr. Brandthat is ample time. Then, if you will excuse me" He groped in his

"I will leave this with you," he said, "when I go. It sets out our desires at length and our names. And this is

He sat back, crossed his legs, and went on, with a touch of eagerness in his voice.

"I am a kind of deputation, as you know," he said. "We have something both to ask and to offer. I am chosen

"I wish to ask nothing that I ought not. But I believe it is practically certain, is it not?that Divine Worship

"I suppose so," he said. "The bill has been read for the third time, and, as you know, the President is to speak

"Just so," said Mr. Francis. "And if he assents here, I suppose it will become law immediately."

Oliver leaned over his table, and drew out the green paper that contained the Bill.

"You have this, of course" he said. "Well, it becomes law at once; and the first feast will be observed on

"There will be something of a rush then," said the other eagerly. "Why, that is only a week hence."

"I have not charge of this department," said Oliver, laying back the Bill. "But I understand that the ritual will

be that already in use in Germany. There is no reason why we should be peculiar."

"Well, sir," said Mr. Francis, "of course I know the Government Commission has studied it all very closely,

and no doubt has its own plans. But it appears to me that they will want all the experience they can get."

"Well, Mr. Brand, the society which I represent consists entirely of men who were once Catholic priests. We

number about two hundred in London. I will leave a pamphlet with you, if I may, stating our objects, our

constitution, and so on. It seemed to us that here was a matter in which our past experience might be of

service to the Government. Catholic ceremonies, as you know, are very intricate, and some of us studied them

very deeply in old days. We used to say that Masters of Ceremonies were born, not made, and we have a fair

number of those amongst us. But indeed every priest is something of a ceremonialist."

"I am sure the Government realises the immense importance of all going smoothly. If Divine Service was at

all grotesque or disorderly, it would largely defeat its own object. So I have been deputed to see you, Mr.

Brand, and to suggest to you that here is a body of menreckon it as at least twentyfivewho have had

special experience in this kind of thing, and are perfectly ready to put themselves at the disposal of the

Oliver could not resist a faint flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It was a very grim bit of irony, he

"I quite understand, Mr. Francis. It seems a very reasonable suggestion. But I do not think I am the proper

"Yes, yes, sir, I know. But your speech the other day inspired us all. You said exactly what was in all our

heartsthat the world could not live without worship; and that now that God was found at last"

"It is very good of you, Mr. Francis. I will certainly speak to Mr. Snowford. I understand that you offer

"Yes, sir; and sacristans. I have studied the German ritual very carefully; it is more elaborate than I had

thought it. It will need a good deal of adroitness. I imagine that you will want at least a dozen Ceremoniarii in

Oliver nodded abruptly, looking curiously at the eager pathetic face of the man opposite him; yet it had

something, too, of that masklike priestly look that he had seen before in others like him. This was evidently

"That is all my actual business, sir," answered the other. "But I hope you will allow me to say how much we

all appreciate what you have done, Mr. Brand. I do not think it is possible for any, except ourselves, to

His voice trembled a little, and he stopped. Oliver felt interested, and checked himself in his movement to

"It was an illusion, of course, sirwe know that. But I, at any rate, dare to hope that it was not all

wastedall our aspirations and penitence and praise. We mistook our God, but none the less it reached

Himit found its way to the Spirit of the World. It taught us that the individual was nothing, and that He

"And now Mr. Felsenburgh is come." He swallowed in his throat. "Julian Felsenburgh!" There was a world of

"Oh! to have a Saviour at last!" cried Francis. "One that can be seen and handled and praised to His Face! It is

"Forgive me, sir. I must not stay. You have touched me very deeply. . . . I will speak to Snowford. Your

Mabel, seated in the gallery that evening behind the President's chair, had already glanced at her watch

halfadozen times in the last hour, hoping each time that twentyone o'clock was nearer than she feared.

She knew well enough by now that the President of Europe would not be halfaminute either before or after

his time. His supreme punctuality was famous all over the continent. He had said TwentyOne, so it was to

A sharp bellnote impinged from beneath, and in a moment the drawling voice of the speaker stopped. Once

more she lifted her wrist, saw that it wanted five minutes of the hour; then she leaned forward from her corner

A great change had passed over it at the metallic noise. All down the long brown seats members were shifting

and arranging themselves more decorously, uncrossing their legs, slipping their hats beneath the leather

fringes. As she looked, too, she saw the President of the House coming down the three steps from his chair,

The house was full from end to end; a latecomer ran in from the twilight of the south door and looked

distractedly about him in the full light before he saw his vacant place. The galleries at the lower end were

occupied too, down there, where she had failed to obtain a seat. Yet from all the crowded interior there was

no sound but a sibilant whispering; from the passages behind she could hear again the quick bellnote repeat

itself as the lobbies were cleared; and from Parliament Square outside once more came the heavy murmur of

the crowd that had been inaudible for the last twenty minutes. When that ceased she would know that he was

How strange and wonderful it was to be hereon this night of all, when the President was to speak! A month

ago he had assented to a similar Bill in Germany, and had delivered a speech on the same subject at Turin.

Tomorrow he was to be in Spain. No one knew where he had been during the past week. A rumour had

spread that his volor had been seen passing over Lake Como, and had been instantly contradicted. No one

knew either what he would say tonight. It might be three words or twenty thousand. There were a few

clauses in the Billnotably those bearing on the point as to when the new worship was to be made

compulsory on all subjects over the age of sevenit might be he would object and veto these. In that case all

must be done again, and the Bill repassed, unless the House accepted his amendment instantly by

Mabel herself was inclined to these clauses. They provided that, although worship was to be offered in every

parish church of England on the ensuing first day of October, this was not to be compulsory on all subjects

till the New Year; whereas, Germany, who had passed the Bill only a month before, had caused it to come

into full force immediately, thus compelling all her Catholic subjects either to leave the country without delay

or suffer the penalties. These penalties were not vindictive: on a first offence a week's detention only was to

be given; on the second, one month's imprisonment; on the third, one year's; and on the fourth, perpetual

imprisonment until the criminal yielded. These were merciful terms, it seemed; for even imprisonment itself

meant no more than reasonable confinement and employment on Government works. There were no

medieval horrors here; and the act of worship demanded was so little, too; it consisted of no more than bodily

presence in the church or cathedral on the four new festivals of Maternity, Life, Sustenance and Paternity,

celebrated on the first day of each quarter. Sunday worship was to be purely voluntary.

She could not understand how any man could refuse this homage. These four things were factsthey were

the manifestations of what she called the Spirit of the Worldand if others called that Power God, yet surely

these ought to be considered as His functions. Where then was the difficulty? It was not as if Christian

worship were not permitted, under the usual regulations. Catholics could still go to mass. And yet appalling

things were threatened in Germany: not less than twelve thousand persons had already left for Rome; and it

was rumoured that forty thousand would refuse this simple act of homage a few days hence. It bewildered

For herself the new worship was a crowning sign of the triumph of Humanity. Her heart had yearned for

some such thing as thissome public corporate profession of what all now believed. She had so resented the

dullness of folk who were content with action and never considered its springs. Surely this instinct within her

was a true one; she desired to stand with her fellows in some solemn place, consecrated not by priests but by

the will of man; to have as her inspirers sweet singing and the peal of organs; to utter her sorrow with

thousands beside her at her own feebleness of immolation before the Spirit of all; to sing aloud her praise of

the glory of life, and to offer by sacrifice and incense an emblematic homage to That from which she drew

her being, and to whom one day she must render it again. Ah! these Christians had understood human nature,

she had told herself a hundred times: it was true that they had degraded it, darkened light, poisoned thought,

misinterpreted instinct; but they had understood that man must worshipmust worship or sink.

For herself she intended to go at least once a week to the little old church halfamile away from her home,

to kneel there before the sunlit sanctuary, to meditate on sweet mysteries, to present herself to That which she

was learning to love, and to drink, it might be, new draughts of life and power.

Ah! but the Bill must pass first. . . . She clenched her hands on the rail, and stared steadily before her on the

ranks of heads, the open gangways, the great mace on the table, and heard, above the murmur of the crowd

She could not see Him, she knew. He would come in from beneath through the door that none but He might

use, straight into the seat beneath the canopy. But she would hear His voice that must be joy enough for

Ah! there was silence now outside; the soft roar had died. He had come then. And through swimming eyes

she saw the long ridges of heads rise beneath her, and through drumming ears heard the murmur of many

feet. All faces looked this way; and she watched them as a mirror to see the reflected light of His presence.

There was a gentle sobbing somewhere in the airwas it her own or another's? . . . the click of a door; a

great mellow booming overhead, shock after shock, as the huge tenor bells tolled their three strokes; and, in

an instant, over the white faces passed a ripple, as if some breeze of passion shook the souls within; there was

a swaying here and there; and a passionless voice spoke half a dozen words in Esperanto, out of sight:

It was not until midday breakfast on the following morning that husband and wife met again. Oliver had

slept in town and telephoned about eleven o'clock that he would be home immediately, bringing a guest with

Mr. Francis, who was presently introduced to her, seemed a harmless kind of man, she thought, not

interesting, though he seemed in earnest about this Bill. It was not until breakfast was nearly over that she

"Don't go, Mabel," said her husband, as she made a movement to rise. "You will like to hear about this, I

Then she heard that he had been a Catholic priest a few months before, and that Mr. Snowford was in

consultation with him as to the ceremonies in the Abbey. She was conscious of a sudden interest as she heard

It seemed that Mr. Francis had seen the new Minister of Public Worship that morning, and had received a

definite commission from him to take charge of the ceremonies on the first of October. Two dozen of his

colleagues, too, were to be enrolled among the ceremoniarii, at least temporarilyand after the event they

were to be sent on a lecturing tour to organise the national worship throughout the country.

Of course things would be somewhat sloppy at first, said Mr. Francis; but by the New Year it was hoped that

"It is important," he said, "that this should be done as soon as possible. It is very necessary to make a good

impression. There are thousands who have the instinct of worship, without knowing how to satisfy it."

"That is perfectly true," said Oliver. "I have felt that for a long time. I suppose it is the deepest instinct in

"As to the ceremonies" went on the other, with a slightly important air. His eyes roved round a moment;

"Here is the Order of Worship for the Feast of Paternity," he said. "I have had it interleaved, and have made a

He began to turn the pages, and Mabel, with considerable excitement, drew her chair a little closer to listen.

Mr. Francis closed the book on his finger, pushed his plate aside, and began to discourse.

"First," he said, "we must remember that this ritual is based almost entirely upon that of the Masons.

Threequarters at least of the entire function will be occupied by that. With that the ceremoniarii will not

interfere, beyond seeing that the insignia are ready in the vestries and properly put on. The proper officials

will conduct the rest. . . . I need not speak of that then. The difficulties begin with the last quarter."

He paused, and with a glance of apology began arranging forks and glasses before him on the cloth.

"Now here," he said, "we have the old sanctuary of the abbey. In the place of the reredos and Communion

table there will be erected the large altar of which the ritual speaks, with the steps leading up to it from the

floor. Behind the altar extending almost to the old shrine of the Confessorwill stand the pedestal with

the emblematic figure upon it; andso far as I understand from the absence of directionseach such figure

"I understand that Mr. Markenheim has been consulted," he said. "He will design and execute them. Each is

"A new procession enters at this point, after the discourse," he said. "It is this that will need special

"I feared not. Then we must issue very precise printed instructions. Those who take part will withdraw, I

imagine, during the hymn, to the old chapel of St. Faith. That is what seems to me the best."

"After the entrance of the procession all will take their places on these two sideshereand herewhile

Mr. Francis permitted a slight grimace to appear on his face; he flushed a little.

"The President of Europe" He broke off. "Ah! that is the point. Will the President take part? That is not

"Well, if not, I suppose the Minister of Public Worship will officiate. He with his supporters pass straight up

to the foot of the altar. Remember that the figure is still veiled, and that the candles have been lighted during

the approach of the procession. There follow the Aspirations printed in the ritual with the responds. These are

sung by the choir, and will be most impressive, I think. Then the officiant ascends the altar alone, and,

standing, declaims the Address, as it is called. At the close of itat the point, that is to say, marked here with

a star, the thurifers will leave the chapel, four in number. One ascends the altar, leaving the others swinging

their thuribles at its foothands his to the officiant and retires. Upon the sounding of a bell the curtains are

drawn back, the officiant censes the image in silence with four double swings, and, as he ceases the choir

To Mabel's mind even the previous ceremonies seemed easy enough. But she was undeceived.

"You have no idea, Mrs. Brand," went on the ceremoniarius, "of the difficulties involved even in such a

simple matter as this. The stupidity of people is prodigious. I foresee a great deal of hard work for us all. . . .

"I think it is necessary," he began. "There would not be such a cry for worship if it was not a real need. I think

tooyes, I think that on the whole the ritual is impressive. I do not see how it could be bettered. . . ."

"My dear sir, worship involves a touch of mystery. You must remember that. It was the lack of that that made

Empire Day fail in the last century. For myself, I think it is admirable. Of course much must depend on the

manner in which it is presented. I see many details at present undecidedthe colour of the curtains, and so

forth. But the main plan is magnificent. It is simple, impressive, and, above all, it is unmistakable in its main

"I take it that it is homage offered to Life," said the other slowly. "Life under four aspectsMaternity

corresponds to Christmas and the Christian fable; it is the feast of home, love, faithfulness. Life itself is

approached in spring, teeming, young, passionate. Sustenance in midsummer, abundance, comfort, plenty,

and the rest, corresponding somewhat to the Catholic Corpus Christi; and Paternity, the protective,

generative, masterful idea, as winter draws on. . . . I understand it was a German thought."

"Yes," he said. "And I suppose it will be the business of the speaker to explain all this."

"I take it so. It appears to me far more suggestive than the alternative planCitizenship, Labour, and so

Mr. Francis spoke with an extraordinary suppressed enthusiasm, and the priestly look was more evident than

"Ah! yes, madam. That is it. There is no Faith, as we used to call it: it is the vision of Facts that no one can

doubt; and the incense declares the sole divinity of Life as well as its mystery."

"A stone image is impossible, of course. It must be clay for the present. Mr. Markenheim is to set to work

"It seems to me," she said, "that this is the last thing that we needed. It is so hard to keep our principles

"I do not mean," she went on, "that some cannot live without it, but many cannot. The unimaginative need

concrete images. There must be some channel for their aspirations to flow through Ah! I cannot express

"Yes," he said. "And this, I suppose, will mould men's thoughts too: it will keep out all danger of

"I think it is the worst step he ever tookfor himself, I mean. Either it is a real effort, in which case it will

provoke immense indignationor it is a sham, and will discredit him. Why do you ask?"

A bell rang sharply from the row of telephone labels. Oliver rose and went to it. Mabel watched him as he

"It is Snowford's secretary," he said abruptly to the two expectant faces. "Snowford wants toah!"

Again he mentioned his name and listened. They heard a sentence or two from him that seemed significant.

"Ah! that is certain, is it? I am sorry. . . . Yes. . . . Oh! but that is better than nothing. . . . Yes; he is here. . . .

"I am sorry," he said. "The President will take no part at the Feast. But it is uncertain whether he will not be

present. Mr. Snowford wants to see us both at once, Mr. Francis. Markenheim is with him."

But though Mabel was herself disappointed, she thought he looked graver than the disappointment warranted.

PERCY Franklin, the new CardinalProtector of England, came slowly along the passage leading from the

Pope's apartments, with Hans Steinmann, CardinalProtector of Germany, blowing at his side. They entered

the lift, still in silence, and passed out, two splendid vivid figures, one erect and virile, the other bent, fat, and

At the door of Percy's suite, the Englishman paused, made a little gesture of reverence, and went in without a

A secretary, young Mr. Brent, lately from England, stood up as his patron came in.

Percy put out a hand, took a paper, passed on into his inner room, and sat down.

There it all wasgigantic headlines, and four columns of print broken by startling title phrases in capital

letters, after the fashion set by America a hundred years ago. No better way even yet had been found of

He looked at the top. It was the English edition of the Era. Then he read the headlines. They ran as follows:

He ran his eyes down the page, reading the vivid little phrases, and drawing from the whole a kind of

impressionist view of the scenes in the Abbey on the previous day, of which he had already been informed by

the telegraph, and the discussion of which had been the purpose of his interview just now with the Holy

There plainly was no additional news; and he was laying the paper down when his eye caught a name.

"It is understood that Mr. Francis, the ceremoniarius (to whom the thanks of all are due for his reverent zeal

and skill), will proceed shortly to the northern towns to lecture on the Ritual. It is interesting to reflect that

this gentleman only a few months ago was officiating at a Catholic altar. He was assisted in his labours by

But his thoughts had soon left this renegade behind, and once more he was running over in his mind the

significance of the whole affair, and the advice that he had thought it his duty to give just now upstairs.

Briefly, there was no use in disputing the fact that the inauguration of Pantheistic worship had been as

stupendous a success in England as in Germany. France, by the way, was still too busy with the cult of

But England was deeper; and, somehow, in spite of prophecy, the affair had taken place without even a touch

of bathos or grotesqueness. It had been said that England was too solid and too humorous. Yet there had been

extraordinary scenes the day before. A great murmur of enthusiasm had rolled round the Abbey from end to

end as the gorgeous curtains ran back, and the huge masculine figure, majestic and overwhelming, coloured

with exquisite art, had stood out above the blaze of candles against the tall screen that shrouded the shrine.

Markenheim had done his work well; and Mr. Brand's passionate discourse had well prepared the popular

mind for the revelation. He had quoted in his peroration passage after passage from the Jewish prophets,

"Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. . . . For behold I create new

heavens and a new earth; and the former shall not be remembered nor come into mind. . . . Violence shall no

more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders. O thou so long afflicted, tossed with

tempest and not comforted; behold I will lay thy stones with fair colours, and thy foundations with sapphires.

. . . I will make thy windows of agates and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones.

As the chink of the censerchains had sounded in the stillness, with one consent the enormous crowd had

fallen on its knees, and so remained, as the smoke curled up from the hands of the rebel figure who held the

thurible. Then the organ had begun to blow, and from the huge massed chorus in the transepts had rolled out

the anthem, broken by one passionate cry, from some mad Catholic. But it had been silenced in an instant. . . .

It was incredibleutterly incredible, Percy had told himself. Yet the incredible had happened; and England

had found its worship once morethe necessary culmination of unimpeded subjectivity. From the provinces

had come the like news. In cathedral after cathedral had been the same scenes. Markenheim's masterpiece,

executed in four days after the passing of the bill, had been reproduced by the ordinary machinery, and four

thousand replicas had been despatched to every important centre. Telegraphic reports had streamed into the

London papers that everywhere the new movement had been received with acclamation, and that human

instincts had found adequate expression at last. If there had not been a God, mused Percy reminiscently, it

would have been necessary to invent one. He was astonished, too, at the skill with which the new cult had

been framed. It moved round no disputable points; there was no possibility of divergent political tendencies

to mar its success, no overinsistence on citizenship, labour and the rest, for those who were secretly

individualistic and idle. Life was the one fount and centre of it all, clad in the gorgeous robes of ancient

worship. Of course the thought had been Felsenburgh's, though a German name had been mentioned. It was

Positivism of a kind, Catholicism without Christianity, Humanity worship without its inadequacy. It was not

man that was worshipped but the Idea of man, deprived of his supernatural principle. Sacrifice, too, was

recognisedthe instinct of oblation without the demand made by transcendent Holiness upon the

bloodguiltiness of man. . . . In fact,in fact, said Percy, it was exactly as clever as the devil, and as old as

The advice he had given to the Holy Father just now was a counsel of despair, or of hope; he really did not

know which. He had urged that a stringent decree should be issued, forbidding any acts of violence on the

part of Catholics. The faithful were to be encouraged to be patient, to hold utterly aloof from the worship, to

say nothing unless they were questioned, to suffer bonds gladly. He had suggested, in company with the

German Cardinal, that they two should return to their respective countries at the close of the year, to

encourage the waverers; but the answer had been that their vocation was to remain in Rome, unless anything

As for Felsenburgh, there was little news. It was said that he was in the East; but further details were secret.

Percy understood quite well why he had not been present at the worship as had been expected. First, it would

have been difficult to decide between the two countries that had established it; and, secondly, he was too

brilliant a politician to risk the possible association of failure with his own person; thirdly, there was

This last point was difficult to understand; it had not yet become explicit, but it seemed as if the movement of

last year had not yet run its course. It was undoubtedly difficult to explain the new President's constant

absences from his adopted continent, unless there was something that demanded his presence elsewhere; but

the extreme discretion of the East and the stringent precautions taken by the Empire made it impossible to

know any details. It was apparently connected with religion; there were rumours, portents, prophets, ecstatics

Upon Percy himself had fallen a subtle change which he himself was recognising. He no longer soared to

confidence or sank to despair. He said his mass, read his enormous correspondence, meditated strictly; and,

though he felt nothing he knew everything. There was not a tinge of doubt upon his faith, but neither was

there emotion in it. He was as one who laboured in the depths of the earth, crushed even in imagination, yet

conscious that somewhere birds sang, and the sun shone, and water ran. He understood his own state well

enough, and perceived that he had come to a reality of faith that was new to him, for it was sheer

faithsheer apprehension of the Spiritualwithout either the dangers or the joys of imaginative vision. He

expressed it to himself by saying that there were three processes through which God led the soul: the first was

that of external faith, which assents to all things presented by the accustomed authority, practises religion,

and is neither interested nor doubtful; the second follows the quickening of the emotional and perceptive

powers of the soul, and is set about with consolations, desires, mystical visions and perils; it is in this plane

that resolutions are taken and vocations found and shipwrecks experienced; and the third, mysterious and

inexpressible, consists in the reenactment in the purely spiritual sphere of all that has preceded (as a play

follows a rehearsal), in which God is grasped but not experienced, grace is absorbed unconsciously and even

distastefully, and little by little the inner spirit is conformed in the depths of its being, far within the spheres

So he lay back now, thinking, a long, stately, scarlet figure, in his deep chair, staring out over Holy Rome

seen through the misty September haze. How long, he wondered, would there be peace? To his eyes even

"Bring me Father Blackmore's last report," he said, as his secretary appeared. (II)

Percy's intuitive faculties were keen by nature and had been vastly increased by cultivation. He had never

forgotten Father Blackmore's shrewd remarks of a year ago; and one of his first acts as CardinalProtector

had been to appoint that priest on the list of English correspondents. Hitherto he had received some dozen

letters, and not one of them had been without its grain of gold. Especially he had noticed that one warning ran

through them all, namely, that sooner or later there would be some overt act of provocation on the part of

English Catholics; and it was the memory of this that had inspired his vehement entreaties to the Pope this

morning. As in the Roman and African persecutions of the first three centuries, so now, the greatest danger to

the Catholic community lay not in the unjust measures of the Government but in the indiscreet zeal of the

faithful themselves. The world desired nothing better than a handle to its blade. The scabbard was already

When the young man had brought the four closelywritten sheets, dated from Westminster, the previous

evening, Percy turned at once to the last paragraph before the usual Recommendations.

"Mr. Brand's late secretary, Mr. Phillips, whom your Eminence commended to me, has been to see me two or

three times. He is in a curious state. He has no faith; yet, intellectually, he sees no hope anywhere but in the

Catholic Church. He has even begged for admission to the Order of Christ Crucified, which of course is

impossible. But there is no doubt he is sincere; otherwise he would have professed Catholicism. I have

introduced him to many Catholics in the hope that they may help him. I should much wish your Eminence to

Before leaving England, Percy had followed up the acquaintance he had made so strangely over Mrs. Brand's

reconciliation to God, and, scarcely knowing why, had commended him to the priest. He had not been

particularly impressed by Mr. Phillips; he had thought him a timid, undecided creature, yet he had been

struck by the extremely unselfish action by which the man had forfeited his position. There must surely be a

And now the impulse had come to send for him. Perhaps the spiritual atmosphere of Rome would precipitate

faith. In any case, the conversation of Mr. Brand's late secretary might be instructive.

"Mr. Brent," he said, "in your next letter to Father Blackmore, tell him that I wish to see the man whom he

"But he must not come till January. That will be time enough, unless there is urgent reason."

The development of the Order of Christ Crucified had gone forward with almost miraculous success. The

appeal issued by the Holy Father throughout Christendom had been as fire among stubble. It seemed as if the

Christian world had reached exactly that point of tension at which a new organisation of this nature was

needed, and the response had startled even the most sanguine. Practically the whole of Rome with its

suburbsthree millions in allhad run to the enrolling stations in St. Peter's as starving men run to food,

and desperate to the storming of a breach. For day after day the Pope himself had sat enthroned below the

altar of the Chair, a glorious, radiant figure, growing ever white and weary towards evening, imparting his

Blessing with a silent sign to each individual of the vast crowd that swarmed up between the barriers, fresh

from fast and Communion, to kneel before his new Superior and kiss the Pontifical ring. The requirements

had been as stringent as circumstances allowed. Each postulant was obliged to go to confession to a specially

authorised priest, who examined sharply into motives and sincerity, and only onethird of the applicants had

been accepted. This, the authorities pointed out to the scornful, was not an excessive proportion; for it was to

be remembered that most of those who had presented themselves had already undergone a sifting fierce as

fire. Of the three millions in Rome, two millions at least were exiles for their faith, preferring to live obscure

and despised in the shadow of God rather than in the desolate glare of their own infidel countries.

