The Mystics Part 13

But Bale-Corphew turned upon her.

"And what is this man to you?" he cried. "What spell has he cast upon you that you can forget his outrage and his blasphemy?"

Enid met the question with her new fort.i.tude; searching Bale-Corphew's turbulent face, she answered with a certain high simplicity.

"I do not know," she said. "Once I believed that I admired him--that I looked up to him--because he was a Prophet; something higher and better than myself. Now I know that my belief was wrong and false; that it was because he is a man--because, before everything else in the world, he is a man--that I turned to him, that I relied upon him."

Bale-Corphew gave a short, cruel laugh.

"So that is it? That is the secret? He is a man? Well, I will strip him of his manhood! We have had our disillusioning; yours is to come. Here, on this sacred spot where he has been so exalted, he will bite the dust."

He paused triumphantly; and in the pause there rose again to Enid's mind the picture of one tall, white-robed figure confronting a sea of faces--all incensed--all pa.s.sionately, vindictively unanimous in desire.

"Oh no!" she said, suddenly, faltering before the picture. "No! No! You cannot. You must not. Be merciful! Let him go. And if there is anything--any recompense--" But even as it was spoken, the appeal died.

Somewhere in the heart of the House a solemn clock chimed the hour of eight; and as though the sound were a signal, the curtain of the chapel door was drawn softly back, and a stream of dark-robed figures poured over the empty floor.

For a moment she stood immovable before the imminence of the crucial scene; then, with a sensation of physical weakness and helplessness, she turned, moved blindly forward, and sank into a vacant seat.

At the same moment Bale-Corphew left her without a word, and pa.s.sed rapidly down the aisle.

Great fear frequently exercises a paralyzing effect upon the body. With the undeniable knowledge that the time for action--the time for hope--was irrevocably pa.s.sed, Enid felt deprived of the power to move.

She sat crouching in her seat, every sense alive and strained, but with limbs that were overpowered and weighted as if by tangible fetters.

Thrilling to this numb and impotent sense of dread, she heard the devotees enter the chapel, one after another, and pa.s.s to their chosen seats with soft, gliding steps. With a sickening knowledge of approaching catastrophe, she saw another of the unconventional black-robed servants emerge from behind the Sanctuary curtain, and proceed with maddening deliberation to light the sixteen groups of wax tapers that were set at intervals along the walls. Mechanically her eyes followed the man's movements; and it seemed that each new taper that spat, flickered, and shot up into a light was a symbol, a portent of the scene to come.

As the last candle was lighted, the shuffling of feet and the stir of garments that, since the entry of the first devotee, had unceasingly filled the chapel suddenly subsided, and nerved to motion by the lull, she turned and glanced behind her.

The scene, familiar though it was, impressed her anew. It was a strange effect in black and white. The black clothes of the congregation seemed ma.s.sed together in a sombre blur; their strained, fanatical faces looked white and set; while the marble walls shone out, sharp and polished, in the same contrasting hues. Over the whole scene the concentrated light and accentuated shadow thrown by the great sconces glowing with tapers, made a variation of tone almost as vivid as that seen on a moonlight night.

Unconsciously she recognized the curious, the almost barbaric picturesqueness of light and grouping; but her eyes had barely skimmed the scene when the meaning of the hush that filled the place was brought home to her mind.

Glancing towards the curtain that hid the entrance, she saw the figure of the Prophet move slowly into the chapel and pa.s.s up the aisle, attended by the Precursor and the Six Arch-Mystics.

He moved forward with grave, dignified steps, and with a head held even higher than usual, and reaching the Sanctuary gate, pa.s.sed through it without hesitation.

The action was so calm--so natural--so like what she had witnessed night after night--that Enid sat newly petrified, her senses striving to a.s.sociate this strong figure with the man who, only a few hours before, had humiliated himself in her presence. For a moment her mind refused the connection of ideas; but the next a full realization of the position swept over her, galvanizing her mentally and physically, as she turned in her seat and glanced at the seven who were following in the wake.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "SHE SAW THE FIGURE OF THE PROPHET ... ATTENDED BY THE PRECURSOR AND THE SIX ARCH-MYSTICS"]

First behind his master came the Precursor. And to Enid's searching gaze it seemed that his face was set into unfamiliar and anxious lines; but under his black cap and red hair, his skin looked colorless and drawn. But after the first glance, her eyes were not for him; with swift apprehension they pa.s.sed to the six Arch-Mystics who, walking two and two, formed the procession.

