The Angel Part 41

Her lifted hand was extended towards the Teacher.

Spellbound, unable to move or think, Levison saw that the silken feet, from which the little bronze shoes had fallen, were gradually and imperceptibly moving with the apparent immobility of the trained dancer towards the tall figure by the door.

The awful voice went on, and into it, even in that moment of horrid tragedy which at the beginning had given it some dignity, a note of indescribable coa.r.s.eness and vulgarity began to creep.

And all the time the Jew saw the little feet, in their stockings of pale blue silk, were moving nearer and nearer. Then, suddenly, she leapt at Joseph with a swift bound, like the bound of a panther, and without a single sound.

She struck once, twice, thrice; but as the Jew watched he saw with an awe and wonder more heart-stirring, more terrible than even the first agony of terror, that she struck at least a foot away from the figure of the Teacher--that is to say, her blows did not reach within more than a foot of the grave, bearded man who stood regarding her. It was as though Joseph was surrounded by some invisible aura, some unseen protection, which rendered him invulnerable to all material attack. At the third stroke the woman's arm fell to her side. She looked in a puzzled, childlike way at the figure before her. The hate seemed to have suddenly been wiped from her face, as a sponge wipes a chalk mark from a slate.

The light in her eyes was extinguished, they became dull and gla.s.sy; and in a feeble, childlike fashion she brushed past the Teacher, now unimpeded by any obstacle, and pa.s.sed through the draperies into the corridor beyond. They heard her laughing, in a mad and meaningless merriment--the laughter of one whose brain is finally dissolved and gone, and who will never more take part in the strife and councils of men and women.

The laughter grew quieter as the mad woman wandered away down the corridor.

Joseph stooped down to where Lord Ballina still crouched upon the floor.

He placed both hands beneath the young man's arms and lifted him to his feet. He held him in front of him for a moment or two, and looked steadily into his eyes. Then, bending forward, he kissed him on the forehead.

"Brother," he said, "go, and sin no more."

The Jew heard the uncertain footsteps of the young viscount as he also left the tented room--heard them tap, tap as they crossed those s.p.a.ces of the tiled floor of the hall which were not covered with rugs, and then a moment afterwards the clang of the hall door.

Joseph and Andrew Levison were left alone.

The Jew exercised his self-control in a still greater measure than before.

"And now, sir," he said, "since those two others have gone, and you have before you the real criminal, do with me as you will. I should like to ask you one thing, however, and that is this: I should like it to be thoroughly understood at the trial that I, and I only, am responsible for what has occurred. I am the murderer of Sir Augustus Kirwan, and should have been your murderer far more really and truly than the a.s.sa.s.sin whom I bribed to actually commit the deed. I was the controlling brain and the instigator of the whole thing. Therefore I hope that, guilty as my instrument may be, it will be recognized by everybody concerned that he is not guilty to such an extent as I am guilty. It would be an additional misery to me, though I don't put it only on those grounds, if my creature also were to suffer the extreme penalty of the law. And now I am quite ready."

Joseph turned, as Levison thought, to summon the police officers whom he supposed had accompanied him.

Instead of doing that, Joseph closed the door and pulled the hangings over it.

"Why did you seek to murder me?" he asked, in calm and gentle tones.

Levison began to tremble.

"It will seem incredible to you, sir," he said, in a low voice, "but you stood in my way. You were destroying my business as a theatrical manager, and you had very greatly angered my leading lady, the woman who tried to kill you again just now."

Then, suddenly, the whirling brain of the theatrical manager remembered the significance of what he had seen when Mimi Addington had dashed at the Teacher with hate and murder in her eye.

"Who are you!" he said, terror mastering him once more. "Who are you that Mimi could not reach you? Who are you? And how, now I come to think of it, how could you be here so soon? What can it all mean? Who are you?"

"Like you," the Teacher answered, "I am a son of G.o.d. For me as for you, Christ Jesus died upon the Cross. You ask me questions, I will answer them. There is no reason why I should not answer them. When I came to this house I had no idea whom I should see, save only that here I should find those who had plotted against my life. I was brought here by a Power stronger than any human power. I was brought here by the hand of G.o.d Who--blessed be His name!--orders my way and directs my path. And as for your accomplice, the poor man who would have struck me down, and who has slain one of the great ones of this earth, and one who might have been a witness to the truth of G.o.d and the love of mankind, I know that he will not be found. He has not been discovered, nor will he ever be by human agency. He will pay the penalty for what he has done, as all must pay the penalty for evil deeds, in sorrow and remorse. It may be that he will not repent, and will not be forgiven. Of that I cannot speak, because no knowledge has been vouchsafed to me. It may be, and I pray to the Holy Trinity that it shall be so--that he will repent and be forgiven, because he knew not what he did."

"But you know, sir," Levison answered--"you know who has been behind it all. Take me swiftly, and do what has to be done. I beg and implore you to delay no longer. I can make no defence, nor shall I try to do so. Who you are, and what power is given to you, I don't know, nor can I understand. But this one thing I know--that I am guilty, and am prepared to pay the penalty for what I have done. I will go with you from this sin-stricken house!"

"Yes," Joseph answered, "my brother, you will go with me, but not as you think, to the hands of human law. It is not G.o.d's will that you should suffer for what you have done at the hands of human justice. His will towards you is very different, and I am come to be the humble instrument of it. You will come with me, as you say; but you will come with me to my own house, there to make your repentance before Almighty G.o.d, meekly kneeling upon your knees, and asking for forgiveness for your great sin and for grace to live a new life in the future, henceforth serving Him and bearing the weight of the Cross which He bore for you so long ago, until at last, in His good will and time, you may be gathered up and join the blessed company of those saved by Christ's precious blood."