On the fifth evening of the enrolment of novices an astonishing incident had taken place. The old King of

Spain (Queen Victoria's second son), already on the edge of the grave, had just risen and tottered before his

Ruler; it seemed for an instant as if he would fall, when the Pope himself, by a sudden movement, had risen,

caught him in his arms and kissed him; and then, still standing, had spread his arms abroad and delivered a

"Benedictus Dominus!" he cried, with upraised face and shining eyes. "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for

He hath visited and redeemed His people. I, John, Vicar of Christ, Servant of Servants, and sinner among

sinners, bid you be of good courage in the Name of God. By Him Who hung on the Cross, I promise eternal

life to all who persevere in His Order. He Himself has said it. To him that overcometh I will give a crown of

"Little children; fear not him that killeth the body. There is no more that he can do. God and His Mother are

So his voice had poured on, telling the enormous awe stricken crowd of the blood that already had been

shed on the place where they stood, of the body of the Apostle that lay scarcely fifty yards away, urging,

encouraging, inspiring. They had vowed themselves to death, if that were God's Will; and if not, the intention

would be taken for the deed. They were under obedience now; their wills were no longer theirs but God's:

under chastityfor their bodies were bought with a price; under poverty, and theirs was the kingdom of

He had ended by a great silent Benediction of the City and the World: and there were not wanting a

halfdozen of the faithful who had seen, they thought, a white shape in the form of a bird that hung in the air

The consequent scenes in the city and suburbs had been unparalleled, for thousands of families had with one

consent dissolved human ties. Husbands had found their way to the huge houses on the Quirinal set apart for

them; wives to the Aventine; while the children, as confident as their parents, had swarmed over to the Sisters

of St. Vincent who had received at the Pope's orders the gift of three streets to shelter them in. Everywhere

the smoke of burning went up in the squares where household property, rendered useless by the vows of

poverty, were consumed by their late owners; and daily long trains moved out from the station outside the

walls carrying jubilant loads of those who were despatched by the Pope's delegates to be the salt of men,

consumed in their function, and leaven plunged in the vast measures of the infidel world. And that infidel

From the rest of Christendom had poured in news of success. The same precautions had been observed as in

Rome, for the directions issued were precise and searching; and day after day came in the long rolls of the

Within the last few days, too, other lists had arrived, more glorious than all. Not only did reports stream in

that already the Order was beginning its work and that already broken communications were being

reestablished, that devoted missioners were in process of organising themselves, and that hope was once

more rising in the most desperate hearts; but better than all this was the tidings of victory in another sphere.

In Paris forty of the newborn Order had been burned alive in one day in the Latin quarter, before the

Government intervened. From Spain, Holland, Russia had come in other names. In D�sseldorf eighteen men

and boys, surprised at their singing of Prime in the church of Saint Laurence, had been cast down one by one

"Christi Fili Dei vivi miserere nobis," and from the darkness had come up the same broken song till it was

silenced with stones. Meanwhile, the German prisons were thronged with the first batches of recusants.

The world shrugged its shoulders, and declared that they had brought it on themselves, while yet it deprecated

mobviolence, and requested the attention of the authorities and the decisive repression of this new

conspiracy of superstition. And within St. Peter's Church the workmen were busy at the long rows of new

altars, affixing to the stone diptychs the brassforged names of those who had already fulfilled their vows and

As Christmas drew on it was announced that the Sovereign pontiff would sing mass on the last day of the

year, at the papal altar of Saint Peter's, on behalf of the Order; and preparations began to be made.

It was to be a kind of public inauguration of the new enterprise; and, to the astonishment of all, a special

summons was issued to all members of the Sacred College throughout the world to be present, unless

hindered by sickness. It seemed as if the Pope were determined that the world should understand that war was

declared; for, although the command would not involve the absence of any Cardinal from his province for

more than five days, yet many inconveniences must surely result. However, it had been said, and it was to be

Percy was ordered to attend the Pope at his second mass, and himself said his three at midnight in his own

private oratory. For the first time in his life he saw that of which he had heard so often, the wonderful

oldworld Pontifical procession, lit by torches, going through the streets from the Lateran to St. Anastasia,

where the Pope for the last few years had restored the ancient custom discontinued for nearly a

centuryanda half. The little basilica was reserved, of course, in every corner for the peculiarly privileged;

but the streets outside along the whole route from the Cathedral to the churchand, indeed, the other two

sides of the triangle as well, were one dense mass of silent heads and flaming torches. The Holy Father was

attended at the altar by the usual sovereigns; and Percy from his place watched the heavenly drama of Christ's

Passion enacted through the veil of His nativity at the hands of His old Angelic Vicar. It was hard to perceive

Calvary here; it was surely the air of Bethlehem, the celestial light, not the supernatural darkness, that

beamed round the simple altar. It was the Child called Wonderful that lay there beneath the old hands, rather

Adeste fideles sang the choir from the tribune.Come, let us adore, rather than weep; let us exult, be

content, be ourselves like little children. As He for us became a child, let us become childlike for Him. Let us

put on the garments of infancy and the shoes of peace. For the Lord hath reigned; He is clothed with beauty:

the Lord is clothed with strength and hath girded Himself. He hath established the world which shall not be

moved: His throne is prepared from of old. He is from everlasting. Rejoice greatly then, O daughter of Zion,

shout for joy, O daughter of Jerusalem; behold thy King cometh, to thee, the Holy One, the Saviour of the

world. It will be time, then, to suffer by and bye, when the Prince of this world cometh upon the Prince of

So Percy mused, standing apart in his gorgeousness, striving to make himself little and simple. Surely

nothing was too hard for God! Might not this mystic Birth once more do what it had done beforebring into

subjection through the might of its weakness every proud thing that exalts itself above all that is called God?

It had drawn wise Kings once across the desert, as well as shepherds from their flocks. It had kings about it

now, kneeling with the poor and foolish, kings who had laid down their crowns, who brought the gold of

loyal hearts, the myrrh of desired martyrdom, and the incense of a pure faith. Could not republics, too, lay

aside their splendour, mobs be tamed, selfishness deny itself, and wisdom confess its ignorance? . . .

Six days later, Percy rose as usual, said his mass, breakfasted, and sat down to say office until his servant

He had learned to expect bad news now so constantlyof apostasies, deaths, lossesthat the lull of the

previous week had come to him with extraordinary refreshment. It appeared to him as if his musings in St.

Anastasia had been truer than he thought, and that the sweetness of the old feast had not yet wholly lost its

power even over a world that denied its substance. For nothing at all had happened of importance. A few

more martyrdoms had been chronicled, but they had been isolated cases; and of Felsenburgh there had been

On the other hand, tomorrow, Percy knew very well, would be a day of extraordinary moment in England

and Germany at any rate; for in England it was appointed as the first occasion of compulsory worship

throughout the country, while it was the second in Germany. Men and women would have to declare

He had seen on the previous evening a photograph of the image that was to be worshipped next day in the

Abbey; and, in a fit of loathing, had torn it to shreds. It represented a nude woman, huge and majestic,

entrancingly lovely, with head and shoulders thrown back, as one who sees a strange and heavenly vision,

arms downstretched and hands a little raised, with wide fingers, as in astonishmentthe whole attitude, with

feet and knees pressed together, suggestive of expectation, hope and wonder; in devilish mockery her long

hair was crowned with twelve stars. This, then, was the spouse of the other, the embodiment of man's ideal

When the white scraps lay like poisonous snow at his feet, he had sprung across the room to his priedieu,

"Oh! Mother, Mother!" he cried to the stately Queen of Heaven who, with Her true Son long ago in Her arms,

But he was still again this morning, and celebrated Saint Silvester, Pope and Martyr, the last saint in the

procession of the Christian year, with tolerable equanimity. The sights of last night, the throng of officials,

the stately, scarlet, unfamiliar figures of the Cardinals who had come in from north, south, east and

westthese helped to reassure him again unreasonably, as he knew, yet effectually. The very air was

electric with expectation. All night the piazza had been crowded by a huge, silent mob waiting till the

opening of the doors at seven o'clock. Now the church itself was full, and the piazza full again. Far down the

street to the river, so far as he could see as he had leaned from his window just now, lay that solemn

motionless pavement of heads. The roof of the colonnade showed a fringe of them, the housetops were

black and this in the bitter cold of a clear, frosty morning, for it was announced that after mass and the

proceeding of the members of the Order past the Pontifical Throne, the Pope would give Apostolic

Percy finished Terce, closed his book and lay back; his servant would be here in a minute now.

His mind began to run over the function, and he reflected that the entire Sacred College (with the exception

of the CardinalProtector of Jerusalem, detained by sickness), numbering sixtyfour members, would take

part. This would mean an unique sight by and bye. Eight years before, he remembered, after the freedom of

Rome, there had been a similar assembly; but the Cardinals at that time amounted to no more than fiftythree

Then he heard voices in his anteroom, a quick step, and a loud English expostulation. That was curious, and

There was a sharp answer, a faint scuffle, and a snatch at the handle. This was indecent; so Percy stood up,

"It is I, siryour Eminencethis moment arrived. It is life and death. Your servant tells me"

The man rolled his eyes towards the servant, who still stood erect and offended a yard away; and Percy

They passed across the polished floor together; Percy went to his usual place in the window, leaned against

"There is a plot among the Catholics. They intend destroying the Abbey tomorrow with explosives. I knew

THE volorstage was comparatively empty this afternoon, as the little party of six stepped out on to it from

the lift. There was nothing to distinguish these from ordinary travellers. The two Cardinals of Germany and

England were wrapped in plain furs, without insignia of any kind; their chaplains stood near them, while the

The four kept complete silence, watching the busy movements of the officials on board, staring unseeingly at

the sleek, polished monster that lay netted in steel at their feet, and the great folded fins that would presently

Then Percy, by a sudden movement, turned from the others, went to the open window that looked over Rome,

It was darkening now towards sunset, and the sky, primrose green overhead, deepened to a dear tawny

orange above the horizon, with a sanguine line or two at the edge, and beneath that lay the deep evening

violet of the city, blotted here and there by the black of cypresses and cut by the thin leafless pinnacles of a

poplar grove that aspired without the walls. But right across the picture rose the enormous dome, of an

indescribable tint; it was grey, it was violetit was what the eye chose to make itand through it, giving its

solidity the air of a bubble, shone the southern sky, flushed too with faint orange. It was this that was

supreme and dominant; the serrated line of domes, spires and pinnacles, the crowded roofs beneath, in the

valley dell' Inferno, the fairy hills far awayall were but the annexe to this mighty tabernacle of God.

Already lights were beginning to shine, as for thirty centuries they had shone; thin straight skeins of smoke

were ascending against the darkening sky. The hum of this Mother of cities was beginning to be still, for the

keen air kept folks indoors; and the evening peace was descending that closed another day and another year.

Beneath in the narrow streets Percy could see tiny figures, hurrying like belated ants; the crack of a whip, the

cry of a woman, the wail of a child came up to this immense elevation like details of a murmur from another

A heavy bell beat faintly from far away, and the drowsy city turned to murmur its goodnight to the Mother

of God. From a thousand towers came the tiny melody, floating across the great air spaces, in a thousand

accents, the solemn bass of St. Peter's, the mellow tenor of the Lateran, the rough cry from some old slum

church, the peevish tinkle of convents and chapelsall softened and made mystical in this grave evening

airit was the wedding of delicate sound and clear light. Above, the liquid orange sky; beneath, this sweet,

"Alma Redemptoris Mater," whispered Percy, his eyes wet with tears. "Gentle Mother of the Redeemerthe

open door of the sky, star of the seahave mercy on sinners. The Angel of the Lord announced it to Mary,

and she conceived of the Holy Ghost. . . . Pour, therefore, Lord, Thy grace into our hearts. Let us, who know

Christ's incarnation, rise through passion and cross to the glory of Resurrectionthrough the same Christ our

Another bell clanged sharply close at hand, calling him down to earth, and wrong, and labour and grief; and

he turned to see the motionless volor itself one blaze of brilliant internal light, and the two priests following

It was the rear compartment that the men had taken; and when he had seen that the old man was comfortable,

still without a word he passed out again into the central passage to see the last of Rome.

The exitdoor had now been snapped, and as Percy stood at the opposite window looking out at the high wall

that would presently sink beneath him, throughout the whole of the delicate frame began to run the vibration

of the electric engine. There was the murmur of talking somewhere, a heavy step shook the floor, a bell

clanged again, twice, and a sweet windchord sounded. Again it sounded; the vibration ceased, and the edge

of the high wall against the tawny sky on which he had fixed his eyes, sank suddenly like a dropped bar, and

he staggered a little in his place. A moment later the dome rose again, and itself sank, the city, a fringe of

towers and a mass of dark roofs, pricked with light, span like a whirlpool; the jewelled stars themselves

sprang this way and that; and with one more long cry the marvellous machine righted itself, beat with its

wings, and settled down, with the note of the flying air passing through rising shrillness into vibrant silence,

Further and further sank the city behind; it was a patch now: greyness on black. The sky seemed to grow

more huge and all containing as the earth relapsed into darkness; it glowed like a vast dome of wonderful

glass, darkening even as it glowed; and as Percy dropped his eyes once more round the extreme edge of the

car the city was but a line and a bubblea line and a swellinga line, and nothingness.

"Tell me again," said the old Cardinal, when the two were settled down opposite to one another, and the

"This man? He was secretary to Oliver Brand, one of our politicians. He fetched me to old Mrs. Brand's

deathbed, and lost his place in consequence. He is in journalism now. He is perfectly honest. No, he is not a

"I know nothing of them, except that they are a desperate set. They have enough faith to act, but not enough

to be patient. . . . I suppose they thought this man would sympathise. But unfortunately he has a conscience,

and he also sees that any attempt of this kind would be the last straw on the back of toleration. Eminence, do

"Eminence, it is a vast plot. It has been simmering for months. There have been meetings every week. They

have kept the secret marvellously. Your Germans only delayed that the blow might be more complete. And

"I went to him as soon as mass was over. He withdrew all opposition, and sent for you. It is our one chance,

"I have no idea, but I can think of nothing else. I shall go straight to the Archbishop and tell him all. We

arrive, I believe, at three o'clock, and you in Berlin about seven, I suppose, by German time. The function is

fixed for eleven. By eleven, then, we shall have done all that is possible. The Government will know, and

they will know, too, that we are innocent in Rome. I imagine they will cause it to be announced that the

CardinalProtector and the Archbishop, with his coadjutors, will be present in the sacristies. They will double

every guard; they will parade volors overheadand thenwell! in God's hands be the rest."

"Just so. If all is clear, they intend dropping the explosive from above; if not, at least three men have offered

to sacrifice themselves by taking it into the Abbey themselves. . . . And you, Eminence?"

"My programme is yours," he said. "Eminence, have you considered the effect in either case? If, nothing

"If nothing happens we shall be accused of a fraud, of seeking to advertise ourselves. If anything

happenswell, we shall all go before God together. Pray God it may be the second," he added passionately.

There fell a silence between the two, in which no sound was heard but the faint untiring vibration of the

screw, and the sudden cough of a man in the next compartment. Percy leaned his head wearily on his hand,

The earth was now dark beneath theman immense emptiness; above, the huge engulfing sky was still

faintly luminous, and through the high frosty mist through which they moved stars glimmered now and again,

"It will be cold among the Alps," murmured Percy. Then he broke off. "And I have not one shred of

"Eminence," said the German suddenly, staring straight into his face, "the likeness is extraordinary."

"It seems to me that God means something," murmured the German heavily, still staring at him.

Again there was silence. A chaplain looked in through the glazed door, a homely, blueeyed German, and

"Eminence," said the old man abruptly, "there is surely more to speak of. Plans to be made."

"There are no plans to be made," he said. "We know nothing but the factno namesnothing. Wewe are

like children in a tiger's cage. And one of us has just made a gesture in the tiger's face."

It was curious how Percy took the lead. He had worn his scarlet for about three months, and his companion

for twelve years; yet it was the younger who dictated plans and arranged. He was scarcely conscious of its

strangeness, however. Ever since the shocking news of the morning, when a new mine had been sprung under

the shaking Church, and he had watched the stately ceremonial, the gorgeous splendour, the dignified,

tranquil movements of the Pope and his court, with a secret that burned his heart and brainabove all, since

that quick interview in which old plans had been reversed and a startling decision formed, and a blessing

given and received, and a farewell looked not utteredall done in halfanhourhis whole nature had

concentrated itself into one keen tense force, like a coiled spring. He felt power tingling to his fingertips

power and the dullness of an immense despair. Every prop had been cut, every brace severed; he, the City of

Rome, the Catholic Church, the very supernatural itself, seemed to hang now on one single thingthe Finger

He was going now to one of two thingsignominy or death. There was no third thingunless, indeed, the

conspirators were actually taken with their instruments upon them. But that was impossible. Either they

would refrain, knowing that God's ministers would fall with them, and in that case there would be the

ignominy of a detected fraud, of a miserable attempt to win credit. Or they would not refrain; they would

count the death of a Cardinal and a few bishops a cheap price to pay for revenge and in that casewell,

there was Death and Judgement. But Percy had ceased to fear. No ignominy could be greater than that which

he already borethe ignominy of loneliness and discredit. And death could be nothing but sweetit would

The other, with a little gesture of apology, took out his office book presently, and began to read.

Percy looked at him with an immense envy. Ah! if only he were as old as that! He could bear a year or two

more of this misery, but not fifty years, he thought. It was an almost endless vista that (even if things went

well) opened before him, of continual strife, selfrepression, energy, misrepresentation from his enemies.

The Church was sinking further every day. What if this new spasm of fervour were no more than the dying

flare of faith? How could he bear that? He would have to see the tide of atheism rise higher and more

triumphant every day; Felsenburgh had given it an impetus of whose end there was no prophesying. Never

before had a single man wielded the full power of democracy. Then once more he looked forward to the

morrow. Oh! if it could but end in death! . . . Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur! . . .

It was no good; it was cowardly to think in this fashion. After all, God was GodHe takes up the isles as a

Percy took out his office book, found Prime and St. Silvester, signed himself with the cross, and began to

pray. A minute later the two chaplains slipped in once more, and sat down; and all was silent, save for the

It was about nineteen o'clock that the ruddy English conductor looked in at the doorway, waking Percy from

"Dinner will be served in halfanhour, gentlemen," he said (speaking Esperanto, as the rule was on

He shut the door and went out, and the sound of closing doors came down the corridor as he made the same

There were no passengers to descend at Turin, then, reflected Percy; and no doubt a wireless message had

been received that there were none to come on board either. That was good news: it would give him more

time in London. It might even enable Cardinal Steinmann to catch an earlier volor from Paris to Berlin; but

he was not sure how they ran. It was a pity that the German had not been able to catch the thirteen o'clock

from Rome to Berlin direct. So he calculated, in a kind of superficial insensibility.

He stood up presently to stretch himself. Then he passed out and along the corridor to the lavatory to wash his

He became fascinated by the view as he stood before the basin at the rear of the car, for even now they were

passing over Turin. It was a blur of light, vivid and beautiful, that shone beneath him in the midst of this gulf

of darkness, sweeping away southwards into the gloom as the car sped on towards the Alps. How little, he

thought, seemed this great city seen from above; and yet, how mighty it was! It was from that glimmer,

already five miles behind, that Italy was controlled; in one of these dolls' houses of which he had caught but a

glimpse, men sat in council over souls and bodies, and abolished God, and smiled at His Church. And God

allowed it all, and made no sign. It was there that Felsenburgh had been, a month or two agoFelsenburgh,

A few minutes later, the four ecclesiastics were sitting at their round table in a little screened compartment of

the diningroom in the bows of the airship. It was an excellent dinner, served, as usual, from the kitchen in

the bowels of the volor, and rose, course by course, with a smooth click, into the centre of the table. There

was a bottle of red wine to each diner, and both table and chairs swung easily to the very slight motion of the

ship. But they did not talk much, for there was only one subject possible to the two cardinals, and the

It was growing cold now, and even the hotair footrests did not quite compensate for the deathly iciness of

the breath that began to stream down from the Alps, which the ship was now approaching at a slight incline.

It was necessary to rise at least nine thousand feet from the usual level, in order to pass the frontier of the

Mont Cenis at a safe angle; and at the same time it was necessary to go a little slower over the Alps

themselves, owing to the extreme rarity of the air, and the difficulty in causing the screw to revolve

"There will be clouds tonight," said a voice clear and distinct from the passage, as the door swung slightly to

His chaplain dutifully went after him, leaving his own dinner unfinished, and Percy was left alone with Father

He finished his wine, ate a couple of figs, and then sat staring out through the plateglass window in front.

The front of the car consisted of three divisions, in the centre of one of which stood the steersman, his eyes

looking straight ahead, and his hands upon the wheel. On either side of him, separated from him by

aluminium walls, was contrived a narrow slip of a compartment, with a long curved window at the height of a

man's eyes, through which a magnificent view could be obtained. It was to one of these that Percy went,

passing along the corridor, and seeing through halfopened doors other parties still over their wine. He

He had crossed the Alps three times before in his life, and well remembered the extraordinary effect they had

had on him, especially as he had once seen them from a great altitude upon a clear dayan eternal,

immeasurable sea of white ice, broken by hummocks and wrinkles that from below were soaring peaks

named and reverenced; and, beyond, the spherical curve of the earth's edge that dropped in a haze of air into

unutterable space. But this time they seemed more amazing than ever, and he looked out on them with the

The car was now ascending rapidly towards the pass up across the huge tumbled slopes, ravines, and cliffs

that lie like outworks of the enormous wall. Seen from this great height they were in themselves

comparatively insignificant, but they at least suggested the vastness of the bastions of which they were no

more than buttresses. As Percy turned, he could see the moonless sky alight with frosty stars, and the dimness

of the illumination made the scene even more impressive; but as he turned again, there was a change. The

vast air about him seemed now to be perceived through frosted glass. The velvet blackness of the pine forests

had faded to heavy grey, the pale glint of water and ice seen and gone again in a moment, the monstrous

nakedness of rock spires and slopes, rising towards him and sliding away again beneath with a crawling

motionall these had lost their distinctness of outline, and were veiled in invisible white. As he looked yet

higher to right and left the sight became terrifying, for the giant walls of rock rushing towards him, the huge

grotesque shapes towering on all sides, ran upward into a curtain of cloud visible only from the dancing

radiance thrown upon it by the brilliantly lighted car. Even as he looked, two straight fingers of splendour,

resembling horns, shot out, as the bow searchlights were turned on; and the car itself, already travelling at

halfspeed, dropped to quarterspeed, and began to sway softly from side to side as the huge airplanes beat

the mist through which they moved, and the antenn� of light pierced it. Still up they went, and on yet swift

enough to let Percy see one great pinnacle rear itself, elongate, sink down into a cruel needle, and vanish into

nothingness a thousand feet below. The motion grew yet more nauseous, as the car moved up at a sharp angle

preserving its level, simultaneously rising, advancing and swaying. Once, hoarse and sonorous, an unfrozen

torrent roared like a beast, it seemed within twenty yards, and was dumb again on the instant. Now, too, the

horns began to cry, long, lamentable hootings, ringing sadly in that echoing desolation like the wail of

wandering souls; and as Percy, awed beyond feeling, wiped the gathering moisture from the glass, and stared

again, it appeared as if he floated now, motionless except for the slight rocking beneath his feet, in a world of

whiteness, as remote from earth as from heaven, poised in hopeless infinite space, blind, alone, frozen, lost in

Once, as he stared, a huge whiteness moved towards him through the veil, slid slowly sideways and down,

disclosing, as the car veered, a gigantic slope smooth as oil, with one cluster of black rock cutting it like the

Then, as once more the car cried aloud like a lost sheep, there answered it, it seemed scarcely ten yards away,

first one windy scream of dismay, another and another; a clang of bells, a chorus broke out; and the air was

There was one horrible instant before a clang of a bell, the answering scream, and a whirling motion showed

that the steersman was alert. Then like a stone the car dropped, and Percy clutched at the rail before him to

steady the terrible sensation of falling into emptiness. He could hear behind him the crash of crockery, the

bumping of heavy bodies, and as the car again checked on its wide wings, a rush of footsteps broke out and a

cry or two of dismay. Outside, but high and far away, the hooting went on; the air was full of it, and in a flash

he recognised that it could not be one or ten or twenty cars, but at least a hundred that had answered the call,

and that somewhere overhead were hooting and flapping. The invisible ravines and cliffs on all sides took up

the crying; long wails whooped and moaned and died amid a clash of bells, further and further every instant,

but now in every direction, behind, above, in front, and far to right and left. Once more the car began to

move, sinking in a long still curve towards the face of the mountain; and as it checked, and began to sway

again on its huge wings, he turned to the door, seeing as he did so, through the cloudy windows in the glow

of light a spire of rock not thirty feet below rising from the mist, and one smooth shoulder of snow curving

Within, the car shewed brutal signs of the sudden check: the doors of the dining compartments, as he passed

along, were flung wide; glasses, plates, pools of wine and tumbled fruit, rolled to and fro on the heaving

floors; one man, sitting helplessly on the ground, rolled vacant, terrified eyes upon the priest. He glanced in at

the door through which he had come just now, and Father Corkran staggered up from his seat and came

towards him, reeling at the motion underfoot; simultaneously there was a rush from the opposite door, where

a party of Americans had been dining; and as Percy, beckoning with his head, turned again to go down to the

sternend of the ship, he found the narrow passage blocked with the crowd that had run out. A babble of

talking and cries made questions impossible; and Percy, with his chaplain behind him, gripped the aluminium

Halfway down the passage, as he pushed and struggled, a voice made itself heard above the din; and in the

momentary silence that followed, again sounded the faraway crying of the volors overhead.