Animated by the speed of actual fear, her gaze pa.s.sed from the abnormally agitated face of old Arian, the blind Arch-Councillor, to the dark, turbulent face of Bale-Corphew, who brought up the rear. The survey was rapid and comprehensive; and to her uneasy mind the thought came with unerring certainty that, on all the six faces--differing so markedly in physical characteristics--there was a common look of suppressed excitement, of suppressed resolve.

As they pa.s.sed her seat, Norov turned and shot a glance of cold curiosity in her direction; but otherwise the whole group seemed unaware of her presence. Still inert, she sat, watching every movement in the scene before her as one might watch a drama that would, at a given moment, cease to be entertainment and become real life.

Very quietly the Prophet advanced to the Scitsym and, following the customary routine, opened it and began to read.

The words were a strange jargon of mystical counsel interspersed with the relation of mystical visions and ecstasies. On ordinary lips, the long, disjointed sentences and disconnected phrases would have sounded vague and incomprehensible; but, from the first, it had been one of the Prophet's special gifts that his deep, grave voice could lend weight and meaning to the fantastic utterances. And to-night it seemed that he intended to put forth all his powers; for scarcely had he opened the book and begun to read, than a stir of interest pa.s.sed over the congregation; and even Enid, enmeshed in her own terrors, bent forward involuntarily.

He spoke very slowly, enunciating every word with studied seriousness; and from time to time he paused and looked across the sea of fixed and almost adoring faces turned in his direction. It was as if, by strength of will, he had determined that no point, no syllable, of this, his last reading, should be lost upon his hearers. More than once, Bale-Corphew moved uneasily and shot a glance at Norov; but the Prophet was unconscious of these surrept.i.tious signs.

For half an hour he read on, slowly, distinctly, impressively; then, still following the routine of the evening service, he closed the book and calmly moved across the Sanctuary to the Throne. As he neared it, the Precursor stepped forward deferentially and conducted him to the foot of the gilt steps.

Having ascended, he took his seat with calm impa.s.sivity and, resting his hands upon the arms of the great gold chair, looked out once more upon the ma.s.sed faces. This, according to custom, was the signal for a general movement. The congregation swayed forward, prostrating themselves upon the ground, while the Arch-Mystics gathered their wide, black robes about them and a.s.sumed att.i.tudes of rapt contemplation.

In obedience to usage, Enid also dropped upon her knees and covered her face with her hands. But though her pose was conventional, there was little place in her thoughts for either prayer or meditation. One idea--and one only--absorbed her being. How, and at what moment, must she gather strength to act? She crouched upon the ground, her hands pressed tightly over her eyes. It seemed to her that all the torture, all the suspense and apprehension of the universe, were gathered into that half-hour of appalling silence. Once she ventured to unlace her fingers and glance through them fearfully; but at sight of the Prophet, calm, impa.s.sive, unconscious of his threatened danger--at sight of the six sombre shrouded figures that sat inside the Sanctuary railing, her blood turned cold and her courage quailed.

When the sign that ended the evening's meditation was given, she rose with the rest and sank weakly into her seat. Then, in dumb, stricken helplessness such as envelops us in a terrible dream, she saw the Prophet rise very slowly and stand on the steps of the Throne, looking solemnly down upon the people.

During his change of position, she sat vacillating pitiably. The knowledge that in a single moment he would have begun to speak spurred her to a fever of alarm, while a terrible nervous incapacity chained her limbs and paralyzed her tongue.

Bale-Corphew's words rose to her mind. "He will fool us--as he has fooled us before." In the apprehension aroused by the memory, she half rose in her chair, her hands grasping the back of the seat in front of her; but suddenly the chapel, the lights, the congregation seemed to fade from her vision, and she sank back into her place. The Prophet had begun to speak.

"My People," he said, very calmly and distinctly, "heretofore I have spoken to you as a teacher. To-night I will speak to you as one of yourselves."