The deep, grave words roused the long dormant religious instinct in the heart of the worldly financier who stood broken and abject before him.

The Jew remembered the days of his youth, when he also had prayed to the Lord of Hosts and the G.o.d of Israel in the synagogue of his parents. In one swift burst of remembrance the times came back to him when he had bound the phylacteries upon his forehead, and heard the priests of Israel reading from the Holy Book of the Law. He saw in a sudden riot of memory the solemn hours of Pa.s.sover, tasted the forgotten savor of days of fasting, performed the holy ablutions of his faith. And now he heard from the lips of the man whom he had tried to murder, news of that other religion which he had scorned and derided all his life, and yet which was but the fulfilment of the prophecies of his own. One had come to him preaching the Messiah Whom he had spurned--the Jew Who was both G.o.d and Man, and Whose Agony had saved the world.

Levison bowed his head in his hands and wept.

"And you," he said, between his sobs, "if indeed G.o.d can forgive me for the evil that I have done, how can you forgive me? I have never spoken to you, yet I hated you because you had come into my theatre and disturbed my life and taken the profits of my business away from me. But you have not done to me a t.i.the of the evil I would have done to you.

You came to me, knowing well my evil life and that I pandered to the pa.s.sions of the low and the debased. You did what I now see the Lord commanded you to do. But I----How can you forgive me, Master?"

"Brother," Joseph answered, "it is a very little thing for me to forgive you. It is nothing, and is no merit in me. I have no anger towards you in my heart. What you did you did, and it was a sin for which you must answer to the Almighty. But I am well aware that you walked in darkness, and had not seen the Light. If our beloved Master Jesus could forgive the men who nailed Him to the Cross, should not His humble and unworthy follower forgive what you have done? Brother, I forgive you with all my heart. Accept my forgiveness and my love, and come with me, that you may learn more of Him who is above the thrones and princ.i.p.alities and powers of this earth; of Him who is not only justice, but mercy and tenderness inexpressible; of Him to Whom all men are equal, Who loveth all men."

They pa.s.sed out of the scented room and into the silent hall, where no servants or others were about. Together they left that house, to which neither were ever to return; that house in which so many and strange things had been done, and which now seemed as a house of the dead.

A carriage was waiting at the garden gate. The two men entered it and it rolled swiftly away down the hill towards London.

It was now quite dark.

The oppression of the thunder seemed to have pa.s.sed away, and the air was fresh and cool as they drove through the roaring, lighted streets of the great Babylon towards the Brothers' house in Bloomsbury. Once or twice, as the carriage halted in a block of traffic, Levison saw the newspaper boys holding the startling contents sheets before them, and the tragic headlines met his eye. At such times he shuddered like a leaf in the wind, and the tears of remorse and agony rolled down his cheeks unregarded, splashing upon his ringed hands.

Then Joseph would lean towards him and speak quietly in his ear.

"Because he hath set his love upon Me, therefore will I deliver him; I will set him up because he hath known My name. He shall call upon Me, and I will hear him; yea, I am with him in trouble; I will deliver him and bring him to honor. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him My salvation."

They came at last to the house of the Brothers, but as the carriage turned into the square, there was a sudden roar from many hundreds of voices. An enormous crowd had collected before the house, stirred to the depths by the news of the terrible tragedy which had occurred in the afternoon.

Almost immediately that the carriage began to move among the crowd, some electric wave of feeling seemed to pa.s.s over every one, and they all knew that the Teacher was among them.

Then, from every voice rose up a great chorus of joy and thanksgiving. A crashing harmony of praise rent the very air, and caused the people in far distant squares and thoroughfares to turn their heads and listen in amaze.

The Master had returned, safe and unharmed--the Master whose name and power were already thrilling the metropolis as it was never thrilled before; the G.o.d-guided Teacher who was bringing new light into the lives of thousands, building a great dam against the threatening tides of sin, evil and death.

With great difficulty the carriage made its way to the s.p.a.cious door, which was immediately flung open, showing the lighted hall and the Brothers, with Hampson, the journalist, among them, standing there to welcome the man that they revered and loved.

Together Levison and the Master entered. But ere the door was closed Joseph turned and raised his hand. In a moment a dead silence fell over the crowd.

"Brethren," the deep voice thrilled, "I will be with you in a moment, for I have somewhat to say to you."

Then the door closed.

Joseph took the trembling creature by his side into a little warm and lighted room.

"Brother," he said, "the hour of your repentance is at hand. Kneel and pray to the Man of Sorrows, and if no words come to you, call upon Him by name, and He will come--Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"

Then, turning, he went out to the crowd.

CHAPTER XXIII

CONSOLIDATION

A month had pa.s.sed by.

For a fortnight after the death of Sir Augustus Kirwan the Press had been full of surmise and conjecture. New theories as to the ident.i.ty of the murderer were advanced every day. Every now and again some enterprising journal would appear with a column of exclusive news, which pointed to the fact that the criminal was discovered through the ac.u.men of the journal's own private detectives, and was certain to be arrested in two days at least. He never was arrested, and two days afterwards some new sensation drew a red herring across the old trail, while the public read on and were perfectly content, provided that they were thrilled.