Then the crowd melted as the conductor came through, red faced and determined, and Percy, springing into

The Cardinal seemed none the worse. He had been asleep, he explained, and saved himself in time from

Father Bechlin related how he had actually seen one of the troop of volors within five yards of the window; it

was crowded with faces, he said, from stem to stern. Then it had soared suddenly, and vanished in whorls of

"They are enquiring, I understand," said Father Bechlin again. "The conductor was at his instrument just

There was nothing to be seen from the windows now. Only, as Percy stared out, still dazed with the shock, he

saw the cruel needle of rock wavering beneath as if seen through water, and the huge shoulder of snow

swaying softly up and down. It was quieter outside. It appeared that the flock had passed, only somewhere

from an infinite height still sounded a fitful wailing, as if a lonely bird were wandering, lost in space.

He had no theoryno suggestion. Yet the matter seemed an ominous one. It was unheard of that an

encounter with a hundred volors should take place, and he wondered why they were going southwards. Again

the name of Felsenburgh came to his mind. What if that sinister man were still somewhere overhead?

A bell clanged, a vibration tingled underfoot, and then, soft as a flake of snow, the great ship began to rise, its

movement perceptible only by the sudden drop and, vanishing of the spire of rock at which Percy still stared.

Slowly the snowfield too began to flit downwards, a black cleft whisked smoothly into sight from above, and

disappeared again below, and a moment later once more the car seemed poised in white space as it climbed

the slope of air down which it had dropped just now. Again the windchord rent the atmosphere; and this

time the answer was as faint and distant as a cry from another world. The speed quickened, and the steady

throb of the screw began to replace the swaying motion of the wings. Again came the hoot, wild and echoing

through the barren wilderness of rock walls beneath, and again with a sudden impulse the car soared. It was

going in great circles now, cautious as a cat, climbing, climbing, punctuating the ascent with cry after cry,

searching the blind air for dangers. Once again a vast white slope came into sight, illuminated by the glare

from the windows, sinking ever more and more swiftly, receding and approachinguntil for one instant a

jagged line of rocks grinned like teeth through the mist, dropped away and vanished, and with a clash of

bells, and a last scream of warning, the throb of the screw passed from a whirr to a rising note, and the note to

stillness, as the huge ship, clear at last of the frontier peaks, shook out her wings steady once more, and set

out for her humming flight through space. . . . Whatever it was, was behind them now, vanished into the thick

There was a sound of talking from the interior of the car, hasty, breathless voices, questioning, exclaiming,

and the authoritative terse answer of the guard. A step came along outside, and Percy sprang to meet it, but,

as he laid his hand on the door, it was pushed from without, and to his astonishment the English guard came

He stood there, looking strangely at the four priests, with compressed lips and anxious eyes.

"All right, gentlemen. But I'm thinking you'd better descend at Paris. I know who you are, gentlemenand

"Oh! the news, gentlemen. Well, it was two hundred cars going to Rome. There is a Catholic plot, sir,

IT was nearly sixteen o'clock on the same day, the last day of the year, that Mabel went into the little church

The dark was falling softly layer on layer; across the roofs to westward burned the smouldering fire of the

She had slept a little in her chair that afternoon, and had awakened with that strange cleansed sense of spirit

and mind that sometimes follows such sleep. She wondered later how she could have slept at such a time, and

above all, how it was that she had perceived nothing of that cloud of fear and fury that even now was falling

over town and country alike. She remembered afterwards an unusual busyness on the broad tracks beneath

her as she had looked out on them from her windows, and an unusual calling of horns and whistles; but she

thought nothing of it, and passed down an hour later for a meditation in the church.

She had grown to love the quiet place, and came in often like this to steady her thoughts and concentrate them

on the significance that lay beneath the surface of life,the huge principles upon which all lived, and which

so plainly were the true realities. Indeed, such devotion was becoming almost recognised amongst certain

classes of people. Addresses were delivered now and then; little books were being published as guides to the

She went today to her usual seat, sat down, folded her hands, looked for a minute or two upon the old stone

sanctuary, the white image and the darkening window. Then she closed her eyes and began to think,

First she concentrated her attention on herself, detaching it from all that was merely external and transitory,

withdrawing it inwards . . . inwards, until she found that secret spark which, beneath all frailties and

The second consisted in an act of the intellect followed by one of the imagination. All men possessed that

spark, she considered. . . . Then she sent out her powers, sweeping with the eyes of her mind the seething

world, seeing beneath the light and dark of the two hemispheres, the countless millions of

mankindchildren coming into the world, old men leaving it, the mature rejoicing in it and their own

strength. Back through the ages she looked, through those centuries of crime and blindness, as the race rose

through savagery and superstition to a knowledge of themselves; on through the ages yet to come, as

generation followed generation to some climax whose perfection, she told herself, she could not fully

comprehend because she was not of it. Yet, she told herself again, that climax had already been born; the

Then by a third and vivid act she realized the unity of all, the central fire of which each spark was but a

radiationthat vast passionless divine being, realizing Himself up through these centuries, one yet many,

Him whom men had called God, now no longer unknown, but recognised as the transcendent total of

themselvesHim who now, with the coming of the new Saviour, had stirred and awakened and shown

And there she stayed, contemplating the vision of her mind, detaching now this virtue, now that for particular

assimilation, dwelling on her deficiencies, seeing in the whole the fulfilment of all aspirations, the sum of all

for which men had hoped that Spirit of Peace, so long hindered yet generated too perpetually by the

passions of the world, forced into outline and being by the energy of individual lives, realizing itself in pulse

after pulse, dominant at last, serene, manifest and triumphant. There she stayed, losing the sense of

individuality, merging it by a long sustained effort of the will, drinking, as she thought, long breaths of the

Some sound, she supposed afterwards, disturbed her, and she opened her eyes; and there before her lay the

quiet pavement, glimmering through the dusk, the step of the sanctuary, the rostrum on the right, and the

peaceful spate of darkening air above the white Motherfigure and against the tracery of the old window. It

was here that men had worshipped Jesus, that blood stained Man of Sorrow, who had borne, even on His

own confession, not peace but a sword. Yet they had knelt, those blind and hopeless Christians. . . . Ah! the

pathos of it all, the despairing acceptance of any creed that would account for sorrow, the wild worship of any

And again came the sound, striking across her peace, though as yet she did not understand why.

It was from without that the sound had come, that strange murmur, that rose and fell again as she listened.

She stood up, her heart quickening a littleonly once before had she heard such a sound, once before, in a

She stepped swiftly out of her seat, passed down the aisle, drew back the curtains beneath the west window,

The street, from where she looked over the railings that barred the entrance to the church, seemed unusually

empty and dark. To right and left stretched the houses, overhead the darkening sky was flushed with rose; but

it seemed as if the public lights had been forgotten. There was not a living being to be seen.

She had put her hand on the latch of the gate, to open it and go out, when a sudden patter of footsteps made

her hesitate; and the next instant a child appeared panting, breathless and terrified, running with her hands

"They're coming, they're coming," sobbed the child, seeing the face looking at her. Then she clung to the

Mabel lifted the latch in an instant; the child sprang in, ran to the door and beat against it, then turning, seized

But the child hid her face, drawing at the kindly skirts; and the next moment came the roar of voices and the

It was not more than a few seconds before the heralds of that grim procession came past. First came a flying

squadron of children, laughing, terrified, fascinated, screaming, turning their heads as they ran, with a dog or

two yelping amongst them, and a few women drifting sideways along the pavements. A face of a man, Mabel

saw as she glanced in terror upwards, had appeared at the windows opposite, pale and eagersome invalid

no doubt dragging himself to see. One groupa welldressed man in grey, a couple of women carrying

babies, a solemnfaced boyhalted immediately before her on the other side of the railings, all talking, none

listening, and these too turned their faces to the road on the left, up which every instant the clamour and

trampling grew. Yet she could not ask. Her lips moved; but no sound came from them. She was one incarnate

apprehension. Across her intense fixity moved pictures of no importanceof Oliver as he had been at

breakfast, of her own bedroom with its softened paper, of the dark sanctuary and the white figure on which

They were coming thicker now; a troop of young men with their arms linked swayed into sight, all talking or

crying aloud, none listeningall across the roadway, and behind them surged the crowd, like a wave in a

stonefenced channel, male scarcely distinguishable from female in that pack of faces, and under that sky

that grew darker every instant. Except for the noise, which Mabel now hardly noticed, so thick and incessant

it was, so complete her concentration in the sense of sight except for that, it might have been, from its

suddenness and overwhelming force, some mob of phantoms trooping on a sudden out of some vista of the

spiritual world visible across an open space, and about to vanish again in obscurity. That empty street was

full now on this side and that so far as she could see; the young men were gonerunning or walking she

hardly knewround the corner to the right, and the entire space was one stream of heads and faces, pressing

so fiercely that the group at the railings were detached like weeds and drifted too, sideways, clutching at the

bars, and swept away too and vanished. And all the while the child tugged and tore at her skirts.

Certain things began to appear now above the heads of the crowdobjects she could not distinguish in the

failing light poles, and fantastic shapes, fragments of stuff resembling banners, moving as if alive, turning

Faces, distorted with passion, looked at her from time to time as the moving show went past, open mouths

cried at her; but she hardly saw them. She was watching those strange emblems, straining her eyes through

the dusk, striving to distinguish the battered broken shapes, halfguessing, yet afraid to guess.

Then, on a sudden, from the hidden lamps beneath the eaves, light leapt into beingthat strong, sweet,

familiar light, generated by the great engines underground that, in the passion of that catastrophic day, all

men had forgotten; and in a moment all changed from a mob of phantoms and shapes into a pitiless reality of

Before her moved a great rood, with a figure upon it, of which one arm hung from the nailed hand, swinging

And next after it came the naked body of a child, impaled, white and ruddy, the head fallen upon the breast,

And next the figure of a man, hanging by the neck, dressed, it seemed, in a kind of black gown and cape, with

For himself, what he had heard and seen that day was still too vivid and too imminent for him to judge of it

coolly. He had seen, from his windows in Whitehall, Parliament Square filled with a mob the like of which

had not been known in England since the days of Christianitya mob full of a fury that could scarcely draw

its origin except from sources beyond the reach of sense. Thrice during the hours that followed the

publication of the Catholic plot and the outbreak of moblaw he had communicated with the Prime Minister

asking whether nothing could be done to allay the tumult; and on both occasions he had received the doubtful

answer that what could be done would be done, that force was inadmissible at present; but that the police

As regarded the despatch of the volors to Rome, he had assented by silence, as had the rest of the Council.

That was, Snowford had said, a judicial punitive act, regrettable but necessary. Peace, in this instance, could

not be secured except on terms of waror rather, since war was obsoleteby the sternness of justice. These

Catholics had shown themselves the avowed enemies of society; very well, then Society must defend itself, at

As he passed in one of the Government volors over London on his way home, he had caught more than one

glimpse of what was proceeding beneath him. The streets were as bright as day, shadowless and clear in the

white light, and every roadway was a crawling serpent. From beneath rose up a steady roar of voices, soft and

woolly, punctuated by cries. From here and there ascended the smoke of burning; and once, as he flitted over

one of the great squares to the south of Battersea, he had seen as it were a scattered squadron of ants running

as if in fear or pursuit. . . . He knew what was happening. . . . Well, after all, man was not yet perfectly

He did not like to think of what awaited him at home. Once, about five hours earlier, he had listened to his

wife's voice through the telephone, and what he had heard had nearly caused him to leave all and go to her.

As he came into the sittingroom, there was no sound, except that faraway hum from the seething streets

below. The room seemed strangely dark and cold; the only light that entered was through one of the windows

from which the curtains were withdrawn, and, silhouetted against the luminous sky beyond, was the upright

He pressed the knob of the electric light; and Mabel turned slowly towards him. She was in her daydress,

with a cloak thrown over her shoulders, and her face was almost as that of a stranger. It was perfectly

colourless, her lips were compressed and her eyes full of an emotion which he could not interpret. It might

For a moment he did not trust himself to speak. He passed across to the window, closed it and drew the

She submitted to be drawn towards the sofa, but there was no response to his touch. He sat down and looked

Still she looked at him. There was in her pose that rigidity that actors simulate; yet he knew it for the real

thing. He had seen that silence once or twice before in the presence of a horroronce at any rate, at the sight

She obeyed him mechanicallysat, and still stared on him. In the silence once more that soft roar rose and

died from the invisible world of tumult outside the windows. Within here all was quiet. He knew perfectly

that two things strove within her, her loyalty to her faith and her hatred of those crimes in the name of justice.

As he looked on her he saw that these two were at death grips, that hatred was prevailing, and that she herself

was little more than a passive battlefield. Then, as with a long drawn howl of a wolf, there surged and sank

the voices of the mob a mile away, the tension broke. . . . She threw herself forward towards him, he caught

her by the wrists, and so she rested, clasped in his arms, her face and bosom on his knees, and her whole body

For a full minute neither spoke. Oliver understood well enough, yet at present he had no words. He only drew

her a little closer to himself, kissed her hair two or three times, and settled himself to hold her. He began to

Then she raised her flushed face for an instant, looked at him passionately, dropped her head again and began

It was the ruin of all her hopes, she sobbed, the end of her religion. Let her die, die and have done with it! It

was all gone, gone, swept away in this murderous passion of the people of her faith . . . they were no better

than Christians, after all, as fierce as the men on whom they avenged themselves, as dark as though the

Saviour, Julian, had never come; it was all lost . . . War and Passion and Murder had returned to the body

from which she had thought them gone for ever. . . . The burning churches, the hunted Catholics, the raging

of the streets on which she had looked that day, the bodies of the child and the priest carried on poles, the

burning churches and convents. . . . All streamed out, incoherent, broken by sobs, details of horror,

lamentations, reproaches, interpreted by the writhing of her head and hands upon his knees. The collapse was

He put his hands again beneath her arms and raised her. He was worn out by his work, yet he knew he must

quiet her. This was more serious than any previous crisis. Yet he knew her power of recovery.

"Sit down my darling," he said. "There . . . give me your hands. Now listen to me."

He made really an admirable defence, for it was what he had been repeating to himself all day.

Men were not yet perfect, he said; there ran in their veins the blood of men who for twenty centuries had been

Christians. . . . There must be no despair; faith in man was of the very essence of religion, faith in man's best

self, in what he would become, not in what at present he actually was. They were at the beginning of the new

religion, not in its maturity; there must be sourness in the young fruit. . . . Consider, too, the provocation!

Remember the appalling crime that these Catholics had contemplated; they had set themselves to strike the

"My darling," he said, "men are not changed in an instant. What if those Christians had succeeded! . . . I

condemn it all as strongly as you. I saw a couple of newspapers this afternoon that are as wicked as anything

that the Christians have ever done. They exulted in all these crimes. It will throw the movement back ten

years. . . . Do you think that there are not thousands like yourself who hate and detest this violence? . . . But

what does faith mean, except that we know that mercy will prevail? Faith, patience and hopethese are our

He spoke with passionate conviction, his eyes fixed on hers, in a fierce endeavour to give her his own

confidence, and to reassure the remnants of his own doubtfulness. It was true that he too hated what she

hated, yet he saw things that she did not. . . . Well, well, he told himself, he must remember that she was a

The look of frantic horror passed slowly out of her eyes, giving way to acute misery as he talked, and as his

"But the volors," she cried, "the volors! That is deliberate; that is not the work of the mob."

"My darling, it is no more deliberate than the other. We are all human, we are all immature. Yes, the Council

permitted it, . . . permitted it, remember. The German Government, too, had to yield. We must tame nature

He talked again for a few minutes, repeating his arguments, soothing, reassuring, encouraging; and he saw

"Dear; I said nothing, either for it or against. I tell you that if we had forbidden it there would have been yet

more murder, and the people would have lost their rulers. We were passive, since we could do nothing."

"Ah! but it would have been better to die. . . . Oh! Oliver, let me die at least! I cannot bear it."

"Sweetheart," he said gravely, "cannot you trust me a little? If I could tell you all that passed today, you

would understand. But trust me that I am not heartless. And what of Julian Felsenburgh?"

For a moment he saw hesitation in her eyes; her loyalty to him and her loathing of all that had happened

strove within her. Then once again loyalty prevailed, the name of Felsenburgh weighed down the balance,

"Oh, Oliver," she said, "I know I trust you. But I am so weak, and all is so terrible. And He so strong and

It struck midnight from the clocktower a mile away as they yet sat and talked. She was still tremulous from

the struggle; but she looked at him smiling, still holding his hands. He saw that the reaction was upon her in

"The New Year, my husband," she said, and rose as she said it, drawing him after her.

She kissed him, and drew back, still holding his hands, looking at him with bright tearful eyes.

"Oliver," she cried again, "I must tell you this. . . . Do you know what I thought before you came?"

He shook his head, staring at her greedily. How sweet she was! He felt her grip tighten on his hands.

"I thought I could not bear it," she whispered"that I must end it allah! you know what I mean."

"It is all over! it is all over," she cried. "Ah! do not look like that! I could not tell you if it was not."

As their lips met again there came the vibration of an electric bell from the next room, and Oliver, knowing

what it meant, felt even in that instant a tremor shake his heart. He loosed her hands, and still smiled at her.

"It is all well," she said; and again the impatient bell tingled. "Go, Oliver; I will wait here."

A minute later he was back again, with a strange look on his white face, and his lips compressed. He came

straight up to her, taking her once more by the hands, and looking steadily into her steady eyes. In the hearts

of both of them resolve and faith were holding down the emotion that was not yet dead. He drew a long

Her lips moved; and that deadly paleness lay on her cheeks. He gripped her firmly.

"Listen," he said. "You must face it. It is over. Rome is gone. Now we must build something better."

LONG before dawn on the first morning of the New Year the approaches to the Abbey were already blocked.

Victoria Street, Great George Street, Whitehalleven Millbank Street itself were full and motionless.

Broad Sanctuary, divided by the low walled motortrack, was itself cut into great blocks and wedges of

people by the ways which the police kept open for the passage of important personages, and Palace Yard was

kept rigidly clear except for one island, occupied by a stand which was itself full from top to bottom and end

to end. All roofs and parapets which commanded a view of the Abbey were also one mass of heads.

It was not known at exactly what hour the tumult had steadied itself to definite purpose, except to a few

weary controllers of the temporary turnstiles which had been erected the evening before. It had been

announced a week previously that, in consideration of the enormous demand for seats, all persons who

presented their worshipticket at an authorised office, and followed the directions issued by the police, would

be accounted as having fulfilled the duties of citizenship in that respect, and it was generally made known

that it was the Government's intention to toll the great bell of the Abbey at the beginning of the ceremony and

at the incensing of the image, during which period silence must be as far as possible preserved by all those

London had gone completely mad on the announcement of the Catholic plot on the afternoon before. The

secret had leaked out about fourteen o'clock, an hour after the betrayal of the scheme to Mr. Snowford; and

practically all commercial activities had ceased on the instant. By fifteenandahalf all stores were closed,

the Stock Exchange, the City offices, the West End establishmentsall had as by irresistible impulse

suspended business, and from within two hours after noon until nearly midnight, when the police had been

adequately reinforced and enabled to deal with the situation, whole mobs and armies of men, screaming

squadrons of women, troops of frantic youths, had paraded the streets, howling, denouncing, and murdering.

It was not known how many deaths had taken place, but there was scarcely a street without the signs of

outrage. Westminster Cathedral had been sacked, every altar overthrown, indescribable indignities performed

there. An unknown priest had scarcely been able to consume the Blessed Sacrament before he was seized and

throttled; the Archbishop with eleven priests and two bishops had been hanged at the north end of the church,

thirtyfive convents had been destroyed, St. George's Cathedral burned to the ground; and it was reported

even, by the evening papers, that it was believed that, for the first time since the introduction of Christianity

into England, there was not one Tabernacle left within twenty miles of the Abbey. "London," explained the

New People, in huge headlines, "was cleansed at last of dingy and fantastic nonsense."

It was known at about fifteenandahalf o'clock that at least seventy volors had left for Rome, and

halfanhour later that Berlin had reinforced them by sixty more. At midnight, fortunately at a time when the

police had succeeded in shepherding the crowds into some kind of order, the news was flashed on to cloud

and placard alike that the grim work was done, and that Rome had ceased to exist. The early morning papers

added a few details, pointing out, of course, the coincidence of the fall with the close of the year, relating

how, by an astonishing chance, practically all the heads of the hierarchy throughout the world had been

assembled in the Vatican which had been the first object of attack, and how these, in desperation, it was

supposed, had refused to leave the City when the news came by wireless telegraphy that the punitive force

was on its way. There was not a building left in Rome; the entire place, Leonine City, Trastevere, suburbs

everything was gone; for the volors, poised at an immense height, had parcelled out the City beneath them

with extreme care, before beginning to drop the explosives; and five minutes after the first roar from beneath

and the first burst of smoke and flying fragments, the thing was finished. The volors had then dispersed in

every direction, pursuing the motor and rail tracks along which the population had attempted to escape so

soon as the news was known; and it was supposed that not less than thirty thousand belated fugitives had

been annihilated by this foresight. It was true, remarked the Studio, that many treasures of incalculable value

had been destroyed, but this was a cheap price to pay for the final and complete extermination of the Catholic

pest. "There comes a point," it remarked, "when destruction is the only cure for a vermininfested house,"

and it proceeded to observe that now that the Pope with the entire College of Cardinals, all the exRoyalties

of Europe, all the most frantic religionists from the inhabited world who had taken up their abode in the

"Holy City" were gone at a stroke, a recrudescence of the superstition was scarcely to be feared elsewhere.

Yet care must even now be taken against any relenting. Catholics (if any were left bold enough to attempt it)

must no longer be allowed to take any kind of part in the life of any civilized country. So far as messages had

come in from other countries, there was but one chorus of approval at what had been done.

A few papers regretted the incident, or rather the spirit which had lain behind it. It was not seemly, they said,

that Humanitarians should have recourse to violence; yet not one pretended that anything could be felt but

thanksgiving for the general result. Ireland, too, must be brought into line; they must not dally any longer.

It was now brightening slowly towards dawn, and beyond the river through the faint wintry haze a crimson

streak or two began to burn. But all was surprisingly quiet, for this crowd, tired out with an allnight watch,

chilled by the bitter cold, and intent on what lay before them, had no energy left for useless effort. Only from

packed square and street and lane went up a deep, steady murmur like the sound of the sea a mile away,

broken now and again by the hoot and clang of a motor and the rush of its passage as it tore eastwards round

the circle through Broad Sanctuary and vanished citywards. And the light broadened and the electric globes

sickened and paled, and the haze began to clear a little, showing, not the fresh blue that had been hoped for

from the cold of the night, but a high, colourless vault of cloud, washed with grey and faint rose colour, as

At nine o'clock the excitement rose a degree higher. The police between Whitehall and the Abbey, looking

from their high platforms strung along the route, whence they kept watch and controlled the wire palisadings,

showed a certain activity, and a minute later a policecar whirled through the square between the palings, and

vanished round the Abbey towers. The crowd murmured and shuffled and began to expect, and a cheer was

raised when a moment later four more cars appeared, bearing the Government insignia, and disappeared in

the same direction. These were the officials, they said, going to Dean's Yard, where the procession would

At about a quarter to ten the crowd at the west end of Victoria Street began to raise its voice in a song, and by

the time that was over, and the bells had burst out from the Abbey towers, a rumour had somehow made its

entrance that Felsenburgh was to be present at the ceremony. There was no assignable reason for this, neither

then nor afterwards; in fact, the Evening Star declared that it was one more instance of the astonishing

instinct of human beings en masse; for it was not until an hour later that even the Government were made

aware of the facts. Yet the truth remained that at halfpast ten one continuous roar went up, drowning even

the brazen clamour of the bells, reaching round to Whitehall and the crowded pavements of Westminster

Bridge, demanding Julian Felsenburgh. Yet there had been absolutely no news of the President of Europe for

the last fortnight, beyond an entirely unsupported report that he was somewhere in the East.