Something in the tone--something in the words--struck a note of surprise and uneasiness. Again Bale-Corphew shot a swift glance at Norov, and old Michael Arian lifted his head and strained his sightless eyes towards the Throne, while Enid's hands tightened spasmodically on the back of the chair in front of her, and her lips parted in new fear. What was he going to say? How much further was he going to compromise himself? But the body of the congregation swayed forward in absorbed attention, and the Prophet continued to survey the fixed faces with grave, steady eyes.

"My People," he said, "you are an unusual gathering. Some would call you a gathering of fanatics--some might even call you a gathering of fools.

But fools, fanatics, or Mystics, you are all men and women. You are all human beings!"

Old Arian started, and Norov's cold, blue eyes flashed; but still the Prophet was oblivious of their emotion.

"It is always well to study one's own kind; and to-night I am going to speak to you of a man. I am going to tell you the story of a man--a man as pa.s.sionate, as headstrong, as weak and vulnerable as you yourselves."

He halted for a moment, and his glance seemed to grow more concentrated, more intense.

"Once, many years ago, there was a boy born here, in this city of London. Don't lose patience! My story has the merit of truth.

"There was nothing pleasant, there was nothing easy, in the circ.u.mstances of this boy's birth. His first sight of the world was gained through the window of a tenement-house, and the picture he saw was the picture of an alley--dark, foul, teeming with life. His first knowledge of existence was the realization of poverty--not the free, wholesome poverty of the country, but the grinding, sordid, continuous poverty of the town, that no tongue can adequately describe.

"These were his surroundings--this was his environment; and yet--so great are the miracles that love can accomplish--every day of that boy's life was illumined and glorified by one presence. G.o.d in his bounty had given him a mother!"

It was the first time in any discourse that he had mentioned the supreme Name, and as if conscious of the tremor it aroused, he continued his narrative without pause.

"To say that a boy's life is made happier by his mother's existence sounds too trite and obvious to bear any weight; but it is through the obvious facts of life that the world's machinery is kept in motion. The inexpressible, unwearying tenderness of this mother for her son, the love of this boy for his mother, grew with the pa.s.sage of time--grew into something so significant, so vital and so deep, that even the poisonous atmosphere of the alley could not thwart its growth.

"This feeling grew in the boy's heart; and with it--by a necessary law of nature--another feeling took root and grew also. Fired by stories of a past, in which wealth and position had been won by his forefathers, he conceived the idea of becoming in his own person a hero--a knight-errant. And in the grimy, common alley; in the poor, bare sitting-room where his mother sewed unendingly; in the dark closet under the slates where at night he dreamed his child's dreams, he built castles such as never stood upon the hills of Spain!

"The germ of his ambition fell into his soul like a seed of fire; and, like a seed of fire, sprang into a flame. At whatever price--at whatever sacrifice--there must be a golden future, in which the mother he adored would sit in high places; in which the worn hands would never ply a needle except for pastime, the frail figure grow straight and strong, the pale face warm and brighten with the colors of health!

"It was a very humble, a very young ambition, but it sprang from the true, clean source of untainted love, like which there is nothing else in all the world." He paused; and from his grave voice it seemed that a wave of emotion pa.s.sed across the chapel. The congregation, too fascinated by his words to question their meaning, drew a sigh of rapt antic.i.p.ation. Enid, amazed, bewildered, moved beyond herself, sat immovable--her face pale, her great eyes fixed upon the Throne. Only the six Arch-Mystics stirred uneasily, glancing at each other with quiet, uncertain looks.

Presently, as though he had marshalled his ideas for the continuation of his speech, the Prophet raised his hand.

"My People," he began, again, "do not think that I am going to compel you to listen to a psychological discourse upon this boy's development.

That is not my intention. But were I to hold up a picture for your inspection, you could not properly appreciate it were you ignorant of the art of drawing. And so it is with my story. To understand the completed work, you must understand the manner of its growth.

"Though this boy lived in obscurity, he was bound by one link with the great things of the world. But for the unjust disinheritance of his father, he would have been heir to a vast property; and through all his youth, this had been the golden mirage that had floated before his vision--this had been the fabled country from which his castle rose.

Steadily, unfalteringly, one idea had expanded in his mind. By some brave action--by some deed of heroism--he was to win back the lost inheritance.