A Second Coming Part 30

'Not entirely, though I entirely dissent from Sir William Braidwood's theory that we are near to what he calls the supernatural; except in the sense that we are near heaven, and that G.o.d is everywhere. Such works are only of Him. Man never wrought them; or never will. My mother loved Christ. She taught me to do so. Perhaps that is why I know that He is in London now.'

'What do you propose to do?'

'That is what troubles me. I don't know. I feel that I ought to do something, but--it is so stupid of me!--I don't know what.'

'Does your trouble resemble the rich young man's of whom some of us have read?'

This was the Earl of Hailsham. The Duke shook his head.

'No; it's not that. He knows that I will do anything I can do; but I don't think He wants me to do anything at all. He is content with the knowledge that I know He is here, that His presence makes me happy. I think that's it.'

Such sentiments from a young man were unusual. His hearers stared the more. The Archbishop said, gravely, sententiously:

'My dear Duke, I beg that you will give this matter your most serious consideration; that you will seek advice from those qualified to give it; and that only after the most careful deliberation you will say or do anything which you may afterwards regret. I confess I don't understand how you arrive at your conclusions. And I would point out to you very earnestly how much easier it is to do harm than good.'

The young man, leaning over on to the table, looked his senior curiously in the face.

'Don't you know that He is Christ--not in your heart of hearts?'

The question, and the tone of complete conviction with which it was put, seemed to cause the Archbishop some disturbance.

'My dear young friend, the hot blood of youth is in your veins; it makes you move faster than we old men. You are moved, I think, easily in this direction and in that, and are perhaps temperamentally disposed to take a good deal for granted.'

'I'm sorry you don't know. You yourself will be sorry afterwards.'

'After what?'

This again was Hailsham.

'After He has gone. He may not stay for long.'

'Trent, I find you a most interesting study. I won't do you the injustice to wonder if your att.i.tude can be by any possibility a pose, but it takes a great deal for granted. For instance, it presumes that the legends found in what are called the four gospels are historical doc.u.ments, which no man has believed yet.'

This roused the Archbishop.

'My lord, this is a monstrous a.s.sertion. It is to brand a great mult.i.tude of the world's best and greatest as liars--the whole host of the confessors!'

'They were the victims of self-delusion. There are degrees of belief.

I have endeavoured to realise Christ as He is pictured in the gospels. I am sure no real believer of that Christ ever was a member of any church with which I am acquainted. That Christ is in ludicrous contrast with all that has been or is called Christianity.'

The Secretary interposed.

'Gently, Hailsham! How have we managed to wander into this discussion? If you are ready, gentlemen, we will go into the drawing-room. One or two ladies have promised to join us after dinner; I think we may find that some of them are already there.

Archbishop, Hailsham will stultify himself by dragging religion into the sphere of practical politics yet.'

'I won't rest,' declared the Archbishop, as he rose from his chair, 'until I have seen this man.'

'Be careful how you commit yourself, and be sure that you are in good bodily health, and free from any sort of nervous trouble, before you go. Because, otherwise, it is quite within the range of possibility that you won't rest afterwards. And in any case you run a risk. My impression is that my suspicions will be verified before long, and that it will be seen only too plainly that this person is a grave public danger.'

This was Sir William Braidwood. Lord Hailsham exclaimed:

'That suggests something. What do you say, Trent, to our going to-morrow to pay our respects together?'

The Duke smiled.

'We should be odd a.s.sociates. But I don't think that would matter. He knows that your opportunities have perhaps been small, and that your capacity is narrow. You might find a friend in Him after all. What a good thing it would be for you if you did!'

Hailsham laughed outright.

'Will you come?'

'I think not, until He calls me. I shall meet Him face to face in His own good time.'

Hailsham laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder.

'Do you know, I'm inclined to ask myself if I haven't chanced upon a Christian after all. I didn't know there was such a thing. But I'm beginning to wonder. If you really are a Christian after His pattern, you've the best of it. If I'm right, I gain nothing. But if you're right, what don't I lose?'

The young man said:

'He knows.'

III

The Pa.s.sion of the People

CHAPTER XIX

THE HUNT AND THE HOME

Wherever that day the Stranger went, He was observed of the people.

It had been stated in a newspaper that a lame man seemed to be His invariable companion. The fact that such an one did limp at His side served as a mark of recognition; also the charcoal-burner, still in the attire in which he plied his forest trade, was an unusual figure in a London street. Mr. Treadman, issuing from the house at Maida Vale, had been unable to penetrate the crowd which closed behind them, so that his vociferous proclamations of ident.i.ty were absent.

Still, such a trio moving together through the London streets were hardly likely to escape observation.

Not that, for the most part, the Stranger's proceedings were marked by the unusual. He pa.s.sed from street to street, looking at what was about Him, standing before the shops examining their contents, showing that sort of interest in His surroundings which denotes the visitor to town. Again and again He stopped to consider the pa.s.sers-by, how they were as a continual stream.

'They are so many, and among them are so few!'

When He reached the top of Ludgate Hill, He looked up at St. Paul's Cathedral.

'This is a great house which men have builded. Let us go in.'