And all the while the motors poured from all directions towards the Abbey and disappeared under the arch

into Dean's Yard, bearing those fortunate persons whose tickets actually admitted them to the church itself.

Cheers ran and rippled along the lines as the great men were recognisedLord Pemberton, Oliver Brand and

his wife, Mr. Caldecott, Maxwell, Snowford, with the European delegateseven melancholyfaced Mr.

Francis himself, the Government ceremoniarius, received a greeting. But by a quarter to eleven, when the

pealing bells paused, the stream had stopped, the barriers issued out to stop the roads, the wire palisadings

vanished, and the crowd for an instant, ceasing its roaring, sighed with relief at the relaxed pressure, and

surged out into the roadways. Then once more the roaring began for Julian Felsenburgh.

The sun was now high, still a copper disc, above the Victoria Tower, but paler than an hour ago; the

whiteness of the Abbey, the heavy greys of Parliament House, the ten thousand tints of houseroofs, heads,

A single bell tolled five minutes to the hour and the moments slipped by, until once more the bell stopped,

and to the ears of those within hearing of the great west doors came the first blare of the huge organ,

reinforced by trumpets. And then, as sudden and profound as the hush of death, there fell an enormous

As the fiveminutes bell began, sounding like a continuous windnote in the great vaults overhead, solemn

and persistent, Mabel drew a long breath and leaned back in her seat from the rigid position in which for the

last halfhour she had been staring out at the wonderful sight. She seemed to herself to have assimilated it at

last, to be herself once more, to have drunk her fill of the triumph and the beauty. She was as one who looks

From end to end and side to side the interior of the Abbey presented a great broken mosaic of human faces;

living slopes, walls, sections and curves. The south transept directly opposite to her, from pavement to rose

window, was one sheet of heads; the floor was paved with them, cut in two by the scarlet of the gangway

leading from the chapel of St. Faithon the right, the choir beyond the open space before the sanctuary was

a mass of white figures, scarved and surpliced; the high organ gallery, beneath which the screen had been

removed, was crowded with them, and, far down beneath, the dim nave stretched the same endless pale living

pavement to the shadow beneath the west window. Between every group of columns behind the choirstalls,

before her, to right, left, and behind, were platforms contrived in the masonry; and the exquisite roof,

fantracery and soaring capital, alone gave the eye an escape from humanity. The whole vast space was full,

it seemed, of delicate sunlight that streamed in from the artificial light set outside each window, and poured

the ruby and the purple and the blue from the old glass in long shafts of colour across the dusty air, and in

broken patches on the faces and dresses behind. The murmur of ten thousand voices filled the place,

supplying, it seemed, a solemn accompaniment to that melodious note that now pulsed above it. And finally,

more significant than all was the empty carpeted sanctuary at her feet, the enormous altar with its flight of

Mabel needed some such reassurance, for last night, until the coming of Oliver, had passed for her as a kind

of appalling waking dream. From the first shock of what she had seen outside the church, through those hours

of waiting, with the knowledge that this was the way in which the Spirit of Peace asserted its superiority, up

to that last moment when, in her husband's arms she had learned of the Fall of Rome, it had appeared to her

as if her new world had suddenly corrupted about her. It was incredible, she told herself, that this ravening

monster, dripping blood from claws and teeth, that had arisen roaring in the night, could be the Humanity that

had become her God. She had thought revenge and cruelty and slaughter to be the brood of Christian

superstition, dead and buried under the newborn angel of light, and now it seemed that the monsters yet

stirred and lived. All the evening she had sat, walked, lain about her quiet house with the horror heavy about

her, flinging open a window now and again in the icy air to listen with clenched hands to the cries and the

roarings of the mob that raged in the streets beneath, the clanks, the yells and the hoots of the motortrains

that tore up from the country to swell the frenzy of the cityto watch the red glow of fire, the volumes of

She had questioned, doubted, resisted her doubts, flung out frantic acts of faith, attempted to renew the

confidence that she attained in her meditation, told herself that traditions died slowly; she had knelt, crying

out to the spirit of peace that lay, as she knew so well, at the heart of man, though overwhelmed for the

moment by evil passion. A line or two ran in her head from one of the old Victorian poets:

She had even contemplated death, as she had told her husband the taking of her own life, in a great despair

with the world. Seriously she had thought of it; it was an escape perfectly in accord with her morality. The

useless and agonizing were put out of the world by common consent; the Euthanasia houses witnessed to it.

Then why not she? . . . For she could not bear it! . . . Then Oliver had come, she had fought her way back to

How sensible and quiet he had been, she was beginning to tell herself now, as the quiet influence of this huge

throng in this glorious place of worship possessed her once morehow reasonable in his explanation that

man was even now only convalescent and therefore liable to relapse. She had told herself that again and again

during the night, but it had been different when he had said so. His personality had once more prevailed; and

It was not until a quarter to eleven that she understood that the crowds outside were clamouring for him too,

and that knowledge reassured her yet further. They knew, then, these wild tigers, where their redemption lay;

they understood what was their ideal, even if they had not attained to it. Ah! if He were but here, there would

be no more question: the sullen waves would sink beneath His call of peace, the hazy clouds lift, the rumble

die to silence. But He was awayaway on some strange business. Well; He knew His work. He would

She had the good fortune to be alone in a crowd. Her neighbour, a grizzled old man with his daughters

beyond, was her only neighbour, and a stranger. At her left rose up the red covered barricade over which she

could see the sanctuary and the curtain; and her seat in the tribune, raised some eight feet above the floor,

removed her from any possibility of conversation. She was thankful for that: she did not want to talk; she

wanted only to control her faculties in silence, to reassert her faith, to look out over this enormous throng

gathered to pay homage to the great Spirit whom they had betrayed, to renew her own courage and

faithfulness. She wondered what the preacher would say, whether there would be any note of penitence.

Maternity was his subjectthat benign aspect of universal lifetenderness, love, quiet, receptive, protective

passion, the spirit that soothes rather than inspires, that busies itself with peaceful tasks, that kindles the lights

The bell stopped, and in the instant before the music began she heard, clear above the murmur within, the

roar of the crowds outside, who still demanded their God. Then, with a crash, the huge organ awoke, pierced

by the cry of the trumpets and the maddening throb of drums. There was no delicate prelude here, no slow

stirring of life rising through labyrinths of mystery to the climax of sighthere rather was fullorbed day,

the high noon of knowledge and power, the dayspring from on high, dawning in midheaven. Her heart

quickened to meet it, and her reviving confidence, still convalescent, stirred and smiled, as the tremendous

chords blared overhead, telling of triumph fullarmed. God was man, then, after alla God who last night

had faltered for an hour, but who rose again on this morning of a new year, scattering mists, dominant over

his own passion, allcompelling and allbeloved. God was man, and Felsenburgh his Incarnation! Yes, she

Then she saw how already the long procession was winding up beneath the screen, and by imperceptible art

the light grew yet more acutely beautiful. They were coming, then, those ministers of a pure worship; grave

men who knew in what they believed, and who, even if they did not at this moment thrill with feeling (for she

knew that in this respect her husband for one did not), yet believed the principles of this worship and

recognised their need of expression for the majority of mankindcoming slowly up in fours and pairs and

units, led by robed vergers, rippling over the steps, and emerging again into the coloured sunlight in all their

The sanctuary now held a figure or two. Anxiousfaced Mr. Francis, in his robes of office, came gravely

down the steps and stood awaiting the procession, directing with almost imperceptible motions his satellites

who hovered about the aisles ready to point this way and that to the advancing stream; and the westernmost

seats were already beginning to fill, when on a sudden she recognised that something had happened.

Just now the roaring of the mob outside had provided a kind of underbass to the music within, imperceptible

except to sub consciousness, but clearly discernible in its absence; and this absence was now a fact.

At first she thought that the signal of beginning worship had hushed them; and then, with an indescribable

thrill, she remembered that in all her knowledge only one thing had ever availed to quiet a turbulent crowd.

Yet she was not sure; it might be an illusion. Even now the mob might be roaring still, and she only deaf to it;

but again with an ecstasy that was very near to agony she perceived that the murmur of voices even within

the building had ceased, and that some great wave of emotion was stirring the sheets and slopes of faces

before her as a wind stirs wheat. A moment later, and she was on her feet, gripping the rail, with her heart

like an overdriven engine beating pulses of blood, furious and insistent, through every vein; for with a great

rushing surge that sounded like a sigh, heard even above the triumphant tumult overhead, the whole

Confusion seemed to break out in the orderly procession. She saw Mr. Francis run forward quickly,

gesticulating like a conductor, and at his signal the long line swayed forward, split, recoiled, and again slid

swiftly forward, breaking as it did so into twenty streams that poured along the seats and filled them in a

moment. Men ran and pushed, aprons flapped, hands beckoned, all without coherent words.

There was a knocking of feet, the crash of an overturned chair, and then, as if a god had lifted his hand for

quiet, the music ceased abruptly, sending a wild echo that swooned and died in a moment; a great sigh filled

its place, and, in the coloured sunshine that lay along the immense length of the gangway that ran open now

from west to east, far down in the distant nave, a single figure was seen advancing. (III)

What Mabel saw and heard and felt from eleven o'clock to halfanhour after noon on that first morning of

the New Year she could never adequately remember. For the time she lost the continuous consciousness of

self, the power of reflection, for she was still weak from her struggle; there was no longer in her the process

by which events are stored, labelled and recorded; she was no more than a being who observed as it were in

one long act, across which considerations played at uncertain intervals. Eyes and ear seemed her sole

She did not even know at what point her senses told her that this was Felsenburgh. She seemed to have

known it even before he entered, and she watched Him as in complete silence He came deliberately up the

red carpet, superbly alone, rising a step or two at the entrance of the choir, passing on and up before her. He

was in His English judicial dress of scarlet and black, but she scarcely noticed it. For her, too, no one else

existed but He; this vast assemblage was gone, poised and transfigured in one vibrating atmosphere of an

immense human emotion. There was no one, anywhere, but Julian Felsenburgh. Peace and light burned like a

For an instant after passing he disappeared beyond the speaker's tribune, and the instant after reappeared once

more, coming up the steps. He reached his placeshe could see His profile beneath her and slightly to the

left, pure and keen as the blade of a knife, beneath His white hair. He lifted one whitefurred sleeve, made a

single motion, and with a surge and a rumble, the ten thousand were seated. He motioned again and with a

Again there was a silence. He stood now, perfectly still, His hands laid together on the rail, and His face

looking steadily before Him; it seemed as if He who had drawn all eyes and stilled all sounds were waiting

until His domination were complete, and there was but one will, one desire, and that beneath His hand. Then

In this again, as Mabel perceived afterwards, there was no precise or verbal record within her of what he said;

there was no conscious process by which she received, tested, or approved what she heard. The nearest image

under which she could afterwards describe her emotions to herself, was that when He spoke it was she who

was speaking. Her own thoughts, her predispositions, her griefs, her disappointment, her passion, her

hopesall these interior acts of the soul known scarcely even to herself, down even, it seemed, to the

minutest whorls and eddies of thought, were, by this man, lifted up, cleansed, kindled, satisfied and

proclaimed. For the first time in her life she became perfectly aware of what human nature meant; for it was

her own heart that passed out upon the air, borne on that immense voice. Again, as once before for a few

moments in Paul's House, it seemed that creation, groaning so long, had spoken articulate words at lasthad

come to growth and coherent thought and perfect speech. Yet then He had spoken to men; now it was Man

Himself speaking. It was not one man who spoke there, it was ManMan conscious of his origin, his

destiny, and his pilgrimage between, Man sane again after a night of madnessknowing his strength,

declaring his law, lamenting in a voice as eloquent as stringed instruments his own failure to correspond. It

was a soliloquy rather than an oration. Rome had fallen, English and Italian streets had run with blood, smoke

and flame had gone up to heaven, because man had for an instant sunk back to the tiger. Yet it was done,

cried the great voice, and there was no repentance; it was done, and ages hence man must still do penance and

flush scarlet with shame to remember that once he turned his back on the risen light.

There was no appeal to the lurid, no picture of the tumbling palaces, the running figures, the coughing

explosions, the shaking of the earth and the dying of the doomed. It was rather with those hot hearts shouting

in the English and German streets, or aloft in the winter air of Italy, the ugly passions that warred there, as the

volors rocked at their stations, generating and fulfilling revenge, paying back plot with plot, and violence

with violence. For there, cried the voice, was man as he had been, fallen in an instant to the cruel old ages

There was no repentance, said the voice again, but there was something better; and as the hard, stinging tones

melted, the girl's dry eyes of shame filled in an instant with tears. There was something betterthe

knowledge of what crimes man was yet capable of, and the will to use that knowledge. Rome was gone, and

it was a lamentable shame; Rome was gone, and the air was the sweeter for it; and then in an instant, like the

soar of a bird, He was up and awayaway from the horrid gulf where He had looked just now, from the

fragments of charred bodies, and tumbled houses and all the signs of man's disgrace, to the pure air and

sunlight to which man must once more set his face. Yet He bore with Him in that wonderful flight the dew of

tears and the aroma of earth. He had not spared words with which to lash and whip the naked human heart,

and He did not spare words to lift up the bleeding, shrinking thing, and comfort it with the divine vision of

Historically speaking, it was about forty minutes before He turned to the shrouded image behind the altar.

And then, to those who heard Him, the supreme miracle took place. . . . For it seemed now in an instant that it

was no longer man who spoke, but One who stood upon the stage of the superhuman. The curtain ripped

back, as one who stood by it tore, panting, at the strings; and there, it seemed, face to face stood the Mother

above the altar, huge, white and protective, and the Child, one passionate incarnation of love, crying to her

So He praised her to her face, that sublime principle of life, declared her glories and her strength, her

Immaculate Motherhood, her seven swords of anguish driven through her heart by the passion and the follies

of her SonHe promised her great things, the recognition of her countless children, the love and service of

the unborn, the welcome of those yet quickening within the womb. He named her the Wisdom of the Most

High, that sweetly orders all things, the Gate of Heaven, House of Ivory, Comforter of the afflicted, Queen of

the World; and, to the delirious eyes of those who looked on her it seemed that the grave face smiled to hear

A great panting as of some monstrous life began to fill the air as the mob swayed behind Him, and the

torrential voice poured on. Waves of emotion swept up and down; there were cries and sobs, the yelping of a

man beside himself at last, from somewhere among the crowded seats, the crash of a bench, and another and

another, and the gangways were full, for He no longer held them passive to listen; He was rousing them to

some supreme act. The tide crawled nearer, and the faces stared no longer at the Son but the Mother; the girl

in the gallery tore at the heavy railing, and sank down sobbing upon her knees. And above all the voice

pealed onand the thin hands blanched to whiteness strained from the wide and sumptuous sleeves as if to

It was a new tale He was telling now, and all to her glory. He was from the East, now they knew, come from

some triumph. He had been hailed as King, adored as Divine, as was meet and right He, the humble

superhuman son of a Human Motherwho bore not a sword but peace, not a cross but a crown. So it seemed

He was saying; yet no man there knew whether He said it or not whether the voice proclaimed it, or their

He was on the steps of the sanctuary now, still with outstretched hands and pouring words, and the mob

rolled after him to the rumble of ten thousand feet and the sighing of ten thousand hearts. . . . He was at the

altar; He was upon it. Again in one last cry, as the crowd broke against the steps beneath, He hailed her

The end came in a moment, swift and inevitable. And for an instant, before the girl in the gallery sank down,

blind with tears, she saw the tiny figure poised there at the knees of the huge image, beneath the expectant

hands, silent and transfigured in the blaze of light. The Mother, it seemed, had found her Son at last.

For an instant she saw it, the soaring columns, the gilding and the colours, the swaying heads, the tossing

hands. It was a sea that heaved before her, lights went up and down, the rose window whirled overhead,

Then in the heavenly light, to the crash of drums, above the screaming of the women and the battering of feet,

THE little room where the new Pope sat reading was a model of simplicity. Its walls were whitewashed, its

roof unpolished rafters, and its floor beaten mud. A square table stood in the centre, with a chair beside it; a

cold brazier, laid for lighting, stood in the wide hearth; a bookshelf against the wall held a dozen volumes.

There were three doors, one leading to the private oratory, one to the anteroom, and the third to the little

paved court. The south windows were shuttered, but through the illfitting hinges streamed knifeblades of

It was the time of the midday siesta, and except for the brisk scything of the cicade from the hillslope

The Pope, who had dined an hour before, had hardly shifted His attitude in all that time, so intent was He

upon His reading. For the while, all was put away, His own memory of those last three months, the bitter

anxiety, the intolerable load of responsibility. The book He held was a cheap reprint of the famous biography

It was a terse, wellwritten book, composed by an unknown hand, and some even suspected it to be the

disguised work of Felsenburgh himself. More, however, considered that it was written at least with

Felsenburgh's consent by one of that small body of intimates whom he had admitted to his society that

body which under him now conducted the affairs of West and East. From certain indications in the book it

The main body of the work dealt with his life, or rather with those two or three years known to the world,

from his rapid rise in American politics and his mediation in the East down to the event of five months ago,

when in swift succession he had been hailed Messiah in Damascus, had been formally adored in London, and

finally elected by an extraordinary majority to the Tribuniciate of the two Americas.

The Pope had read rapidly through these objective facts, for He knew them well enough already, and was

now studying with close attention the summary of his character, or rather, as the author rather sententiously

explained, the summary of his self manifestation to the world. He read the description of his two main

characteristics, his grasp upon words and facts; "words, the daughters of earth, were wedded in this man to

facts, the sons of heaven, and Superman was their offspring." His minor characteristics, too, were noticed, his

appetite for literature, his astonishing memory, his linguistic powers. He possessed, it appeared, both the

telescopic and the microscopic eyehe discerned worldwide tendencies and movements on the one hand;

he had a passionate capacity for detail on the other. Various anecdotes illustrated these remarks, and a

number of terse aphorisms of his were recorded. "No man forgives," he said; "he only understands." "It needs

supreme faith to renounce a transcendent God." "A man who believes in himself is almost capable of

believing in his neighbour." Here was a sentence that to the Pope's mind was significant of that sublime

egotism that is alone capable of confronting the Christian spirit: and again, "To forgive a wrong is to condone

a crime," and "The strong man is accessible to no one, but all are accessible to him."

There was a certain pompousness in this array of remarks, but it lay, as the Pope saw very well, not in the

speaker but in the scribe. To him who had seen the speaker it was plain how they had been utteredwith no

pontifical solemnity, but whirled out in a fiery stream of eloquence, or spoken with that strangely moving

simplicity that had constituted his first assault on London. It was possible to hate Felsenburgh, and to fear

But plainly the supreme pleasure of the writer was to trace the analogy between his hero and nature. In both

there was the same apparent contradictorinessthe combination of utter tenderness and utter ruthlessness.

"The power that heals wounds also inflicts them: that clothes the dungheap with sweet growths and grasses,

breaks, too, into fire and earthquake; that causes the partridge to die for her young, also makes the shrike with

his living larder." So, too, with Felsenburgh; He who had wept over the Fall of Rome, a month later had

spoken of extermination as an instrument that even now might be judicially used in the service of humanity.

The utterance had aroused extraordinary interest, since it seemed so paradoxical from one who preached

peace and toleration; and argument had broken out all over the world. But beyond enforcing the dispersal of

the Irish Catholics, and the execution of a few individuals, so far that utterance had not been acted upon. Yet

the world seemed as a whole to have accepted it, and even now to be waiting for its fulfilment.

As the biographer pointed out, the world enclosed in physical nature should welcome one who followed its

precepts, one who was indeed the first to introduce deliberately and confessedly into human affairs such laws

as those of the Survival of the Fittest and the immorality of forgiveness. If there was mystery in the one, there

And the secret of this, it seemed, lay in His personality. To see Him was to believe in Him, or rather to accept

Him as inevitably true. "We do not explain nature or escape from it by sentimental regrets: the hare cries like

a child, the wounded stag weeps great tears, the robin kills his parents; life exists only on condition of death;

and these things happen however we may weave theories that explain nothing. Life must be accepted on

those terms; we cannot be wrong if we follow nature; rather to accept them is to find peaceour great

mother only reveals her secrets to those who take her as she is." So, too, with Felsenburgh. "It is not for us to

discriminate: His personality is of a kind that does not admit it. He is complete and sufficing for those who

trust Him and are willing to suffer; an hostile and hateful enigma to those who are not. We must prepare

ourselves for the logical outcome of this doctrine. Sentimentality must not be permitted to dominate reason."

Finally, then, the writer showed how to this Man belonged properly all those titles hitherto lavished upon

imagined Supreme Beings. It was in preparation for Him that these types came into the realms of thought and

He was the Creator, for it was reserved for Him to bring into being the perfect life of union to which all the

world had hitherto groaned in vain; it was in His own image and likeness that He had made man.

Yet He was the Redeemer too, for that likeness had in one sense always underlain the tumult of mistake and

conflict. He had brought man out of darkness and the shadow of death, guiding their feet into the way of

peace. He was the Saviour for the same reasonthe Son of Man for He alone was perfectly human; He was

the Absolute, for He was the content of Ideals; the Eternal, for He had lain always in nature's potentiality and

secured by His being the continuity of that order; the Infinite, for all finite things fell short of Him who was

He was Alpha, then, and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last. He was Dominus et Deus

noster (as Domitian had been, the Pope reflected). He was as simple and as complex as life itselfsimple in

And last of all, the supreme proof of His mission lay in the immortal nature of His message. There was no

more to be added to what He had brought to lightfor in Him all diverging lines at last found their origin

and their end. As to whether or no He would prove to be personally immortalthis was an wholly irrelevant

thought; it would be indeed fitting if through His means the vital principle should disclose its last secret; but

no more than fitting. Already His spirit was in the world; the individual was no more separate from his

fellows; death no more than a wrinkle that came and went across the inviolable sea. For man had learned at

last that the race was all and self was nothing; the cell had discovered the unity of the body; even, the greatest

thinkers declared, the consciousness of the individual had yielded the title of Personality to the corporate

mass of manand the restlessness of the unit had sunk into the peace of a common Humanity, for nothing

but this could explain the cessation of party strife and national competition and this, above all, had been

"Behold I am with you always," quoted the writer in a passionate peroration, "even now in the consummation

of the world; and the Comforter is come unto you. I am the Doorthe Way, the Truth and the Lifethe

Bread of Life and the Water of Life. My name is Wonderful, the Prince of Peace, the Father Everlasting. It is

I who am the Desire of all nations, the fairest among the children of menand of my Kingdom there shall be

And as for Himself, what had He to say to all this? A Transcendent God Who hid Himself, a Divine Saviour

There, in the next room, was a little wooden altar, and above it an iron box, and within that box a silver cup,

and within that cupSomething. Outside the house, a hundred yards away, lay the domes and plaster roofs

of a little village called Nazareth; Carmel was on the right, a mile or two away, Thabor on the left, the plain

of Esdraelon in front; and behind, Cana and Galilee, and the quiet lake, and Hermon. And far away to the

It was to this tiny strip of holy land that the Pope had comethe land where a Faith had sprouted two

thousand years ago, and where, unless God spoke in fire from heaven, it would presently be cut down as a

cumberer of the ground. It was here on this material earth that One had walked Whom all men had thought to

have been He Who would redeem Israelin this village that He had fetched water and made boxes and

chairs, on that long lake that His Feet had walked, on that high hill that He had flamed in glory, on that

smooth, low mountain to the north that He had declared that the meek were blessed and should inherit the

earth, that peacemakers were the children of God, that they who hungered and thirsted should be satisfied.

