The Mystics Part 12

The man looked at her in slow inquiry.

"Oh, I know you are surprised," she added, quickly. "I know this seems unusual--" She paused in momentary hesitation.

The Mystic appeared distressed.

"My--my duty--" he broke in, uneasily. "My duty is to--"

But she checked him suddenly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I AM IN NEED OF HELP ... AND YOU CAN HELP ME"]

"Charity is greater than duty!" she said, in a low, impressive tone. By the same feminine intuition that had made her discard her purse, she saw that by a semi-mystical appeal--and by that alone--could she hope to succeed. Laying her hands upon the Sanctuary railing, she leaned forward, and raised her large eyes to the man's face.

"Which do _you_ consider the greater virtue?" she asked. "Duty or charity?"

The Mystic looked at her.

"Charity," he said, at last, hesitatingly, "the Prophet teaches us--"

Enid's face flushed.

"Yes! yes!" she cried. "The Prophet teaches us that charity is the greater virtue. He tells us that we are to rely upon ourselves--and also upon each other. We are to help ourselves--and to help each other." Her voice shook, her face glowed in her excitement and suspense.

"I am in need of help," she added. "In desperate need. And you can help me."

Her tone was urgent, her compelling gaze never faltered. She knew that this was her last chance--that, if this man failed her, catastrophe was inevitable.

The Mystic stirred uncomfortably, and his glance turned half fearfully from the intent, appealing face to the lectern on which rested the white-bound Scitsym.

With a sudden access of enthusiasm, Enid spoke again.

"There is something troubling my Soul," she said. "Something that I must confess to the Prophet to-night. My whole happiness--all my peace--depends upon confessing it. I cannot speak with him before the Gathering a.s.sembles; but I can write my confession. Will you save my Soul? Will you carry my confession to him?"

Until the words were actually spoken, she did not realize how immensely she had staked upon her chances of success. In a fever of anxiety she waited, watching the man's gaze as it wavered undecidedly over the Scitsym, then returned, as if magnetized, to her face.

"In twenty minutes the Gathering will be a.s.sembled," he murmured.

"I know, I know. But there is still time. It is a matter of--of faith--of peace of mind."

The man shuffled his feet.

"It--it is impossible," he said.

"Why impossible?"

"Because the Prophet is exalted to-night. The Arch-Mystics themselves are guarding the Threshold. The Prophet is exalted; he must not be disturbed."

"But if it is necessary to disturb him? If there is a Soul in danger?"

"The Prophet must not be disturbed. What are we, that we should thrust our wrong-doing or our sorrow upon the Mighty One?"

At the words a rage of apprehension shook Enid. She lifted her head, and her fingers closed fiercely round the iron bar that topped the railing.

"Silence!" she said, excitedly. "You do not know what you are saying!

The Prophet sets his people high above himself. The message of a Soul in distress is of more value in his eyes than a hundred moments of exaltation. Take care that his wrath does not fall upon you!"

Involuntarily the man paled.

"Yes. Take care!" she cried. "Take care! You have the well-being--the whole future--of one Soul in your hands to-night. How will you answer to the Prophet, if you fail in the trust?"

The Mystic cowered.

"If you fail, the wrong can never be repaired. And the doing of the action will cost you nothing. Take this note--" With agitated haste she tore a leaf from a tiny note-book that hung at her waist. "Take this note. Tell no one. Give it into the Prophet's own hands--" She drew out a pencil and wrote a few enigmatical words. "Give it into his own hands; and I can promise you that your reward will be greater than you think."

With a rapid movement, she roiled up the paper and held it out to him.

"Take it," she said, impressively. "And remember that it is something important, essential--sacred." On the last word her voice rose; then, without warning, it suddenly broke.

A curtain at the back of the Sanctuary had been drawn aside; and for the second time that evening, the face of Bale-Corphew confronted her through the dusk.

CHAPTER X

For one instant Enid stood spellbound; then involuntarily she stepped backward, crumpling the slip of paper in her hand.

At the same movement Bale-Corphew advanced and, pa.s.sing the Mystic, indicated the Sanctuary curtain.

"Go!" he commanded, in an unsteady voice. And as the man slunk away, he wheeled round and confronted Enid.

"So this is your action?" he said, tremulously. "This is your conception of honor? Truly, woman is the undoing of man!" With an excited gesture, he lifted his hand and extended it towards the white Scitsym lying upon the lectern.

But Enid met his attack with the courage that sometimes outlives hope.

"A just man need fear no woman!" she exclaimed. "It is because you are unjust and a coward that you fear--that you suspect--that you find it necessary to hide and spy."

The color surged over his face.

"I have been outraged!" he cried--"I have been outraged!"

"And, like an unreasoning animal, you turn to devour the thing that has hurt you?"

"I demand justice."

She threw out her hands and laughed suddenly and hysterically.

"And you call this justice? You call it justice to trap one man and set a hundred others loose upon him?"