Lord of the World 15

Lord of the World 15

There was a clamour now in the next compartment, and Percy made his way

there through the door, only to find half-a-dozen men with their heads

thrust from the windows, who paid absolutely no attention to his

inquiries. So he stood there, aware that they knew no more than himself,

waiting for an explanation from some one. 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 whence it had started, although a

hundred yards further out.

 

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.

 

"EASTERN CONVENTION DISPERSED.

 

PEACE, NOT WAR.

 

UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD ESTABLISHED.

 

FELSENBURGH IN LONDON TO-NIGHT."

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

III

 

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

drift-wood between the platforms, as others whirled up from the country

bringing loads of frantic, delirious men, who vanished like smoke from

the white rubber-boards. The platforms were continually crowded, and as

continually emptied, and it was not until half-an-hour before midnight

that the block began to move outwards again.

 

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 peace--peace, that is to say,

established by others than Christ's method? Or was God behind even this?

The questions were hopeless.

 

Felsenburgh--it was he then who had done this thing--this 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 be reconciled with God before she died....

 

* * * * *

 

He touched the button again, three or four times, and waited. Then a

light sprang out overhead, and he knew that he was heard.

 

"I was sent for," he exclaimed to the bewildered maid. "I should have

been here at twenty-two: I was prevented by the rush."

 

She babbled out a question at him.

 

"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 then--that vivid orator, so bitterly eloquent against God; and

here was he, a priest, slinking in under cover of night. Well, well, it

was not of his appointment.

 

At the door of an upstairs room the maid turned to him.

 

"A doctor, sir?" she said.

 

"That is my affair," said Percy briefly, and opened the door.

 

* * * * *

 

A little wailing cry broke from the corner, before he had time to close

the door again.

 

"Oh! thank God! I thought He had forgotten me. You are a priest,

father?"

 

"I am a priest. Do you not remember seeing me in the Cathedral?"

 

"Yes, yes, sir; I saw you praying, father. Oh! thank God, thank God!"

 

Percy stood looking down at her a moment, seeing her flushed old face in

the nightcap, her bright sunken eyes and her tremulous hands. Yes; this

was genuine enough.

 

"Now, my child," he said, "tell me."

 

"My confession, father."

 

Percy drew out the purple thread, slipped it over his shoulders, and sat

down by the bed.

 

* * * * *

 

But she would not let him go for a while after that.

 

"Tell me, father. When will you bring me Holy Communion?"

 

He hesitated.

 

"I understand that Mr. Brand and his wife know nothing of all this?"

 

"No, father."

 

"Tell me, are you very ill?"

 

"I don't know, father. They will not tell me. I thought I was gone last

night."

 

"When would you wish me to bring you Holy Communion? I will do as you

say."

 

"Shall I send to you in a day or two? Father, ought I to tell him?"

 

"You are not obliged."

 

"I will if I ought."

 

"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. Then her face changed.

 

"Father, I must not keep you; but tell me this--Who is this man?"

 

"Felsenburgh?"

 

"Yes."

 

"No one knows. We shall know more to-morrow. He is in town to-night."

 

She looked so strange that Percy for an instant thought it was a

seizure. Her face seemed to fall away in a kind of emotion, half

cunning, half fear.

 

"Well, my child?"

 

"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 Catholic--?"

 

"My child, of course you are safe. What is the matter? How can this man

injure you?"

 

But the look of terror was still there, and Percy came a step nearer.

 

"You must not give way to fancies," he said. "Just commit yourself to

our Blessed Lord. This man can do you no harm."

 

He was speaking now as to a child; but it was of no use. Her old mouth

was still sucked in, and her eyes wandered past him into the gloom of

the room behind.

 

"My child, tell me what is the matter. What do you know of Felsenburgh? You have been dreaming."