And now it was come to this. Christianity had smouldered away from Europe like a sunset on darkening

peaks; Eternal Rome was a heap of ruins; in East and West alike a man had been set upon the throne of God,

had been acclaimed as divine. The world had leapt forward; social science was supreme; men had learnt

consistency; they had learnt, too, the social lessons of Christianity apart from a Divine Teacher, or, rather,

they said, in spite of Him. There were left, perhaps, three millions, perhaps five, at the utmost ten

millionsit was impossible to knowthroughout the entire inhabited globe who still worshipped Jesus

Christ as God. And the Vicar of Christ sat in a whitewashed room in Nazareth, dressed as simply as His

He had done what He could. There had been a week five months ago when it had been doubtful whether

anything at all could be done. There were left three Cardinals alive, Himself, Steinmann, and the Patriarch of

Jerusalem; the rest lay mangled somewhere in the ruins of Rome. There was no precedent to follow; so the

two Europeans had made their way out to the East, and to the one town. in it where quiet still reigned. With

the disappearance of Greek Christianity there had also vanished the last remnants of internecine war in

Christendom; and by a kind of tacit consent of the world, Christians were allowed a moderate liberty in

Palestine. Russia, which now held the country as a dependency, had sufficient sentiment left to leave it alone;

it was true that the holy places had been desecrated, and remained now only as spots of antiquarian interest;

the altars were gone but the sites were yet marked, and, although mass could no longer be said there, it was

It was in this state that the two European Cardinals had found the Holy City; it was not thought wise to wear

insignia of any description in public; and it was practically certain even now that the civilised world was

unaware of their existence; for within three days of their arrival the old Patriarch had died, yet not before

Percy Franklin, surely under the strangest circumstances since those of the first century, had been elected to

the Supreme Pontificate. It had all been done in a few minutes by the dying man's bedside. The two old men

had insisted. The German had even recurred once more to the strange resemblance between Percy and Julian

Felsenburgh, and had murmured his old halfheard remarks about the antithesis, and the Finger of God; and

Percy, marvelling at his superstition, had accepted, and the election was recorded. He had taken the name of

Silvester, the last saint in the year, and was the third of that title. He had then retired to Nazareth with his

chaplain; Steinmann had gone back to Germany, and been hanged in a riot within a fortnight of his arrival.

The next matter was the creation of new cardinals, and to twenty persons, with infinite precautions, briefs had

been conveyed. Of these, nine had declined; three more had been approached, of whom only one had

accepted. There were therefore at this moment twelve persons in the world who constituted the Sacred

Collegetwo Englishmen, of whom Corkran was one; two Americans, a Frenchman, a German, an Italian, a

Spaniard, a Pole, a Chinaman, a Greek, and a Russian. To these were entrusted vast districts over which their

As regarded the Pope's own life very little need be said. It resembled, He thought, in its outward

circumstances that of such a man as Leo the Great, without His worldly importance or pomp. Theoretically,

the Christian world was under His dominion; practically, Christian affairs were administered by local

authorities. It was impossible for a hundred reasons for Him to do what He wished with regard to the

exchange of communications. An elaborate cypher had been designed, and a private telegraphic station

organised on His roof communicating with another in Damascus where Cardinal Corkran had fixed his

residence; and from that centre messages occasionally were despatched to ecclesiastical authorities

elsewhere; but, for the most part, there was little to be done. The Pope, however, had the satisfaction of

knowing that, with incredible difficulty, a little progress had been made towards the reorganisation of the

hierarchy in all countries. Bishops were being consecrated freely; there were not less than two thousand of

them all told, and of priests an unknown number. The Order of Christ Crucified was doing excellent work,

and the tales of not less than four hundred martyrdoms had reached Nazareth during the last two months,

In other respects, also, as well as in the primary object of the Order's existence (namely, the affording of an

opportunity to all who loved God to dedicate themselves to Him more perfectly), the new Religious were

doing good work. The more perilous tasksthe work of communication between prelates, missions to

persons of suspected integrityall the business, in fact, which was carried on now at the vital risk of the

agent were entrusted solely to members of the Order. Stringent instructions had been issued from Nazareth

that no bishop was to expose himself unnecessarily; each was to regard himself as the heart of his diocese to

be protected at all costs save that of Christian honour, and in consequence each had surrounded himself with

a group of the new Religiousmen and womenwho with extraordinary and generous obedience undertook

such dangerous tasks as they were capable of performing. It was plain enough by now that had it not been for

the Order, the Church would have been little better than paralysed under these new conditions.

Extraordinary facilities were being issued in all directions. Every priest who belonged to the Order received

universal jurisdiction subject to the bishop, if any, of the diocese in which he might be; mass might be said on

any day of the year of the Five Wounds, or the Resurrection, or Our Lady; and all had the privilege of the

portable altar, now permitted to be wood. Further ritual requirements were relaxed; mass might be said with

any decent vessels of any material capable of destruction, such as glass or china; bread of any description

might be used; and no vestments were obligatory except the thin thread that now represented the stole; lights

were non essential; none need wear the clerical habit; and rosary, even without beads, was always

In this manner priests were rendered capable of giving the sacraments and offering the holy sacrifice at the

least possible risk to themselves; and these relaxations had already proved of enormous benefit in the

European prisons where by this time many thousands of Catholics were undergoing the penalty of refusing

The Pope's private life was as simple as His room. He had one Syrian priest for His chaplain, and two Syrian

servants. He said His mass each morning, Himself wearing vestments and His white habit beneath, and heard

a mass after. He then took His coffee, after changing into the tunic and burnous of the country, and spent the

morning over business. He dined at noon, slept, and rode out, for the country by reason of its indeterminate

position was still in the simplicity of a hundred years ago. He returned at dusk, supped, and worked again till

That was all. His chaplain sent what messages were necessary to Damascus; His servants, themselves

ignorant of His dignity, dealt with the secular world so far as was required, and the utmost that seemed to be

known to His few neighbours was that there lived in the late Sheikh's little house on the hill an eccentric

European with a telegraph office. His servants, themselves devout Catholics, knew Him for a bishop, but no

more than that. They were told only that there was yet a Pope alive, and with that and the sacraments were

To sum up, thereforethe Catholic world knew that their Pope lived under the name of Silvester; and

thirteen persons of the entire human race knew that Franklin had been His name, and that the throne of Peter

It was, as a Frenchman had said, just a hundred years ago. Catholicism survived; but no more. (III)

He could not have described it consistently even to Himself, for indeed He scarcely knew it: He acted rather

than indulged in reflex thought. But the centre of His position was simple faith. The Catholic Religion, He

knew well enough, gave the only adequate explanation of the universe; it did not unlock all mysteries, but it

unlocked more than any other key known to man; He knew, too, perfectly well, that it was the only system of

thought that satisfied man as a whole, and accounted for him in his essential nature. Further, He saw well

enough that the failure of Christianity to unite all men one to another rested not upon its feebleness but its

strength; its lines met in eternity, not in time. Besides, He happened to believe it.

But to this foreground there were other moods whose shifting was out of His control. In his exalt� moods,

which came upon Him like a breeze from Paradise, the background was bright with hope and dramaHe

saw Himself and His companions as Peter and the Apostles must have regarded themselves, as they

proclaimed through the world, in temples, slums, marketplaces and private houses, the faith that was to

shake and transform the world. They had handled the Lord of Life, seen the empty sepulchre, grasped the

pierced hands of Him Who was their brother and their God. It was radiantly true, though not a man believed

it; the huge superincumbent weight of incredulity could not disturb a fact that was as the sun in heaven.

Moreover, the very desperateness of the cause was their inspiration. There was no temptation to lean upon the

arm of flesh, for there was none that fought for them but God. Their nakedness was their armour, their slow

tongues their persuasiveness, their weakness demanded God's strength, and found it. Yet there was this

difference, and it was a significant one. For Peter the spiritual world had an interpretation and a guarantee in

the outward events he had witnessed. He had handled the Risen Christ, the external corroborated the internal.

But for Silvester it was not so. For Him it was necessary so to grasp spiritual truths in the supernatural sphere

that the external events of the Incarnation were proved by rather than proved the certitude of His spiritual

apprehension. Certainly, historically speaking, Christianity was trueproved by its recordsyet to see that

needed illumination. He apprehended the power of the Resurrection, therefore Christ was risen.

Therefore in heavier moods it was different with him. There were periods, lasting sometimes for days

together, clouding Him when He awoke, stifling Him as He tried to sleep, dulling the very savour of the

Sacrament and the thrill of the Precious Blood; times in which the darkness was so intolerable that even the

solid objects of faith attenuated themselves to shadow, when half His nature was blind not only to Christ, but

to God Himself, and the reality of His own existencewhen His own awful dignity seemed as the insignia of

a fool. And was it conceivable, His earthly mind demanded, that He and His college of twelve and His few

thousands should be right, and the entire consensus of the civilised world wrong? It was not that the world

had not heard the message of the Gospel; it had heard little else for two thousand years, and now pronounced

it false false in its external credentials, and false therefore in its spiritual claims. It was a lost cause for

which He suffered; He was not the last of an august line, He was the smoking wick of a candle of folly; He

was the reductio ad absurdum of a ludicrous syllogism based on impossible premises. He was not worth

killing, He and His company of the insanethey were no more than the crowned dunces of the world's

school. Sanity sat on the solid benches of materialism. And this heaviness waxed so dark sometimes that He

almost persuaded Himself that His faith was gone; the clamours of mind so loud that the whisper of the heart

was unheard, the desires for earthly peace so fierce that supernatural ambitions were silencedso dense was

the gloom, that, hoping against hope, believing against knowledge, and loving against truth, He cried as One

other had cried on another day like thisEli, Eli, lama sabachthani! . . . But that, at least, He never failed to

One thing alone gave Him power to go on, so far at least as His consciousness was concerned, and that was

His meditation. He had travelled far in the mystical life since His agonies of effort. Now He used no

deliberate descents into the spiritual world: He threw, as it were, His hands over His head, and dropped into

spacelessness. Consciousness would draw Him up, as a cork, to the surface, but He would do no more than

repeat His action, until by that cessation of activity, which is the supreme energy, He floated in the twilight

realm of transcendence; and there God would deal with Himnow by an articulate sentence, now by a sword

of pain, now by an air like the vivifying breath of the sea. Sometimes after Communion He would treat Him

so, sometimes as He fell asleep, sometimes in the whirl of work. Yet His consciousness did not seem to retain

for long such experiences; five minutes later, it might be, He would be wrestling once more with the all but

There He lay, then, in the chair, revolving the intolerable blasphemies that He had read. His white hair was

thin upon His browned temples, His hands were as the hands of a spirit, and His young face lined and patched

with sorrow. His bare feet protruded from beneath His stained tunic, and His old brown burnous lay on the

It was an hour before He moved, and the sun had already lost half its fierceness, when the steps of the horses

sounded in the paved court outside. Then He sat up, slipped His feet into their shoes, and lifted the burnous

The Pope spoke not one word that afternoon, until the two came towards sunset up the bridlepath that leads

between Thabor and Nazareth. They had taken their usual round through Cana, mounting a hillock from

which the long mirror of Gennesareth could be seen, and passing on, always bearing to the right, under the

shadow of Thabor until once more Esdraelon spread itself beneath like a greygreen carpet, a vast circle,

twenty miles across, sprinkled sparsely with groups of huts, white walls and roofs, with Nain visible on the

other side, Carmel heaving its long form far off on the right, and Nazareth nestling a mile or two away on the

It was a sight of extraordinary peace, and seemed an extract from some old picturebook designed centuries

ago. Here was no crowd of roofs, no pressure of hot humanity, no terrible evidences of civilisation and

manufactory and strenuous, fruitless effort. A few tired Jews had come back to this quiet little land, as old

people may return to their native place, with no hope of renewing their youth, or refinding their ideals, but

with a kind of sentimentality that prevails so often over more logical motives, and a few more barracklike

houses had been added here and there to the obscure villages in sight. But it was very much as it had been a

The plain was half shadowed by Carmel, and half in dusty golden light. Overhead the clear Eastern sky was

flushed with rose, as it had flushed for Abraham, Jacob, and the Son of David. There was no little cloud here,

as a man's hand, over the sea, charged with both promise and terror; no sound of chariot wheels from earth

or heaven, no vision of heavenly horses such as a young man had seen thirty centuries ago in this very sky.

Here was the old earth and the old heaven, unchanged and unchangeable; the patient, returning spring had

starred the thin soil with flowers of Bethlehem, and those glorious lilies to which Solomon's scarlet garments

might not be compared. There was no whisper from the Throne as when Gabriel had once stooped through

this very air to hail Her who was blessed among women, no breath of promise or hope beyond that which

As the two halted, and the horses looked out with steady, inquisitive eyes at the immensity of light and air

beneath them, a soft hooting cry broke out, and a shepherd passed below along the hillside a hundred yards

away, trailing his long shadow behind him, and to the mellow tinkle of bells his flock came after, a troop of

obedient sheep and wilful goats, cropping and following and cropping again as they went on to the fold,

called by name in that sad minor voice of him who knew each, and led instead of driving. The soft clanking

grew fainter, the shadow of the shepherd shot once to their very feet, as he topped the rise, and vanished

The Pope lifted His hand to His eyes for an instant then smoothed it down His face.

He nodded across to a dim patch of white walls glimmering through the violet haze of the falling twilight.

AT twentythree o'clock that night the Syrian priest went out to watch for the coming of the messenger from

Tiberias. Nearly two hours previously he had heard the cry of the Russian volor that plied from Damascus to

Tiberias, and Tiberias to Jerusalem, and even as it was the messenger was a little late.

These were very primitive arrangements, but Palestine was out of the worlda slip of useless countryand

it was necessary for a man to ride from Tiberias to Nazareth each night with papers from Cardinal Corkran to

the Pope, and to return with correspondence. It was a dangerous task, and the members of the New Order

who surrounded the Cardinal undertook it by turns. In this manner all matters for which the Pope's personal

attention was required, and which were too long and not too urgent, could be dealt with at leisure by him, and

It was a brilliant moonlit night. The great golden shield was riding high above Thabor, shedding its strange

metallic light down the long slopes and over the moorlike country that rose up from before the

housedoorcasting too heavy black shadows that seemed far more concrete and solid than the brilliant pale

surfaces of the rock slabs or even than the diamond flashes from the quartz and crystal that here and there

sparkled up the stony pathway. Compared with this clear splendour, the yellow light from the shuttered house

seemed a hot and tawdry thing; and the priest, leaning against the door post, his eyes alone alight in his dark

face, sank down at last with a kind of Eastern sensuousness to bathe himself in the glory, and to spread his

This was a very simple man, in faith as well as in life. For him there were neither the ecstasies nor the

desolations of his master. It was an immense and solemn joy to him to live here at the spot of God's

Incarnation and in attendance upon His Vicar. As regarded the movements of the world, he observed them as

a man in a ship watches the heaving of the waves far beneath. Of course the world was restless, he half

perceived, for, as the Latin Doctor had said, all hearts were restless until they found their rest in God. Quare

fremuerunt gentes? . . . Adversus Dominum, et adversus Christum ejus! As to the endhe was not greatly

concerned. It might well be that the ship would be overwhelmed, but the moment of the catastrophe would be

the end of all things earthly. The gates of hell shall not prevail: when Rome falls, the world falls; and when

the world falls, Christ is manifest in power. For himself, he imagined that the end was not far away. When he

had named Megiddo this afternoon it had been in his mind; to him it seemed natural that at the consummation

of all things Christ's Vicar should dwell at Nazareth where His King had come on earthand that the

Armageddon of the Divine John should be within sight of the scene where Christ had first taken His earthly

sceptre and should take it again. After all, it would not be the first battle that Megiddo had seen. Israel and

Amalek had met here; Israel and Assyria; Sesostris had ridden here and Sennacherib. Christian and Turk had

contended here, like Michael and Satan, over the place where God's Body had lain. As to the exact method of

that end, he had no clear views; it would be a battle of some kind, and what field could be found more

evidently designed for that than this huge flat circular plain of Esdraelon, twenty miles across, sufficient to

hold all the armies of the earth in its embrace? To his view once more, ignorant as he was of present statistics,

the world was divided into two large sections, Christians and heathens, and he supposed them very much of a

size. Something would happen, troops would land at Khaifa, they would stream southwards from Tiberias,

Damascus and remote Asia, northwards from Jerusalem, Egypt and Africa; eastwards from Europe;

westwards from Asia again and the faroff Americas. And, surely, the time could not be far away, for here

was Christ's Vicar; and, as He Himself had said in His gospel of the Advent, Ubicumque fuerit corpus, illic

Of more subtle interpretations of prophecy he had no knowledge. For him words were things, not merely

labels upon ideas. What Christ and St. Paul and St. John had saidthese things were so. He had escaped,

owing chiefly to his isolation from the world, that vast expansion of Ritschlian ideas that during the last

century had been responsible for the desertion by so many of any intelligible creed. For others this had been

the supreme strugglethe difficulty of decision between the facts that words were not things, and yet that the

things they represented were in themselves objective. But to this man, sitting now in the moonlight, listening

to the faroff tap of hoofs over the hill as the messenger came up from Cana, faith was as simple as an exact

science. Here Gabriel had descended on wide feathered wings from the Throne of God set beyond the stars,

the Holy Ghost had breathed in a beam of ineffable light, the Word had become Flesh as Mary folded her

arms and bowed her head to the decree of the Eternal. And here once more, he thought, though it was no

more than a guessyet he thought that already the running of chariotwheels was audiblethe tumult of

the hosts of God gathering about the camp of the saintshe thought that already beyond the bars of the dark

Gabriel set to his lips the trumpet of doom and heaven was astir. He might be wrong at this time, as others

had been wrong at other times, but neither he nor they could be wrong for ever; there must some day be an

end to the patience of God, even though that patience sprang from the eternity of His nature.

He stood up, as down the pale moonlit path a hundred yards away came a pale figure of one who rode, with a

It would be about three o'clock in the morning that the priest awoke in his little mudwalled room next to that

of the Holy Father's, and heard a footstep coming up the stairs. Last evening he had left his master as usual

beginning to open the pile of letters arrived from Cardinal Corkran, and himself had gone straight to his bed

and slept. He lay now a moment or two, still drowsy, listening to the pad of feet, and an instant later sat up

abruptly, for a deliberate tap had sounded on the door. Again it came; he sprang out of bed in his long

The Pope was standing there, with a little lamp in one hand, for the dawn had scarcely yet begun, and a paper

"I beg your pardon, Father; but there is a message I must have sent at once to his Eminence."

Together they went out through the Pope's room, the priest still halfblind with sleep, passed up the stairs,

and emerged into the clear cold air of the upper roof. The Pope blew out His lamp, and set it on the parapet.

The other made a little gesture of denial, and went across to the tiny temporary shed where the wireless

"Fetch your cloak, Father," He said again over His shoulder. "I will ring up meanwhile."

When the priest came back three minutes later, in his slippers and cloak, carrying another cloak also for his

master, the Pope was still seated at the table. He did not even move His head as the other came up, but once

more pressed on the lever that, communicating with the twelvefoot pole that rose through the penthouse

overhead, shot out the quivering energy through the eighty miles of glimmering air that lay between Nazareth

This simple priest had scarcely even by now become accustomed to this extraordinary device invented a

century ago and perfected through all those years to this precise exactness that device by which with the

help of a stick, a bundle of wires, and a box of wheels, something, at last established to be at the root of all

matter, if not at the very root of physical life, spoke across the spaces of the world to a tiny receiver tuned by

The air was surprisingly cold, considering the heat that had preceded and would follow it, and the priest

shivered a little as he stood clear of the roof, and stared, now at the motionless figure in the chair before him,

now at the vast vault of the sky passing, even as he looked, from a cold colourless luminosity to a tender tint

of yellow, as far away beyond Thabor and Moab the dawn began to deepen. From the village halfamile

away arose the crowing of a cock, thin and brazen as a trumpet; a dog barked once and was silent again; and

then, on a sudden, a single stroke upon a bell hung in the roof recalled him in an instant, and told him that his

The Pope pressed the lever again at the sound, twice, and then, after a pause, once morewaited a moment

for an answer, and then when it came, rose and signed to the priest to take his place.

The Syrian sat down, handing the extra cloak to his master, and waited until the other had settled Himself in a

chair set in such a position at the side of the table that the face of each was visible to the other. Then he

waited, with his brown fingers poised above the row of keys, looking at the other's face as He arranged

himself to speak. That face, he thought, looking out from the hood, seemed paler than ever in this cold light

of dawn; the black arched eyebrows accentuated this, and even the steady lips, preparing to speak, seemed

white and bloodless. He had His paper in His hand, and His eyes were fixed upon this.

The priest tapped off an enquiry, and, with moving lips, read off the printed message, as like magic it

"It is his Eminence, Holiness," he said softly. "He is alone at the instrument."

"We have received your Eminence's letter, and have noted the news. . . . It should have been forwarded by

The voice paused, and the priest who had snapped off the message, more quickly than a man could write it,

"`I did not understand that it was urgent. I thought it was but one more assault. I had intended to

"Of course it was urgent," came the voice again in the deliberate intonation that was used between these two

in the case of messages for transmission. "Remember that all news of this kind is always urgent."

"You tell us," went on the Pope, His eyes still downcast on the paper, "that this measure is decided upon; you

name only three authorities. Give me, now, all the authorities you have, if you have more."

"`Besides the three Cardinals whose names I sent, the Archbishops of Thibet, Cairo, Calcutta and Sydney

have all asked if the news was true, and for directions if it is true; besides others whose names I can

"`The Bishops of Bukarest, the Marquesas Islands and Newfoundland. The Franciscans in Japan, the

Crutched Friars in Morocco, the Archbishops of Manitoba and Portland, and the CardinalArchbishop of

"`I was called up to the instrument yesterday evening at about twenty o'clock. The Archbishop of Sydney was

asking, through our station at Bombay, whether the news was true. I replied I had heard nothing of it. Within

ten minutes four more enquiries had come to the same effect; and three minutes later Cardinal Ruspoli sent

the positive news from Turin. This was accompanied by a similar message from Father Petrovski in Moscow.

"`Cardinal Malpas communicated it within five minutes of Cardinal Ruspoli, and the rest of the enquiries

"`It was decided first at the secret London conference, yesterday, at about sixteen o'clock by our time. The

Plenipotentiaries appear to have signed it at that hour. After that it was communicated to the world. It was

"`I am not yet sure. Cardinal Malpas tells me that Felsenburgh gave his provisional consent on the previous

"`I was called up an hour ago by Cardinal Ruspoli again. He tells me that he fears a riot in Florence; it will be

"Tell him that we send him the Apostolic Benediction, and will forward directions within the course of two

"Communicate that message also, as soon as we have finished, to all the Sacred College, and bid them

communicate it with all discretion to all metropolitans and bishops, that priests and people may know that We

"Tell them, finally, that We had foreseen this long ago; that We commend them to the Eternal Father without

Whose Providence no sparrow falls to the ground. Bid them be quiet and confident; to do nothing, save

confess their faith when they are questioned. All other directions shall be issued to their pastors

The Pope had been speaking with the utmost tranquillity as one in a dream. His eyes were downcast upon the

paper, His whole body as motionless as an image. Yet to the priest who listened, despatching the Latin

messages, and reading aloud the replies, it seemed, although so little intelligible news had reached him, as if

something very strange and great was impending. There was the sense of a peculiar strain in the air, and

although he drew no deductions from the fact that apparently the whole Catholic world was in frantic

communication with Damascus, yet he remembered his meditations of the evening before as he had waited

for the messenger. It seemed as if the powers of this world were contemplating one more stepwith its

"Father," he said, "what I am about to say now is as if I told it in confession. You understand?Very well.

"Eminence. We shall say mass of the Holy Ghost in one hour from now. At the end of that time, you will

cause that all the Sacred College shall be in touch with yourself, and waiting for our commands. This new

decision is unlike any that have preceded it. Surely you understand that now. Two or three plans are in our

mind, yet We are not sure yet which it is that our Lord intends. After mass We shall communicate to you that

which He shall show Us to be according to His Will. We beg of you to say mass also, immediately, for Our

intention. Whatever must be done must be done quickly. The matter of Cardinal Dolgorovski you may leave

until later. But we wish to hear the result of your enquiries, especially in London, before midday. Benedicat

The little chapel in the house below was scarcely more dignified than the other rooms. Of ornaments, except

those absolutely essential to liturgy and devotion, there were none. In the plaster of the walls were indented in

slight relief the fourteen stations of the Cross; a small stone image of the Mother of God stood in a corner,

with an ironwork candlestick before it, and on the solid uncarved stone altar, raised on a stone step, stood

six more iron candlesticks and an iron crucifix. A tabernacle, also of iron, shrouded by linen curtains, stood

beneath the cross; a small stone slab projecting from the wall served as a credence. There was but one

window, and this looked into the court, so that the eyes of strangers might not penetrate.

It seemed to the Syrian priest as he went about his business laying out the vestments in the little sacristy

that opened out at one side of the altar, preparing the cruets and stripping the covering from the

altarcloththat even that slight work was wearying. There seemed a certain oppression in the air. As to

how far that was the result of his broken rest he did not know, but he feared that it was one more of those

scirocco days that threatened. That yellowish tinge of dawn had not passed with the sunrising; even now, as

he went noiselessly on his bare feet between the predella and the priedieu where the silent white figure was

still motionless, he caught now and again, above the roof across the tiny court, a glimpse of that faint

He finished at last, lighted the candles, genuflected, and stood with bowed head waiting for the Holy Father

to rise from His knees. A servant's footstep sounded in the court, coming across to hear mass, and

simultaneously the Pope rose and went towards the sacristy, where the red vestments of God who came by

Silvester's bearing at mass was singularly unostentatious. He moved as swiftly as any young priest, His voice

was quite even and quite low, and his pace neither rapid nor pompous. According to tradition, He occupied

halfanhour ab amictu ad amictum; and even in the tiny empty chapel He observed to keep His eyes always

downcast. And yet this Syrian never served His mass without a thrill of something resembling fear; it was not

only his knowledge of the awful dignity of this simple celebrant; but, although he could not have expressed it

so, there was an aroma of an emotion about the vestmented figure that affected him almost physicallyan

entire absence of self consciousness, and in its place the consciousness of some other Presence, a perfection

of manner even in the smallest details that could only arise from absolute recollection. Even in Rome in the

old days it had been one of the sights of Rome to see Father Franklin say mass; seminary students on the eve

Today all was as usual, but at the Communion the priest looked up suddenly at the moment when the Host

had been consumed, with a half impression that either a sound or a gesture had invited it; and, as he looked,

his heart began to beat thick and convulsive at the base of his throat. Yet to the outward eyes there was

nothing unusual. The figure stood there with bowed head, the chin resting on the tips of the long fingers, the

body absolutely upright, and standing with that curious light poise as if no weight rested upon the feet. But to

the inner sense something was apparent; the Syrian could not in the least formulate it to himself; but

afterwards he reflected that he had stared expecting some visible or audible manifestation to take place. It

was an impression that might be described under the terms of either light or sound; at any instant that delicate

vivid force, that to the eyes of the soul burned beneath the red chasuble and the white alb, might have

suddenly welled outwards under the appearance of a gush of radiant light rendering luminous not only the

clear brown flesh seen beneath the white hair, but the very texture of the coarse, dead, stained stuffs that

swathed the rest of the body. Or it might have shown itself in the strain of a long chord on strings or wind, as

if the mystical union of the dedicated soul with the ineffable Godhead and Humanity of Jesus Christ

generated such a sound as ceaselessly flows out with the river of life from beneath the Throne of the Lamb.

Or yet once more it might have declared itself under the guise of a perfumethe very essence of distilled

sweetnesssuch a scent as that which, streaming out through the gross tabernacle of a saint's body, is to

The moments passed in that hush of purity and peace; sounds came and went outside, the rattle of a cart far

away, the sawing of the first cicada in the coarse grass twenty yards away beyond the wall; someone behind

the priest was breathing short and thick as under the pressure of an intolerable emotion, and yet the figure

stood there still, without a movement or sway to break the carved motionlessness of the albfolds or the

perfect poise of the whiteshod feet. When He moved at last to uncover the Precious Blood, to lay His hands

on the altar and adore, it was as if a statue had stirred into life; to the server it was very nearly as a shock.

Again, when the chalice was empty, that first impression reasserted itself; the human and the external died in

the embrace of the Divine and Invisible, and once more silence lived and glowed. . . . And again as the

spiritual energy sank back again into its origin, Silvester stretched out the chalice.

With knees that shook and eyes wide in expectation, the priest rose, adored, and went to the credence.

It was customary after the Pope's mass that the priest himself should offer the Sacrifice in his presence, but

today so soon as the vestments had been laid one by one on the rough chest, Silvester turned to the priest.

"Presently," he said softly. "Go up, father, at once to the roof, and tell the Cardinal to be ready. I shall come

It was surely a sciroccoday, thought the priest, as he came up on to the flat roof. Overhead, instead of the

clear blue proper to that hour of the morning, lay a pale yellow sky darkening even to brown at the horizon.

Thabor, before him, hung distant and sombre seen through the impalpable atmosphere of sand, and across the

plain, as he glanced behind him, beyond the white streak of Nain nothing was visible except the pale outline

of the tops of the hills against the sky. Even at this morning hour, too, the air was hot and breathless, broken

only by the slowstifling lift of the southwestern breeze that, blowing across countless miles of sand beyond

far away Egypt, gathered up the heat of the huge waterless continent and was pouring it, with scarcely a

streak of sea to soften its malignity, on this poor strip of land. Carmel, too, as he turned again, was swathed

about its base with mist, half dry and half damp, and above showed its long bullhead running out defiantly

against the western sky. The very table as he touched it was dry and hot to the hand, by midday the steel

He pressed the lever, and waited; pressed it again, and waited again. There came the answering ring, and he

tapped across the eighty miles of air that his Eminence's presence was required at once. A minute or two

passed, and then, after another rap of the bell, a line flicked out on the new white sheet.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and turned to see Silvester, hooded and in white, behind his chair.

The Pope went to the chair once more and sat down, and a minute later the priest, with growing excitement,

"`Enquiries are pouring in. Many expect your Holiness to issue a challenge. My secretaries have been

occupied since four o'clock. The anxiety is indescribable. Some are denying that they have a Pope.

Again the priest read out the answer. "`Yes and no. The news is true. It will be enforced immediately. Unless

"Very good," murmured the Pope, in his official voice. "Now listen carefully, Eminence." He was silent for a

"We are about to place ourselves unreservedly in the hands of God. Human prudence must no longer restrain

us. We command you then, using all discretion that is possible, to communicate these wishes of ours to the

following persons under the strictest secrecy, and to no others whatsoever. And for this service you are to

employ messengers, taken from the Order of Christ Crucified, two for each message, which is not to be

committed to writing in any form. The members of the Sacred College, numbering twelve; the metropolitans

and Patriarchs through the entire world, numbering twentytwo; the Generals of the Religious Orders: the

Society of Jesus, the Friars, the Monks Ordinary, and the Monks Contemplativefour. These persons,

thirtyeight in number, with the chaplain of your Eminence, who shall act as notary, and my own who shall

assist him, and Ourselffortyone all toldthese persons are to present themselves here at our palace of

Nazareth not later than the Eve of Pentecost. We feel Ourselves unwilling to decide the steps necessary to be

taken with reference to the new decree, except we first hear the counsel of our advisers, and give them an

opportunity of communicating freely one with another. These words, as we have spoken them, are to be

forwarded to all those persons whom we have named; and your Eminence will further inform them that our

"As regards the questions of provisioning the council and all matters of that kind, your Eminence will

despatch today the chaplain of whom we have spoken, who with my own chaplain will at once set about

preparations, and your Eminence will yourself follow, appointing Father Marabout to act in your absence, not

"Finally, to all who have asked explicit directions in the face of this new decree, communicate this one

"Lose not your confidence which hath a great reward. For yet a little while, and He that is to come will come

OLIVER Brand stepped out from the Conference Hall in Westminster on the Friday evening, so soon as the

business was over and the Plenipotentiaries had risen from the table, more concerned as to the effect of the

He traced the beginning of the change to the day five months ago when the President of the World had first

declared the development of his policy, and while Oliver himself had yielded to that development, and from

defending it in public had gradually convinced himself of its necessity, Mabel, for the first time in her life,

The woman to his mind seemed to him to have fallen into some kind of insanity. Felsenburgh's declaration

had been made a week or two after his Acclamation at Westminster, and Mabel had received the news of it at

Then, when there was no longer any doubt that he had declared the extermination of the Supernaturalists to

be a possible necessity, there had been a terrible scene between husband and wife. She had said that she had

been deceived; that the world's hope was a monstrous mockery; that the reign of universal peace was as far

away as ever; that Felsenburgh had betrayed his trust and broken his word. There had been an appalling

scene. He did not even now like to recall it to his imagination. She had quieted after a while, but his

arguments, delivered with infinite patience, seemed to produce very little effect. She settled down into

silence, hardly answering him. One thing only seemed to touch her, and that was when he spoke of the

President himself. It was becoming plain to him that she was but a woman after all at the mercy of a strong

personality but utterly beyond the reach of logic. He was very much disappointed. Yet he trusted to time to

The Government of England had taken swift and skilful steps to reassure those who, like Mabel, recoiled

from the inevitable logic of the new policy. An army of speakers traversed the country, defending and

explaining; the press was engineered with extraordinary adroitness, and it was possible to say that there was

not a person among the millions of England who had not easy access to the Government's defence.

Briefly, shorn of rhetoric, their arguments were as follows, and there was no doubt that, on the whole, they

Peace, it was pointed out, had for the first time in the world's history become an universal fact. There was no

longer one State, however small, whose interests were not identical with those of one of the three divisions of

the world of which it was a dependency, and that first stage had been accomplished nearly halfacentury

ago. But the second stagethe reunion of these three divisions under a common headan infinitely greater

achievement than the former, since the conflicting interests were incalculably more vastthis had been

consummated by a single Person, Who, it appeared, had emerged from humanity at the very instant when

such a Character was demanded. It was surely not much to ask that those on whom these benefits had come

should assent to the will and judgement of Him through whom they had come. This, then, was an appeal to

The second main argument was addressed to reason. Persecution, as all enlightened persons confessed, was

the method of a majority of savages who desired to force a set of opinions upon a minority who did not

spontaneously share them. Now the peculiar malevolence of persecution in the past lay, not in the

employment of force, but in the abuse of it. That any one kingdom should dictate religious opinions to a

minority of its members was an intolerable tyranny, for no one State possessed the right to lay down

universal laws, the contrary to which might be held by its neighbour. This, however, disguised, was nothing

else than the Individualism of Nations, a heresy even more disastrous to the commonwealth of the world than

the Individualism of the Individual. But with the arrival of the universal community of interests the whole

situation was changed. The single personality of the human race had succeeded to the incoherence of divided

units, and with that consummationwhich might be compared to a coming of age, an entirely new set of

rights had come into being. The human race was now a single entity with a supreme responsibility towards

itself; there were no longer any private rights at all, such as had certainly existed in the period previous to

this. Man now possessed dominion over every cell which composed His Mystical Body, and where any such

cell asserted itself to the detriment of the Body, the rights of the whole were unqualified.

And there was no religion but one that claimed the equal rights of universal jurisdictionand that the

Catholic. The sects of the East, while each retained characteristics of its own, had yet found in the New Man

the incarnation of their ideals, and had therefore given in their allegiance to the authority of the whole Body

of whom He was Head. But the very essence of the Catholic Religion was treason to the very idea of man.

Christians directed their homage to a supposed supernatural Being who was not onlyso they

claimedoutside of the world but positively transcended it. Christians, then leaving aside the mad fable

of the Incarnation, which might very well be suffered to die of its own follydeliberately severed

themselves from that Body of which by human generation they had been made members. They were as

mortified limbs yielding themselves to the domination of an outside force other than that which was their

only life, and by that very act imperilled the entire Body. This madness, then, was the one crime which still

deserved the name. Murder, theft, rape, even anarchy itself, were as trifling faults compared to this monstrous

sin, for while these injured indeed the Body they did not strike at its heartindividuals suffered, and

therefore those minor criminals deserved restraint; but the very Life was not struck at. But in Christianity

there was a poison actually deadly. Every cell that became infected with it was infected in that very fibre that

bound it to the spring of life. This, and this alone, was the supreme crime of High Treason against manand

These, then, were the main arguments addressed to that section of the world which still recoiled from the

deliberate utterance of Felsenburgh, and their success had been remarkable. Of course, the logic, in itself

indisputable, had been dressed in a variety of costumes gilded with rhetoric, flushed with passion, and it had

done its work in such a manner that as summer drew on Felsenburgh had announced privately that he

proposed to introduce a bill which should carry out to its logical conclusion the policy of which he had

Oliver let himself into his house, and went straight upstairs to Mabel's room. It would not do to let her hear

the news from any but his own lips. She was not there, and on enquiry he heard that she had gone out an hour

He was disconcerted at this. The decree had been signed half anhour earlier, and in answer to an enquiry

from Lord Pemberton it had been stated that there was no longer any reason for secrecy, and that the decision

might be communicated to the press. Oliver had hurried away immediately in order to make sure that Mabel

should hear the news from him, and now she was out, and at any moment the placards might tell her of what

He felt extremely uneasy, but for another hour or so was ashamed to act. Then he went to the tube and asked

another question or two, but the servant had no idea of Mabel's movements; it might be she had gone to the

church; sometimes she did at this hour. He sent the woman off to see, and himself sat down again in the

windowseat of his wife's room, staring out disconsolately at the wide array of roofs in the golden sunset

light, that seemed to his eyes to be strangely beautiful this evening. The sky was not that pure gold which it

had been every night during this last week; there was a touch of rose in it, and this extended across the entire

vault so far as he could see from west to east. He reflected on what he had lately read in an old book to the

effect that the abolition of smoke had certainly changed evening colours for the worse. . . . There had been a

couple of severe earthquakes, too, in Americahe wondered whether there was any connection. . . . Then his

It was about ten minutes before he heard her footstep on the stairs, and as he stood up she came in.

There was something in her face that told him that she knew everything, and his heart sickened at her pale

rigidity. There was no fury therenothing but white, hopeless despair, and an immense determination. Her

lips showed a straight line, and her eyes, beneath her white summer hat, seemed contracted to pinpricks. She

stood there, closing the door mechanically behind her, and made no further movement towards him.

"Is it true," she said again, "that all are to be questioned as to whether they believe in God, and to be killed if

"You put it very harshly," he said. "The question is, whether the world has a right"

"My dear, I beg you not to make a scene. I am tired out. And I will not answer that until you have heard what

"Very well, then. . . . Well, this is the point. The world is one now, not many. Individualism is dead. It died

when Felsenburgh became President of the World. You surely see that absolutely new conditions prevail

nowthere has never been anything like it before. You know all this as well as I do."

"You will please to hear me out," he said wearily. "Well, now that this has happened, there is a new morality;

it is exactly like a child coming to the age of reason. We are obliged, therefore, to see that this

continuesthat there is no going backno mortificationthat all the limbs are in good health. `If thy hand

offend thee, cut it off,' said Jesus Christ. Well, that is what we say. . . . Now, for anyone to say that they

believe in GodI doubt very much whether there is anyone who really does believe, or understand what it

meansbut for anyone even to say so is the very worst crime conceivable: it is hightreason. But there is

going to be no violence; it will all be quite quiet and merciful. Why, you have always approved of

Once more she made a little movement with her head. The rest of her was like an image.

Oliver had a sense of miserable desperation as he looked back at her. He would infinitely have preferred that

Then, for the first time in her life, she lied to her husband frankly and fully.

He still hesitated, but she met his eyes, pale indeed, but so honest that he fell back.

He came down to supper halfanhour later, primed with logic, and even kindled with emotion. The

argument seemed to him now so utterly convincing; granted the premises that they both accepted and lived

He waited a minute or two, and at last went to the tube that communicated with the servants' quarters.

That same evening Mr. Francis was very busy in his office over the details connected with the festival of

Sustenance that was to be celebrated on the first of July. It was the first time that the particular ceremony had

taken place, and he was anxious that it should be as successful as its predecessors. There were a few

differences between this and the others, and it was necessary that the ceremoniarii should be fully instructed.

So, with his model before hima miniature replica of the interior of the Abbey, with tiny dummy figures on

blocks that could be shifted this way and that, he was engaged in adding in a minute ecclesiastical hand

When the porter therefore rang up a little after twentyone o'clock, that a lady wished to see him, he

answered rather brusquely down the tube that it was impossible. But the bell rang again, and to his impatient

question, the reply came up that it was Mrs. Brand below, and that she did not ask for more than ten minutes'

conversation. This was quite another matter. Oliver Brand was an important personage, and his wife therefore

had significance, and Mr. Francis apologised, gave directions that she was to come to his anteroom, and

She seemed very quiet this evening, he thought, as he shook hands with her a minute later; she wore her veil

down, so that he could not see her face very well, but her voice seemed to lack its usual vivacity.

"I am so sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Francis," she said. "I only want to ask you one or two questions."

"No," she said, "Mr. Brand has not sent me. It is entirely my own affair. You will see my reasons presently. I

"First," she said, "I think you used to know Father Franklin. He became a Cardinal, didn't he?"

"No," he said. "He is dead. He was in Rome, you know, at the time of its destruction."

"Quite sure. Only one Cardinal escapedSteinmann. He was hanged in Berlin; and the Patriarch of

"Ah! very well. Well, now, here is a very odd question. I ask for a particular reason, which I cannot explain,

"Yes," she said tranquilly, "it is a very odd question. But" she hesitated. "Well, I will tell you," she said.

"The fact is, that I have a friend who isis in danger from this new law. I want to be able to argue with her;

and I must know her side. You are the only priestI mean who has been a priest whom I ever knew,

Her voice was entirely natural; there was not a tremor or a falter in it. Mr. Francis smiled genially, rubbing

"Ah!" he said. "Yes, I see. . . . Well, that is a very large question. Would not tomorrow, perhaps?"

"I only want just the shortest answer," she said. "It is really important for me to know at once. You see, this

"Wellvery briefly, I should say this: Catholics say that God can be perceived by reason; that from the

arrangements of the world they can deduce that there must have been an Arrangera Mind, you understand.

Then they say that they deduce other things about Godthat He is Love, for example, because of

"Well, you see, they say that God wanted to be loved by His creatures, so He made them free; otherwise they

could not really love. But if they were free, it means that they could if they liked refuse to love and obey God;

"Yes, yes," she said. "But I really want to get at what they think. . . . Well, then, that is all?"

"Scarcely," he said; "that is hardly more than what they call Natural Religion. Catholics believe much more

"My dear Mrs. Brand, it is impossible to put it in a few words. But, in brief, they believe that God became

manthat Jesus was God, and that He did this in order to save them from sin by dying"

"Yes; by dying. Well, what they call the Incarnation is really the point. Everything else flows from that. And,

once a man believes that, I must confess that all the rest followseven down to scapulars and holy water."

"Of course not," he said; "it is all incredible nonsense. But, you know, I did really believe it all once."

"Yes," he said, "in one sense, of course it isutterly unreasonable. But in another sense"

She leaned forward suddenly, and he could catch the glint of her eyes beneath her white veil.

"Ah!" she said, almost breathlessly. "That is what I want to hear. Now, tell me how they justify it."

"Well," he said slowly, "as far as I remember, they say that there are other faculties besides those of reason.

They say, for example, that the heart sometimes finds out things that the reason cannotintuitions, you see.

For instance, they say that all things such as selfsacrifice and chivalry and even artall come from the

heart, that Reason comes with themin rules of technique, for instancebut that it cannot prove them; they

"Well, they say that Religion is like thatin other words, they practically confess that it is merely a matter of

emotion." He paused again, trying to be fair. "Well, perhaps they would not say thatalthough it is true. But

"Well, they say there is a thing called Faitha kind of deep conviction unlike anything

elsesupernaturalwhich God is supposed to give to people who desire itto people who pray for it, and

"Well, this Faith, acting upon what they call Evidencesthis Faith makes them absolutely certain that there

is a God, that He was made man and so on, with the Church and all the rest of it. They say too that this is

further proved by the effect that their religion has had in the world, and by the way it explains man's nature to

"Thank you very much," she said, "it certainly is clearer. . . . And it is true that Christians have died for this

"Well, they did, and I suppose that a few do now. But very few: the rest have become esoteric, as they say."

"Oh! West undoubtedly. The East thinks a good deal, but it doesn't act much. And that always leads to

"And Christianity certainly has been the Religion of the West up to a hundred years ago?"

She was silent then, and Mr. Francis had time again to reflect how very odd all this was. She certainly must

"And you, Mr. Francis. You were brought up in all this. Does it ever come back to you?"

"How do you account for that, then? If it is all self suggestion, you have had thirty years of it."

She would not let him come down the lift with her, so when he had seen the smooth box drop noiselessly

below the level, he went back again to his model of the Abbey and the little dummy figures. But, before he

began to move these about again, he sat for a moment or two with pursed lips, staring.

A WEEK later Mabel awoke about dawn; and for a moment or two forgot where she was. She even spoke

Oliver's name aloud, staring round the unfamiliar room, wondering what she did here. Then she remembered,

It was the eighth day she had spent in this Home; her probation was finished: today she was at liberty to do

that for which she had come. On the Saturday of the previous week she had gone through her private

examination before the magistrate, stating under the usual conditions of secrecy her name, age and home, as

well as her reasons for making the application for Euthanasia; and all had passed off well. She had selected

Manchester as being sufficiently remote and sufficiently large to secure her freedom from Oliver's

molestation; and her secret had been admirably kept. There was not a hint that her husband knew anything of

her intentions; for, after all, in these cases the police were bound to assist the fugitive. Individualism was at

least so far recognised as to secure to those weary of life the right of relinquishing it. She scarcely knew why

she had selected this method, except that any other seemed impossible. The knife required skill and

resolution; firearms were unthinkable, and poison, under the new stringent regulations, was hard to obtain.

Besides, she seriously wished to test her own intentions, and to be quite sure that there was no other way than

Well, she was as certain as ever. The thought had first come to her in the mad misery of the outbreak of

violence on the last day of the old year. Then it had gone again, soothed away by the arguments that man was

Then once more it had recurred, a cold and convincing phantom, in the plain daylight revealed by

Felsenburgh's Declaration. It had taken up its abode with her then, yet she controlled it, hoping against hope

that the Declaration would not be carried into action, occasionally revolting against its horror. Yet it had

never been far away; and finally when the policy sprouted into deliberate law, she had yielded herself

resolutely to its suggestion. That was eight days ago; and she had not had one moment of faltering since that.

Yet she had ceased to condemn. The logic had silenced her. All that she knew was that she could not bear it;

that she had misconceived the New Faith; that for her, whatever it was for others, there was no hope. . . . She

Those eight days, required by law, had passed very peacefully. She had taken with her enough money to enter

one of the private homes furnished with sufficient comfort to save from distractions those who had been

accustomed to gentle living: the nurses had been pleasant and sympathetic; she had nothing to complain of.

She had suffered, of course, to some degree from reactions. The second night after her arrival had been

terrible, when, as she lay in bed in the hot darkness, her whole sentient life had protested and struggled

against the fate her will ordained. It had demanded the familiar thingsthe promise of food and breath and

human intercourse; it had writhed in horror against the blind dark towards which it moved so inevitably; and,

in the agony had been pacified only by the halfhinted promise of some deeper voice suggesting that death

was not the end. With morning light sanity had come back; the will had reassumed the mastery, and, with it,

had withdrawn explicitly the implied hope of continued existence. She had suffered again for an hour or two

from a more concrete fear; the memory came back to her of those shocking revelations that ten years ago had

convulsed England and brought about the establishment of these Homes under Government

supervisionthose evidences that for years in the great vivisectionlaboratories human subjects had been

practised uponpersons who with the same intentions as herself had cut themselves off from the world in

private euthanasiahouses, to whom had been supplied a gas that suspended instead of destroying animation.

. . . But this, too, had passed with the return of light. Such things were impossible now under the new

systemat least, in England. She had refrained from making an end upon the Continent for this very reason.

There, where sentiment was weaker, and logic more imperious, materialism was more consistent. Since men

There had been but one physical drawback, the intolerable heat of the days and nights. It seemed, scientists

said, that an entirely unexpected heatwave had been generated; there were a dozen theories, most of which

were mutually exclusive one of another. It was humiliating, she thought, that men who professed to have

taken the earth under their charge should be so completely baffled. The conditions of the weather had of

course been accompanied by disasters; there had been earthquakes of astonishing violence, a ripple had

wrecked not less than twentyfive towns in America; an island or two had disappeared, and that bewildering

Vesuvius seemed to be working up for a d�nouement. But no one knew really the explanation. One man had

been wild enough to say that some cataclysm had taken place in the centre of the earth. . . . So she had heard

from her nurse; but she was not greatly interested. It was only tiresome that she could not walk much in the

garden, and had to be content with sitting in her own cool shaded room on the second floor.

There was only one other matter of which she had asked, namely, the effect of the new decree; but the nurse

did not seem to know much about that. It appeared that there had been an outrage or two, but the law had not

yet been enforced to any great extent; a week, after all, was a short time, even though the decree had taken

It seemed to her as she lay awake this morning, staring at the tinted ceiling, and out now and again at the

quiet little room, that the heat was worse than ever. For a minute she thought she must have overslept; but, as

she touched her repeater, it told her that it was scarcely after four o'clock. Well, well; she would not have to

bear it much longer; she thought that about eight it would be time to make an end. There was her letter to

As regarded the morality of what she was doingthe relation, that is to say, which her act bore to the

common life of man she had no shadow of doubt. it was her belief, as of the whole Humanitarian world,

that just as bodily pain occasionally justified this termination of life, so also did mental pain. There was a

certain pitch of distress at which the individual was no longer necessary to himself or the world; it was the

most charitable act that could be performed. But she had never thought in old days that that state could ever

be hers; Life had been much too interesting. But it had come to this: there was no question of it.

Perhaps a dozen times in that week she had thought over her conversation with Mr. Francis. Her going to him

had been little more than instinctive; she did just wish to hear what the other side waswhether Christianity

was as ludicrous as she had always thought. It seemed that it was not ludicrous; it was only terribly pathetic.

It was just a lovely dreaman exquisite piece of poetry. It would be heavenly to believe it, but she did not.

Noa transcendent God was unthinkable, although not quite so unthinkable as a merely immeasurable Man.

There seemed no way out of it. The HumanityReligion was the only one. Man was God, or at least His

highest manifestation; and He was a God with which she did not wish to have anything more to do. These

faint new instincts after something other than intellect and emotion were, she knew perfectly well, nothing

She had thought a great deal of Felsenburgh, however, and was astonished at her own feelings. He was

certainly the most impressive man she had ever seen; it did seem very probable indeed that He was what He

claimed to bethe Incarnation of the ideal Manthe first perfect product of humanity. But the logic of his

position was too much for her. She saw now that He was perfectly logicalthat He had not been inconsistent

in denouncing the destruction of Rome and a week later making His declaration. It was the passion of one

man against another that He denouncedof kingdom against kingdom, and sect against sect for this was

suicidal for the race. He denounced passion, too, not judicial action. Therefore, this new decree was as logical

as Himselfit was a judicial act on the part of an united world against a tiny majority that threatened the

principle of life and faith: and it was to be carried out with supreme mercy; there was no revenge or passion

or partisan spirit in it from beginning to end; no more than a man is revengeful or passionate when he

Yes, it was logical and sound. And it was because it was so that she could not bear it. . . . But ah! what a

sublime man Felsenburgh was; it was a joy to her even to recall his speeches and his personality. She would

have liked to see him again. But it was no good. She had better be done with it as tranquilly as possible. And

She dozed off again presently, and it seemed scarcely five minutes before she looked up to see a gentle

"It is nearly six o'clock, my dearthe time you told me. I came to see about breakfast."

Mabel drew a long breath. Then she sat up suddenly, throwing back the sheet. (II)

It struck a quarterpast six from the little clock on the mantelshelf as she laid down her pen. Then she took

up the closely written sheets, leaned back in her deep chair, and began to read. "HOME OF REST, "No. 3A

"I am very sorry, but it has come back to me. I really cannot go on any longer, so I am going to escape in the

only way left, as I once told you. I have had a very quiet and happy time here; they have been most kind and

considerate. You see, of course, from the heading on this paper, what I mean. . . .

"Well, you have always been very dear to me; you are still, even at this moment. So you have a right to know

my reasons so far as I know them myself. It is very difficult to understand myself; but it seems to me that I

am not strong enough to live. So long as I was pleased and excited it was all very well especially when He

came. But I think I had expected it to be different; I did not understand as I do now how it must come to

thishow it is all quite logical and right. I could bear it, when I thought that they had acted through passion,

but this is deliberate. I did not realise that Peace must have its laws, and must protect itself. And, somehow,

"Then there is this difficulty. I know how absolutely in agreement you are with this new state of affairs; of

course you are, because you are so much stronger and more logical than I am. But if you have a wife she

must be of one mind with you. And I am not, any more, at least not with my heart, though I see you are right.

"If we had had a child, it might have been different. I might have liked to go on living for his sake. But

"I know I am wrong, and that you are rightbut there it is; I cannot change myself. So I am quite sure that I

"Then I want to tell you thisthat I am not at all frightened. I never can understand why people areunless,

of course, they are Christians. I should be horribly frightened if I was one of them. But, you see, we both

know that there is nothing beyond. It is life that I am frightened ofnot death. Of course, I should be

frightened if there was any pain; but the doctors tell me that there is absolutely none. It is simply going to

sleep. The nerves are dead before the brain. I am going to do it myself. I don't want anyone else in the room.

In a few minutes the nurse hereSister Anne, with whom I have made great friendswill bring in the thing,

"As regards what happens afterwards, I do not mind at all. Please do exactly what you wish. The cremation

will take place tomorrow morning at noon, so that you can be here if you like. Or you can send directions,

and they will send on the urn to you. I know you liked to have your mother's urn in the garden; so perhaps

you will like mine. Please do exactly what you like. And with all my things too. Of course I leave them to

"Now, my dear, I want to say thisthat I am very sorry indeed now that I was so tiresome and stupid. I think

I did really believe your arguments all along. But I did not want to believe them. Do you see now why I was

"Oliver, my darling, you have been extraordinarily good to me. . . . Yes, I know I am crying, but I am really

very happy. This is such a lovely ending. I wish I hadn't been obliged to make you so anxious during this last

week: but I had toI knew you would persuade me against it, if you found me, and that would have been

worse than ever. I am sorry I told you that lie, too. Indeed, it is the first I ever did tell you.

"Well, I don't think there is much more to say. Oliver, my dear, goodbye. I send you my love with all my

She sat still when she had read it through, and her eyes were still wet with tears. Yet it was all perfectly true.

She was far happier than she could be if she had still the prospect of going back. Life seemed entirely blank:

She directed the envelope, still with a perfectly steady hand, laid it on the table, and leaned back once more,

Then she suddenly began to think of her conversation with Mr. Francis; and, by a strange association of ideas,

remembered the fall of the volor in Brighton, the busyness of the priest, and the Euthanasia boxes. . . .

When Sister Anne came in a few minutes later, she was astonished at what she saw. The girl crouched at the

window, her hands on the sill, staring out at the sky in an attitude of unmistakable horror.

Sister Anne came across the room quickly, setting down something on the table as she passed. She touched

There was a long sobbing breath, and Mabel turned, rising as she turned, and clutched the nurse with one

The nurse drew her softly backwards to the chair, turning her from the window. She recognised nervous fear;

Yet there was nothing remarkable to be seen. In front rose up the feathery head of an elm, then the shuttered

windows across the court, the roof, and above that the morning sky, a little heavy and dusky as before a

A faint faraway rumble sounded as the rolling of a waggon so faint that it might almost be an aural

delusion. But the girl's hands were at her ears, and her face was one white wide eyed mask of terror. The

"My dear," she said, "you are not yourself. That is nothing but a little heatthunder. Sit down quietly."

She could feel the girl's body shaking beneath her hands, but there was no resistance as she drew her to the

She nodded; and the nurse went across to the door, smiling tenderly; she had seen such things before. A

moment later the room was full of exquisite sunlight, as she switched the handle. As she turned, she saw that

Mabel had wheeled herself round in the chair, and with clasped hands was still staring out at the sky above

the roofs; but she was plainly quieter again now. The nurse came back, and put her hand on her shoulder.

"You are overwrought, my dear. . . . Now you must believe me. There is nothing to be frightened of. It is just

Mabel turned her face. . . . Yes, certainly the light had reassured her. Her face was still white and bewildered,

but the steady look was coming back to her eyes, though, even as she spoke, they wandered back more than

"Nurse," she said more quietly, "please look again and tell me if you see nothing. If you say there is nothing I

No; there was nothing. The sky was a little dark, as if a blight were coming on; but there was hardly more

than a veil of cloud, and the light was scarcely more than tinged with gloom. It was just such a sky as

She turned to the little table by the side on which Sister Anne had set down what she had brought into the

There rested upon it a whiteenamelled box, delicately painted with flowers. From this box emerged a white

flexible tube with a broad mouthpiece, fitted with two leathercovered steel clasps. From the side of the box

"Now, my dear," began the nurse quietly, watching the other's eyes turn once again to the window, and then

back"Now, my dear, you sit there, as you are now. Your head right back, please. When you are ready, you

put this over your mouth, and clasp the springs behind your head. . . . So. . . . it works quite easily. Then you

Mabel nodded. She had regained her selfcommand, and understood plainly enough, though even as she

"There is nothing more. Breathe naturally. You will feel sleepy almost directly. Then you close your eyes,

The nurse nodded and smiled to her once more at the door. But Mabel hardly noticed it; again she was

"I shall come back in halfanhour," said Sister Anne. Then her eyes caught a square of white upon the

The nurse took it up, glanced at the address, and again at Mabel. Still she hesitated.

"In halfanhour," she repeated. "There is no hurry at all. It doesn't take five minutes. . . . Goodbye, my

Mabel stood perfectly still until she heard the locking of the door and the withdrawal of the key. Then once

From where she stood there was visible to her first the courtyard beneath, with its lawn in the centre, and a

couple of trees growing thereall plain in the brilliant light that now streamed from her window; and

secondly, above the roofs, a tremendous pall of ruddy black. It was the more terrible from the contrast. Earth,

It appeared, too, that there was a curious stillness. The house was, usually, quiet enough at this hour: the

inhabitants of that place were in no mood for bustle: but now it was more than quiet; it was deathly still: it

was such a hush as precedes the sudden crash of the sky's artillery. But the moments went by, and there was

no such crash: only once again there sounded a solemn rolling, as of some great wain far away; stupendously

impressive, for with it to the girl's ears there seemed mingled a murmur of innumerable voices, ghostly crying

She had begun to understand now. The darkness and the sounds were not for all eyes and ears. The nurse had

seen and heard nothing extraordinary, and the rest of the world of men saw and heard nothing. To them it was

Mabel did not attempt to distinguish between the subjective and the objective. It was nothing to her as to

whether the sights and sounds were generated by her own brain or perceived by some faculty hitherto

unknown. She seemed to herself to be standing already apart from the world which she had known; it was

receding from her, or, rather, while standing where it had always done, it was melting, transforming itself,

passing to some other mode of existence. The strangeness seemed no more strange than anything elsethan

Then, hardly knowing what she said, looking steadily upon that appalling sky, she began to speak. . . .

Her voice faltered, and she gripped the sill to steady herself. She wondered vaguely why she spoke so; it was

"O God, I know You are not thereof course You are not. But if You were there, I know what I would say

to You. I would tell You how puzzled and tired I am. NoNoI need not tell You: You would know it. But

I would say that I was very sorry for all this. Oh! You would know that too. I need not say anything at all. O

God! I don't know what I want to say. I would like You to look after Oliver, of course, and all Your poor

Christians. Oh! they will have such a hard time. . . . God. GodYou would understand, wouldn't You?" . . .

Again came the heavy rumble and the solemn bass of a myriad voices; it seemed a shade nearer, she thought.

. . . She never liked thunderstorms or shouting crowds. They always gave her a headache. . . .

She was furious at the trembling of her hands; twice the spring slipped from her polished coils of hair. . . .

Then it was fixed . . . and as if a breeze fanned her, her sense came back. . . .

She found she could breathe quite easily; there was no resistancethat was a comfort; there would be no

suffocation about it. . . . She put out her left hand and touched the handle, conscious less of its sudden

coolness than of the unbearable heat in which the room seemed almost suddenly plunged. She could hear the

drumming pulses in her temples and the roaring of the voices. . . . She dropped the handle once more, and

with both hands tore at the loose white wrapper that she had put on this morning.

Yes, that was a little easier; she could breathe better so. Again her fingers felt for and found the handle, but

the sweat streamed from her fingers, and for an instant she could not turn the knob. Then it yielded suddenly.

For one instant the sweet languid smell struck her consciousness like a blow, for she knew it as the scent of

death. Then the steady will that had borne her so far asserted itself, and she laid her hands softly in her lap,

She had closed her eyes at the turning of the handle, but now opened them again, curious to watch the aspect

of the fading world. She had determined to do this a week ago: she would at least miss nothing of this unique

It seemed at first that there was no change. There was the feathery head of the elm, the lead roof opposite,

and the terrible sky above. She noticed a pigeon, white against the blackness, soar and swoop again out of

There was a sudden sensation of ecstatic lightness in all her limbs; she attempted to lift a hand, and was

aware that it was impossible; it was no longer hers. She attempted to lower her eyes from that broad strip of

violet sky, and perceived that that too was impossible. Then she understood that the will had already lost

touch with the body, that the crumbling world had receded to an infinite distancethat was as she had

expected, but what continued to puzzle her was that her mind was still active. It was true that the world she

had known had withdrawn itself from the dominion of consciousness, as her body had done, except, that was,

in the sense of hearing, which was still strangely alert; yet there was still enough memory to be aware that

there was such a worldthat there were other persons in existence; that men went about their business,

knowing nothing of what had happened; but faces, names, places had all alike gone. In fact, she was

conscious of herself in such a manner as she had never been before; it seemed as if she had penetrated at last

into some recess of her being into which hitherto she had only looked as through clouded glass. This was

very strange, and yet it was familiar, too; she had arrived, it seemed, at a centre, round the circumference of

which she had been circling all her life; and it was more than a mere point: it was a distinct space, walled and

Then an amazing thing happenedyet it appeared to her that she had always known it would happen,

The enclosure melted, with a sound of breaking, and a limitless space was about herlimitless, different to

everything else, and alive, and astir. It was alive, as a breathing, panting body is aliveselfevident and

overpowering it was one, yet it was many; it was immaterial, yet absolutely realreal in a sense in which

Yet even this was familiar, as a place often visited in dreams is familiar; and then, without warning,

something resembling sound or light, something which she knew in an instant to be unique, tore across it. . . .

OLIVER had passed the days since Mabel's disappearance in an indescribable horror. He had done all that

was possible: he had traced her to the station and to Victoria, where he lost her clue; he had communicated

with the police, and the official answer, telling him nothing, had arrived to the effect that there was no news:

and it was not until the Tuesday following her disappearance that Mr. Francis, hearing by chance of his

trouble, informed him by telephone that he had spoken with her on the Friday night. But there was no

satisfaction to be got from himindeed, the news was bad rather than good, for Oliver could not but be

dismayed at the report of the conversation, in spite of Mr. Francis' assurances that Mrs. Brand had shown no

Two theories gradually emerged in his mind; either she was gone to the protection of some unknown

Catholic, orand he grew sick at the thoughtshe had applied somewhere for Euthanasia as she had once

threatened, and was now under the care of the Law; such an event was sufficiently common since the passing

On the Tuesday evening, as he sat heavily in his room, for the hundredth time attempting to trace out some

coherent line through the maze of intercourse he had had with his wife during these past months, his bell

suddenly rang. It was the red label of Whitehall that had made its appearance; and for an instant his heart

"Brand," came the sharp fairy voice, "is that you? . . . Yes, I am Snowford. You are wanted at onceat once,

you understand. There is an extraordinary meeting of the Council at twenty o'clock. The President will be

there. You understand the urgency. No time for more. Come instantly to my room."

Even this message scarcely distracted him. He, with the rest of the world, was no longer surprised at the

sudden descents of the President. He came and vanished again without warning, travelling and working with

It was already after nineteen; Oliver supped immediately, and a quarterofanhour before the hour

presented himself in Snowford's room, where half a dozen of his colleagues were assembled.

That minister came forward to meet him, with a strange excitement in his face. He drew him aside by a

"See here, Brand, you are wanted to speak firstimmediately after the President's Secretary who will open;

they are coming from Paris. It is about a new matter altogether. He has had information of the whereabouts of

the Pope. . . . It seems that there is one. . . . Oh, you will understand presently. Oh, and by the way," he went

on, looking curiously at the strained face, "I am sorry to hear of your anxiety. Pemberton told me just now."

"Well, the President will have a proposal, we imagine. You know our minds well enough. Just explain our

Cartwright came up presently, an immense, bent old man with a face of parchment, as befitted the Lord Chief

"By the way, Brand, what do you know of a man called Phillips? He seems to have mentioned your name."

"I think he must be mad. He has given himself up to a magistrate, entreating to be examined at once. The

magistrate has applied for instructions. You see, the Act has scarcely begun to move yet."

"That's the difficulty. He says he cannot deny God, neither can he affirm Him.He was your secretary,

"Certainly. I knew he was inclined to Christianity. I had to get rid of him for that."

"Well, he is to be remanded for a week. Perhaps he will be able to make up his mind."

Then the talk shifted off again. Two or three more came up, and all eyed Oliver with a certain curiosity; the

story was gone about that his wife had left him. They wished to see how he took it.

At five minutes before the hour a bell rang, and the door into the corridor was thrown open.

The Council Chamber was a long high room on the first floor; its walls from floor to ceiling were lined with

books. A noiseless rubber carpet was underfoot. There were no windows; the room was lighted artificially. A

long table, set round with armed chairs ran the length of the floor, eight on either side; and the Presidential

The room was beautifully cool, in spite of the absence of windows, and was a pleasant contrast to the hot

evening outside through which most of these men had come. They, too, had wondered at the surprising

weather, and had smiled at the conflict of the infallible. But they were not thinking about that now: the

coming of the President was a matter which always silenced the most loquacious. Besides, this time, they

At one minute before the hour, again a bell sounded, four times, and ceased; and at the signal each man

turned instinctively to the high sliding door behind the Presidential chair. There was dead silence within and

without: the huge Government offices were luxuriously provided with sound deadening apparatus, and not

even the rolling of the vast motors within a hundred yards was able to send a vibration through the layers of

rubber on which the walls rested. There was only one noise that could penetrate, and that the sound of

Again the silence seemed to fall in one yet deeper veil. Then the door opened, and a figure came swiftly

He passed straight up to the chair, followed by two secretaries, bowed slightly to this side and that, sat down

and made a little gesture. Then they, too, were in their chairs, upright and intent. For perhaps the hundredth

time, Oliver, staring upon the President, marvelled at the quietness and the astounding personality of Him. He

was in the English judicial dress that had passed down through centuriesblack and scarlet with sleeves of

white fur and a crimson sashand that had lately been adopted as the English presidential costume of him

who stood at the head of the legislature. But it was in His personality, in the atmosphere that flowed from

Him, that the marvel lay. It was as the scent of the sea to the physical natureit exhilarated, cleansed,

kindled, intoxicated. It was as inexplicably attractive as a cherry orchard in spring, as affecting as the cry of

stringed instruments, as compelling as a storm. So writers had said. They compared it to a stream of clear

water, to the flash of a gem, to the love of woman. They lost all decency sometimes; they said it fitted all

moods, as the voice of many waters; they called it again and again, as explicitly as possible, the Divine

Then Oliver's reflections dropped from him like a mantle, for the President, with downcast eyes and head

thrown back, made a little gesture to the ruddyfaced secretary on His right; and this man, without a

"Gentlemen," he said, in an even, resonant voice, "the President is come direct from Paris. This afternoon His

Honour was in Berlin; this morning, early, in Moscow. Yesterday in New York. Tonight His Honour must

be in Turin; and tomorrow will begin to return through Spain, North Africa, Greece and the southeastern

This was the usual formula for such speeches. The President spoke but little himself now; but was careful for

the information of his subjects on occasions like this. His secretaries were perfectly trained, and this speaker

"Last Thursday, as you are aware, the Plenipotentiaries signed the Test Act in this room, and it was

immediately communicated all over the world. At sixteen o'clock His Honour received a message from a man

named Dolgorovskiwho is, it is understood, one of the Cardinals of the Catholic Church. This he claimed;

and on enquiry it was found to be a fact. His information confirmed what was already suspectednamely,

that there was a man claiming to be Pope, who had created (so the phrase is) other cardinals, shortly after the

destruction of Rome, subsequent to which his own election took place in Jerusalem. It appears that this Pope,

with a good deal of statesmanship, has chosen to keep his own name and place of residence a secret from

even his own followers, with the exception of the twelve cardinals; that he has done a great deal, through the

instrumentality of one of his cardinals in particular, and through his new Order in general, towards the

reorganisation of the Catholic Church; and that at this moment he is living, apart from the world, in complete

"His Honour blames Himself that He did not do more than suspect something of the kindmisled, He thinks,

by a belief that if there had been a Pope, news would have been heard of it from other quarters, for, as is well

known, the entire structure of the Christian Church rests upon him as upon a rock. Further, His Honour thinks

enquiries should have been made in the very place where now it is understood that this Pope is living.

Oliver started uncontrollably, but relapsed again to bright eyed intelligence as for an instant the President

"Franklin," repeated the secretary, "and he is living in Nazareth, where, it is said, the Founder of Christianity

"Now this, gentlemen, His Honour heard on Thursday in last week. He caused enquiries to be made, and on

Friday morning received further intelligence from Dolgorovski that this Pope had summoned to Nazareth a

meeting of his cardinals, and certain other officials, from all over the world, to consider what steps should be

taken in view of the new Test Act. This His Honour takes to show an extreme want of statesmanship which

seems hard to reconcile with his former action. These persons are summoned by special messengers to meet

on Saturday next, and will begin their deliberations after some Christian ceremonies on the following

"You wish, gentlemen, no doubt, to know Dolgorovski's motives in making all this known. His Honour is

satisfied that they are genuine. The man has been losing belief in his religion; in fact, he has come to see that

this religion is the supreme obstacle to the consolidation of the race. He has esteemed it his duty, therefore, to

lay this information before His Honour. It is interesting as an historical parallel to reflect that the same kind

of incident marked the rise of Christianity as will mark, it is thought, its final extinction namely, the

informing on the part of one of the leaders of the place and method by which the principal personage may be

best approached. It is also, surely, very significant that the scene of the extinction of Christianity is identical

"Well, gentlemen, His Honour's proposal is as follows, carrying out the Declaration to which you all acceded.

It is that a force should proceed during the night of Saturday next to Palestine, and on the Sunday morning,

when these men will be all gathered together, that this force should finish as swiftly and mercifully as

possible the work to which the Powers have set their hands. So far, the consent of the Governments which

have been consulted has been unanimous, and there is little doubt that the rest will be equally so. His Honour

felt that He could not act in so grave a matter on His own responsibility; it is not merely local; it is a catholic

administration of justice, and will have results wider than it is safe minutely to prophesy.

"It is not necessary to enter into His Honour's reasons. They are already well known to you; but before asking

for your opinion, He desires me to indicate what He thinks, in the event of your approval, should be the

"Each Government, it is proposed, should take part in the final scene, for it is something of a symbolic action;

and for this purpose it is thought well that each of the three Departments of the World should depute volors,

to the number of the constituting States, one hundred and twentytwo all told, to set about the business.

These volors should have no common meetingground, otherwise the news will surely penetrate to Nazareth,

for it is understood that this new Order of Christ Crucified has a highly organised system of espionage. The

rendezvous, then, should be no other than Nazareth itself; and the time of meeting should be, it is thought,

not later than nine o'clock according to Palestine reckoning. These details, however, can be decided and

communicated as soon as a determination has been formed as regards the entire scheme.

"With respect to the exact method of carrying out the conclusion, His Honour is inclined to think that it will

be more merciful to enter into no negotiations with the persons concerned. An opportunity should be given to

the inhabitants of the village to make their escape if they so desire it, and then, with the explosives that the

"For Himself, His Honour proposes to be there in person, and further that the actual discharge should take

place from His own car. It seems but suitable that the world which has done His Honour the goodness to elect

Him to its Presidentship should act through His hands; and this would be at least some slight token of respect

to a superstition which, however infamous, is yet the one and only force capable of withstanding the true

"His Honour promises you, gentlemen, that in the event of this plan being carried out, we shall be no more

troubled with Christianity. Already the moral effect of the Test Act has been prodigious. It is understood that,

by tens of thousands, Catholics, numbering among them even members of this new fanatical Religious Order,

have been renouncing their follies even in these few days; and a final blow struck now at the very heart and

head of the Catholic Church, eliminating, as it would do, the actual body on which the entire organisation

subsists, would render its resurrection impossible. It is a wellknown fact that, granted the extinction of the

line of Popes, together with those necessary for its continuance, there could be no longer any question

amongst even the most ignorant that the claim of Jesus had ceased to be either reasonable or possible. Even

the Order that has provided the sinews for this new movement must cease to exist.

"Dolgorovski, of course, is the difficulty, for it is not certainly known whether one Cardinal would be

considered sufficient for the propagation of the line; and, although reluctantly, His Honour feels bound to

suggest that at the conclusion of the affair, Dolgorovski, also, who will not, of course, be with his fellows at

"His Honour, then, asks you, gentlemen, as briefly as possible, to state your views on the points of which I

He had spoken throughout in the manner with which he had begun; his eyes had been downcast throughout;

There was an instant's silence, and all eyes settled steadily again upon the motionless figure in black and

Then Oliver stood up. His face was as white as paper; his eyes bright and dilated.

"Sir," he said, "I have no doubt that we are all of one mind. I need say no more than that, so far as I am a

representative of my colleagues, we assent to the proposal, and leave all details in your Honour's hands."

The President lifted his eyes, and ran them swiftly along the rigid faces turned to him.

Then, in the breathless hush, he spoke for the first time in his strange voice, now as passionless as a frozen

It was a little before seven o'clock on the morning of Saturday that Oliver stepped out of the motor that had

carried him to Wimbledon Common, and began to go up the steps of the old volorstage, abandoned five

years ago. It had been thought better, in view of the extreme secrecy that was to be kept, that England's

representative in the expedition should start from a comparatively unknown point, and this old stage, in

disuse now, except for occasional trials of new Government machines, had been selected. Even the lift had

been removed, and it was necessary to climb the hundred and fifty steps on foot.

It was with a certain unwillingness that he had accepted this post among the four delegates, for nothing had

been heard of his wife, and it was terrible to him to leave London while her fate was as yet doubtful. On the

whole, he was less inclined than ever now to accept the Euthanasia theory; he had spoken to one or two of her

friends, all of whom declared that she had never even hinted at such an end. And, again, although he was well

aware of the eightday law in the matter, even if she had determined on such a step there was nothing to

show that she was yet in England, and, in fact, it was more than likely that if she were bent on such an act she

would go abroad for it, where laxer conditions prevailed. In short, it seemed that he could do no good by

remaining in England, and the temptation to be present at the final act of justice in the East by which those

who had indirectly been the cause of his tragedy were to be wiped out, and Franklin, too, among

themFranklin, that parody of the Lord of the Worldthis, added to the opinion of his colleagues in the

Government, and the curious sense, never absent from him now, that Felsenburgh's approval was a thing to

die for if necessarythese things had finally prevailed. He left behind him at home his secretary, with

instructions that no expense was to be spared in communicating with him should any news of his wife arrive

It was terribly hot this morning, and, by the time that he reached the top he noticed that the monster in the net

was already fitted into its white aluminium casing, and that the fans within the corridor and saloon were

already active. He stepped inside to secure a seat in the saloon, set his bag down, and after a word or two with

the guard, who, of course, had not yet been informed of their destination, learning that the others were not yet

come, he went out again on to the platform for coolness' sake, and to brood in peace.

London looked strange this morning, he thought. Here beneath him was the common, parched somewhat with

the intense heat of the previous week, stretching for perhaps halfamiletumbled ground, smooth stretches

of turf, and the heads of heavy trees up to the first houseroofs, set, too, it seemed, in bowers of foliage.

Then beyond that began the serried array, line beyond line, broken in one spot by the gleam of a riverreach,

and then on again fading beyond eyesight. But what surprised him was the density of the air; it was now, as

old books related it had been in the days of smoke. There was no freshness, no translucence of morning

atmosphere; it was impossible to point in any one direction to the source of this veiling gloom, for on all

sides it was the same. Even the sky overhead lacked its blue; it appeared painted with a muddy brush, and the

sun shewed the same faint tinge of red. Yes, it was like that, he said wearily to himselflike a secondrate

sketch; there was no sense of mystery as of a veiled city, but rather unreality. The shadows seemed lacking in

definiteness, the outlines and grouping in coherence. A storm was wanted, he reflected; or even, it might be,

one more earthquake on the other side of the world would, in wonderful illustration of the globe's unity,

relieve the pressure on this side. Well, well; the journey would be worth taking even for the interest of

observing climatic changes; but it would be terribly hot, he mused, by the time the south of France was

It was another ten minutes before he saw the scarlet Government motor, with awnings out, slide up the road

from the direction of Fulham; and yet five minutes more before the three men appeared with their servants

behind themMaxwell, Snowford and Cartwright, all alike, as was Oliver, in white duck from head to foot.

They did not speak one word of their business, for the officials were going to and fro, and it was advisable to

guard against even the smallest possibility of betrayal. The guard had been told that the volor was required

for a three days' journey, that provisions were to be taken in for that period, and that the first point towards

which the course was to lie was the centre of the South Downs. There would be no stopping for at least a day

Further instructions had reached them from the President on the previous morning, by which time He had

completed His visitation, and received the assent of the Emergency Councils of the world. This Snowford

commented upon in an undertone, and added a word or two as to details, as the four stood together looking

Briefly, the plan was as follows, at least so far as it concerned England. The volor was to approach Palestine

from the direction of the Mediterranean, observing to get into touch with France on her left and Spain on her

right within ten miles of the eastern end of Crete. The approximate hour was fixed at twentythree (eastern

time). At this point she was to show her night signal, a scarlet line on a white field; and in the event of her

failing to observe her neighbours was to circle at that point, at a height of eight hundred feet, until either the

two were sighted or further instructions were received. For the purpose of dealing with emergencies, the

President's car, which would finally make its entrance from the south, was to be accompanied by an

aidedecamp capable of moving at a very high speed, whose signals were to be taken as Felsenburgh's own.

So soon as the circle was completed, having Esdraelon as its centre with a radius of five hundred and forty

miles, the volors were to advance, dropping gradually to within five hundred feet of sealevel, and

diminishing their distance one from another from the twentyfive miles or so at which they would first find

themselves, until they were as near as safety allowed. In this manner the advance at a pace of fifty miles an

hour from the moment that the circle was arranged would bring them within sight of Nazareth at about nine

It was about five minutes more before all was ready. From the stern of the boat came a faint smell of cooking,

for breakfast would be served immediately, and a whitecapped cook protruded his head for an instant to

question the guard. The four sat down in the gorgeous saloon in the bows; Oliver silent by himself, the other

three talking in low voices together. Once more the guard passed through to his compartment at the prow,

glancing as he went to see that all were seated; and an instant later came the clang of the signal. Then through

all the length of the boatfor she was the fastest ship that England possessedpassed the thrill of the

propeller beginning to work up speed; and simultaneously Oliver, staring sideways through the plateglass

window, saw the rail drop away, and the long line of London, pale beneath the tinged sky, surge up suddenly.

He caught a glimpse of a little group of persons staring up from below, and they, too, dropped in a great

swirl, and vanished. Then, with a flash of dusty green, the Common had vanished, and a pavement of

houseroofs began to stream beneath, the long lines of streets on this side and that turning like spokes of a

gigantic wheel; once more this pavement thinned, showing green again as between infrequently laid

"I may as well tell the guard now," he said. "Then we need not be interrupted again."

THE Syrian awoke from a dream that a myriad faces were looking into his own, eager, attentive and horrible,

in his corner of the rooftop, and sat up sweating and gasping aloud for breath. For an instant he thought that

he was really dying, and that the spiritual world was about him. Then, as he struggled, sense came back, and

Above him the sky was as the pit, black and empty; there was not a glimmer of light, though the moon was

surely up. He had seen her four hours before, a red sickle, swing slowly out from Thabor. Across the plain, as

he looked from the parapet, there was nothing. For a few yards there lay across the broken ground a single

crooked lance of light from a halfclosed shutter; and beneath that, nothing. To the north again, nothing; to

the west a glimmer, pale as a moth's wing, from the houseroofs of Nazareth; to the east, nothing. He might

be on a towertop in space, except for that line of light and that grey glimmer that evaded the eye.

On the roof, however, it was possible to make out at least outlines, for the dormer trap had been left open at

the head of the stairs, and from somewhere within the depths of the house there stole up a faint refracted

There was a white bundle in that corner; that would be the pillow of the Benedictine abbot. He had seen him

lay himself down there some timewas it four hours or four centuries ago? There was a grey shape stretched

along that pale wallthe Friar, he thought; there were other irregular outlines breaking the face of the

Very softly, for he knew the caprices of sleep, he stepped across the paved roof to the opposite parapet and

looked over, for there yet hung about him a desire for reassurance that he was still in company with flesh and

blood. Yes, indeed he was still on earth; for there was a real and distinct light burning among the tumbled

rocks, and beside it, delicate as a miniature, the head and shoulders of a man, writing. And in the circle of

light were other figures, pale, broken patches on which men lay; a pole or two, erected with the thought of a

tent to follow; a little pile of luggage with a rug across it; and beyond the circle other outlines and shapes

Then the writing man moved his head, and a monstrous shadow fled across the ground; a yelp as of a

strangling dog broke out suddenly close behind him, and, as he turned, a moaning figure sat up on the roof,

sobbing itself awake. Another moved at the sound, and then as, sighing, the former relapsed heavily against

the wall, once more the priest went back to his place, still doubtful as to the reality of all that he saw, and the

He woke again from dreamless sleep, and there was a change. From his corner, as he raised his heavy eyes,

there met them what seemed an unbearable brightness; then, as he looked, it resolved itself into a

candleflame, and beyond it a white sleeve, and higher yet a white face and throat. He understood, and rose

As he passed across the space, once he looked round him and it seemed that the dawn must have come, for

that appalling sky overhead was visible at last. An enormous vault, smokecoloured and opaque, seemed to

curve away to the ghostly horizons on either side where the faraway hills raised sharp shapes as if cut in

paper. Carmel was before him; at least he thought it was thata bull head and shoulders thrusting itself

forward and ending in an abrupt descent, and beyond that again the glimmering sky. There were no clouds,

no outlines to break the huge, smooth, dusky dome beneath the centre of which this houseroof seemed

poised. Across the parapet, as he glanced to the right before descending the steps, stretched Esdraelon, sad

coloured and sombre, into the metallic distance. It was all as unreal as some fantastic picture by one who had

Straight down through the wheeling shadows he went, following the whitehooded head and figure down the

stairs, along the tiny passage, stumbling once against the feet of one who slept with limbs tossed loose like a

tired dog; the feet drew back mechanically, and a little moan broke from the shadows. Then he went on,

There were halfadozen men gathered here, silent, white figures standing apart one from the other, who

genuflected as the Pope came in simultaneously through the opposite door, and again stood whitefaced and

attentive. He ran his eyes over them as he stopped, waiting behind his master's chairthere were two he

knew, remembering them from last nightdarkfaced Cardinal Ruspoli, and the lean Australian Archbishop,

besides Cardinal Corkran, who stood by his chair at the Pope's own table, with papers laid ready.

Silvester sat down, and with a little gesture caused the others to sit too. Then He began at once in that quiet

"Eminencieswe are all here, I think. We need lose no more time, then. . . . Cardinal Corkran has something

to communicate" He turned a little. "Father, sit down, if you please. This will occupy a little while."

The priest went across to the stone windowseat, whence he could watch the Pope's face in the light of the

two candles that now stood on the table between him and the CardinalSecretary. Then the Cardinal began,

"Holiness. I had better begin a little way back. Their Eminencies have not heard the details properly. . . .

"I received at Damascus, on last Friday week, enquiries from various prelates in different parts of the world,

as to the actual measure concerning the new policy of persecution. At first I could tell them nothing

positively, for it was not until after twenty o'clock that Cardinal Ruspoli, in Turin, informed me of the facts.

Cardinal Malpas confirmed them a few minutes later, and the Cardinal Archbishop of Pekin at twentythree.

Before midday on Saturday I received final confirmation from my messengers in London.

"I was at first surprised that Cardinal Dolgorovski did not communicate it; for almost simultaneously with the

Turin message I received one from a priest of the Order of Christ Crucified in Moscow to which, of course, I

paid no attention. (It is our rule, Eminencies, to treat unauthorised communications in that way.) His

Holiness, however, bade me make enquiries, and I learned from Father Petrovoski and others that the

Government placards published the news at twenty o'clockby our time. It was curious, therefore, that the

Cardinal had not seen it; if he had seen it, it was, of course, his duty to acquaint me immediately.

"Since that time, however, the following facts have come out. It is established beyond a doubt that Cardinal

Dolgorovski received a visitor in the course of the evening. His own chaplain, who, your Eminencies are

perhaps aware, has been very active in Russia on behalf of the Church, informs me of this privately. Yet the

Cardinal asserts, in explanation of his silence, that he was alone during those hours, and had given orders that

no one was to be admitted to his presence without urgent cause. This, of course, confirmed His Holiness's

opinion, but I received orders from Him to act as if nothing had happened, and to command the Cardinal's

presence here with the rest of the Sacred College. To this I received an intimation that he would be present.

Yesterday, however, a little before midday, I received a further message that his Eminency had met with a

slight accident, but that he yet hoped to present himself in time for the deliberations. Since then no further

"Father," he said, "it was you who received his Eminency's messages. Have you anything to add to this?"

"My son," he said, "report to Us publicly what you have already reported to Us in private."

"Holiness, it was I who conveyed the message to Cardinal Dolgorovski. He refused at first to receive me.

When I reached his presence and communicated the command he was silent; then he smiled; then he told me

"Holiness," he said, "I was once intimate with that man. It was partly through my means that he sought

reception into the Catholic Church. This was not less than fourteen years ago, when the fortunes of the

Church seemed about to prosper. . . . Our friendly relations ceased two years ago, and I may say that, from

"We desire no recriminations. Even the evidence is now useless, for what was to be done has been done. For

ourselves, we have no doubt as to its nature. . . . It was to this man that Christ gave the morsel through our

hands, saying Quod facis, fac citius. Cum ergo accepisset ille buccellam, exivit continuo. Erat autem nox."

Again fell the silence, and in the pause sounded a long half vocal sigh from without the door. It came and

went as a sleeper turned, for the passage was crowded with exhausted menas a soul might sigh that passed

Then Silvester spoke again. And as He spoke He began, as if mechanically, to tear up a long paper, written

"Eminencies, it is three hours after dawn. In two hours more We shall say mass in your presence, and give

Holy Communion. During those two hours We commission you to communicate this news to all who are

assembled here; and further, We bestow on each and all of you jurisdiction apart from all previous rules of

time and place; we give a Plenary Indulgence to all who confess and communicate this day. Father" he

turned to the Syrian"Father, you will now expose the Blessed Sacrament in the chapel, after which you

will proceed to the village and inform the inhabitants that if they wish to save their lives they had best be

But Silvester only smiled as He tossed the fragments on to the table. Then He stood up.

"One last word, Eminencies. . . . If there is one heart here that doubts or is afraid, I have a word to say."

He paused, and with an extraordinarily simple deliberateness, ran His eyes round the tense faces turned to

"I have had a Vision of God," He said softly. "I walk no more by faith, but by sight." (II)

An hour later the priest toiled back in the hot twilight up the path from the village, followed by halfadozen

silent men, twenty yards behind, whose curiosity exceeded their credulousness. He had left a few more

standing bewildered at the doors of the little mudhouses and had seen perhaps a hundred families, weighted

with domestic articles, pour like a stream down the rocky path that led to Khaifa. He had been cursed by

some, even threatened; stared upon by others; mocked by a few. The fanatical said that the Christians had

brought God's wrath upon the place, and the darkness upon the sky: the sun was dying, for these hounds were

too evil for him to look upon and live. Others again seemed to see nothing remarkable in the state of the

There was no change in that sky from its state an hour before, except that perhaps it had lightened a little as

the sun climbed higher behind that impenetrable dusky shroud. Hills, grass, men's facesall bore to the

priest's eyes the look of unreality; they were as things seen in a dream by eyes that roll with sleep through lids

weighted with lead. Even to other physical senses that unreality was present; and once more he remembered

his dream, thankful that that horror at least was absent. But silence seemed other than a negation of sound, it

was a thing in itself, an affirmation, unruffled by the sound of footsteps, the thin barking of dogs, the murmur

of voices. It appeared as if the stillness of eternity had descended and embraced the world's activities, and as

if that world, in a desperate attempt to assert its own reality, was braced in a set, motionless, noiseless,

breathless effort to hold itself in being. What Silvester had said just now was beginning to be true of this man

also. The touch of the powdery soil and the warm pebbles beneath the priest's bare feet seemed something

apart from the consciousness that usually regards the things of sense as more real and more intimate than the

things of spirit. Matter still had a reality, still occupied space, but it was of a subjective nature, the result of

internal rather than external powers. He appeared to himself already to be scarcely more than a soul, intent

and steady, united by a thread only to the body and the world with which he was yet in relations. He knew

that the appalling heat was there; once even, before his eyes a patch of beaten ground cracked and lisped as

water that touches hot iron, as he trod upon it. He could feel the heat upon his forehead and hands, his whole

body was swathed and soaked in it; yet he regarded it as from an outside standpoint, as a man with neuritis

perceives that the pain is no longer in his hand but in the pillow which supports it. So, too, with what his eyes

looked upon and his ears heard; so, too, with that faint bitter taste that lay upon his lips and nostrils. There

was no longer in him fear or even hopehe regarded himself, the world, and even the enshrouding and awful

Presence of spirit as facts with which he had but little to do. He was scarcely even interested; still less was he

distressed. There was Thabor before himat least what once had been Thabor, now it was no more than a

huge and dusky domeshape which impressed itself upon his retina and informed his passive brain of its

existence and outline, though that existence seemed no better than that of a dissolving phantom.

It seemed then almost naturalor at least as natural as all elseas he came in through the passage and

opened the chapel door, to see that the floor was crowded with prostrate motionless figures. There they lay,

all alike in the white burnous which he had given out last night; and, with forehead on arms, as during the

singing of the Litany of the Saints at an ordination, lay the figure he knew best and loved more than all the

world, the shoulders and white hair at a slight elevation upon the single altar step. Above the plain altar itself

burned the six tall candles; and in the midst, on the mean little throne, stood the whitemetal monstrance,

He did not know how long it was before the circling observant consciousness, the flow of slow images, the

vibration of particular thoughts, ceased and stilled as a pool rocks quietly to peace after the dropped stone has

long lain still. But it came at lastthat superb tranquillity, possible only when the senses are physically

awake, with which God, perhaps once in a lifetime, rewards the aspiring trustful soulthat point of complete

rest in the heart of the Fount of all existence with which one day He will reward eternally the spirits of His

children. There was no thought in him of articulating this experience, of analysing its elements, or fingering

this or that strain of ecstatic joy. The time for selfregarding was passed. It was enough that the experience

was there, although he was not even selfreflective enough to tell himself so. He had passed from that circle

whence the soul looks within, from that circle, too, whence it looks upon objective glory, to that very centre

where it reposesand the first sign to him that time had passed was the murmur of words, heard distinctly

and understood, although with that apartness with which a drowsy man perceives a message from

withoutheard as through a veil through which nothing but thinnest essence could transpire.

Spiritus Domini replevit orbem terrarum. . . . The Spirit of the Lord hath fulfilled all things, alleluia: and that

which contains all things hath knowledge of the voice, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

Exsurgat Deus (and the voice rose ever so slightly). "Let God arise and let His enemies be scattered; and let

Then he raised his heavy head; and a phantom figure stood there in red vestments, seeming to float rather

than to stand, with thin hands outstretched, and white cap on white hair seen in the gleam of the steady

Kyrie eleison . . . Gloria in excelsis Deo . . . those things passed like a shadowshow, with movements and

rustlings, but he perceived rather the light which cast them. He heard Deus qui in hodierna die . . . but his

passive mind gave no pulse of reflex action, no stir of understanding until these words: Cum complerentur

"When the day of Pentecost was fully come, all the disciples were with one accord in the same Place; and

there came from heaven suddenly a sound, as of a mighty wind approaching, and it filled the house where

Then he remembered and understood. . . . It was Pentecost then! And with memory a shred of reflection came

back. Where then was the wind, and the flame, and the earthquake, and the secret voice? Yet the world was

silent, rigid in its last effort at selfassertion: there was no tremor to show that God remembered; no actual

point of light, yet, breaking the appalling vault of gloom that lay over sea and land to reveal that He burned

there in eternity, transcendent and dominant; not even a voice; and at that he understood yet more. He

perceived that that world, whose monstrous parody his sleep had presented to him in the night, was other than

that he had feared it to be; it was sweet, not terrible; friendly, not hostile; clear, not stifling; and home, not

exile. There were presences here, but not those gluttonous, lustful things that had looked on him last night. . .

. He dropped his head again upon his hands, at once ashamed and content; and again he sank down to depths

Not again, for a while, did he perceive what he did or thought, or what passed there, five yards away on the

low step. Once only a ripple passed across that sea of glass, a ripple of fire and sound like a rising star that

flicks a line of light across a sleeping lake, like a thin thread of vibration streaming from a quivering string

across the stillness of a deep nightand he perceived for an instant as in a formless mirror that a lower

nature was struck into existence and into union with the Divine nature at the same moment. . . . And then no

more again but the great encompassing hush, the sense of the innermost heart of reality, till he found himself

kneeling at the rail, and knew that That which alone truly existed on earth approached him with the swiftness

Then, as the mass ended, and he raised his passive happy soul to receive the last gift of God, there was a cry,

a sudden clamour in the passage, and a man stood in the doorway, gabbling Arabic. (III)

Yet even at that sound and sight his soul scarcely tightened the languid threads that united it through every

fibre of his body with the world of sense. He saw and heard the tumult in the passage, frantic eyes and

mouths crying aloud, and, in strange contrast, the pale ecstatic faces of those princes who turned and looked;

even within the tranquil presencechamber of the spirit where two beings, Incarnate God and all but

Discarnate Man, were locked in embrace, a certain mental process went on. Yet all was still as apart from

him as a lighted stage and its drama from a selfcontained spectator. In the material world, now as attenuated

as a mirage, events were at hand; but to his soul, balanced now on reality and awake to facts, these things

He turned to the altar again, and there, as he had known it would be, in the midst of clear light, all was at

peace: the celebrant, seen as through molten glass, adored as He murmured the mystery of the

Again the priest understood; for thought was no longer the process of a mind, rather it was the glance of a

spirit. He knew all now; and, by an inevitable impulse, his throat began to sing aloud words that, as he sang,

They were all singing now; even the Mohammedan catechumen who had burst in a moment ago sang with

the rest, his lean head thrust out and his arms tight across his breast; the tiny chapel rang with the forty

Still singing, the priest saw the veil laid as by a phantom upon the Pontiff's shoulders; there was a movement,

and the Pope stood erect, Himself a pallor in the heart of light, with spectral folds of silk dripping from His

shoulders, His hands swathed in them, and His downbent head hidden by the silverrayed monstrance and

. . . They were moving now, and the world of life swung with them; of so much was he aware. He was out in

the passage, among the white, frenzied faces that with bared teeth stared up at that sight, silenced at last by

the thunder of Pange Lingua, and the radiance of those who passed out to eternal life. . . . At the corner he

turned for an instant to see the six pale flames move along a dozen yards behind, as spearheads about a

King, and in the midst the silver rays and the White Heart of God. . . . Then he was out, and the battle lay in

That sky on which he had looked an hour ago had passed from darkness charged with light to light overlaid

with darkness from glimmering night to Wrathful Dayand that light was red. . . .

From behind Thabor on the left to Carmel on the far right, above the hills twenty miles away rested an

enormous vault of colour; here were no gradations from zenith to horizon; all was the one deep smoulder of

crimson as of the glow of iron. It was such a colour as men have seen at sunsets after rain, while the clouds,

more translucent each instant, transmit the glory they cannot contain. Here, too, was the sun, pale as the Host,

set like a fragile wafer above the Mount of Transfiguration, and there, far down in the west where men had

once cried upon Baal in vain, hung the sickle of the white moon. Yet all was no more than stained light that

He saw, too, poised as motes in light, that ring of strange fishcreatures, white as milk, except where the

angry glory turned their backs to flame, whitewinged like floating moths, from the tiny shape far to the

south to the monster at hand scarcely five hundred yards away; and even as he looked, singing as he looked,

he understood that the circle was nearer, and perceived that these as yet knew nothing. . . .

. . . They were nearer still, until now even at his feet there slid along the ground the shadow of a monstrous

bird, pale and undefined, as between the wan sun and himself moved out the vast shape that a moment ago

. . . He had halted and turned, going in the midst of his fellows, hearing, he thought, the thrill of harping and

the throb of heavenly drums; and, across the space, moved now the six flames, steady as if cut of steel in that

stupendous poise of heaven and earth; and, in their centre the silverrayed glory and the Whiteness of God

. . . Then, with a roar, came the thunder again, pealing in circle beyond circle of those tremendous

PresencesThrones and Powerswho, themselves to the world as substance to shadow, are but shadows

again beneath the apex and within the ring of Absolute Deity. . . . The thunder broke loose, shaking the earth

Ah! yes; it was He for whom God waited nowHe who far up beneath that trembling shadow of a dome,

itself but the piteous core of unimagined splendour, came in His swift chariot, blind to all save that on which

He had fixed His eyes so long, unaware that His world corrupted about Him, His shadow moving like a pale

cloud across the ghostly plain where Israel had fought and Sennacherib boastedthat plain lighted now with

a yet deeper glow, as heaven, kindling to glory beyond glory of yet fiercer spiritual flame, still restrained the

power knit at last to the relief of final revelation, and for the last time the voices sang. . . .

. . . He was coming now, swifter than ever, the heir of temporal ages and the Exile of eternity, the final

piteous Prince of rebels, the creature against God, blinder than the sun which paled and the earth that shook;

and, as He came, passing even then through the last material stage to the thinness of a spiritfabric, the

floating circle swirled behind Him, tossing like phantom birds in the wake of a phantom ship. . . . He was

coming, and the earth, rent once again in its allegiance, shrank and reeled in the agony of divided homage. . .

. . . He was comingand already the shadow swept off the plain and vanished, and the pale netted wings

were rising to the check; and the great bell clanged, and the long sweet chord rang outnot more than