The Angel Part 23

The sun was still s.h.i.+ning, and it fell upon the Teacher's face and form, lighting them up with almost Eastern definiteness and distinctness. But it was not only the sun which irradiated Joseph's face with an unearthly serenity and beauty. He had been communing with G.o.d. His thoughts were still on high. His face was not of this world. It was "as the face of an angel."

The man shouted out in a loud, high-pitched voice, which sent an immediate responsive quiver through the crowd.

"Make way!" he called. "Make way! He's come! Joseph has come!"

There was a sudden rustling sound, like the first murmur the upspringing wind makes in a forest. The crowd swayed and strained as every member of it turned, and Joseph saw a ma.s.s of stippled pink framed in black before him.

There was a deep organ note from many voices, interspersed here and there with sharp cries, falsetto, high in the palate, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of excitement, which could not be controlled.

Then every one saw him.

The deep note swelled into a great shout of welcome, astonishment, and even fear, while, as the waters rolled back for the pa.s.sage of Israel, the living billows of humanity separated and were cleaved asunder.

It was the triumph of a personality which, at this moment, was superhuman, a personality such as had never visited the modern Babylon before. Good men and saints have ofttimes trodden, and still tread the streets of London, but never before had its weary, sin-worn people known the advent of one such as this man, an "angel" or "messenger" of warning straight from G.o.d!

It was a scene which recalled other scenes in the dim past. Human nature has not changed, though the conditions under which it manifests itself have changed. Steam and electricity, all the discoveries of science, all the increase of knowledge which they have produced, have had no real influence for change upon the human heart. Science does not limit, nor does knowledge destroy, the eternal truths of Christianity. This man, coming as he did, influenced as he was influenced, had the same power over a modern mob in London as he would have had in those ages which fools call "dark" or "superst.i.tious"--not realizing that the revelation of G.o.d to man is still going on in perfect beauty and splendor, that day by day new proofs are added to the great Central Truth of the Incarnation.

They swept aside to let him pa.s.s, calling aloud upon his name, in anger, in supplication, in fear and in joy--a mighty multiple voice of men and women stirred to the very depths of being.

His bare head bowed, his face still s.h.i.+ning with inward spiritual fire, Joseph pa.s.sed among them, and was lost to their sight within the doors of the house.

He moved swiftly up the stairs, still as if in a dream in which worldly things had no part, with the rapt face of one who sees a vision still.

Pus.h.i.+ng open a door, he found himself by instinct, for no one had directed him, in the large upper chamber where the brethren were gathered together.

The room was a large bare place, occasionally let for dinners and other social occasions, but ordinarily very little used. The dozen or so of the faithful friends who had come with Joseph from their native hills were kneeling at the chairs placed round the walls. One of them, David Owen, was praying aloud, in a deep fervent voice.

"Lord G.o.d of Hosts, we know how Thou didst anoint Our Lord with the Holy Ghost and with power; Who went about doing good, and healing all that were oppressed of the devil; for G.o.d was with Him. Anoint our Master Joseph in the same way, that he and we with him may prevail against the devils of London and their captain, Beelzebub. And oh, most Merciful Father, preserve our Teacher while he is away from us from the a.s.saults of Satan and the craft and subtlety of evil men. Send him back to us with good news, and armed for the battle with Thy grace and protection.

Dear Lord, Amen."

There was a deep groan of a.s.sent, and then a momentary silence, broken by David, who said: "Brethren, I have it in my mind to read a portion of the Holy Book, this being the first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles.

For it is therein that we shall remind ourselves of how the Apostles remained at Jerusalem waiting for the promise of the Father that ere many days pa.s.sed they should be baptized with the Holy Ghost. And reading thus, we shall be comforted and of a stout heart."

With these words the old man rose, and, turning, saw Joseph standing among them. He gave a glad shout of surprise, and in a moment the Teacher was surrounded by the faces of his friends. They wrung him by the hand, they pressed on him with words of joy, the sonorous Welsh e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of praise and thanksgiving rang like a carillon in the long, bare room.

The tears came into Joseph's eyes.

"My brethren," he said, and all marked the splendor of his countenance and the music of his voice, "G.o.d has richly blessed us, and shown us signs of His love and favor. Sit you down, and I will tell you my story and all that has happened to me. Blessed be the name of the Lord!"

He told them everything, leaving out no single detail, and beginning his story from the moment on which he had left them the night before. Many were the exclamations of sympathy and comprehension as he told of the black doubts and fears that had haunted him upon this midnight walk.

Like all men who have pa.s.sed through deep spiritual experiences, they know such hours well. For all men who love G.o.d and try to serve Him must endure their agony and must be tempted in the desert places, even as Christ Jesus Who died for us was tempted.

The simple band of brethren heard with rapt attention how the Holy Spirit had led their chief into the dwellings of the rich and powerful, and raised up mighty help for the battle that was to come.

In all they saw the hand of G.o.d. Miracle had succeeded miracle from the very moment when they laid the body of their beloved Lluellyn Lys to rest upon the wild mountain top.

G.o.d was with them indeed!

It is not too much to say that during the remainder of the Sat.u.r.day London was in an extraordinary ferment.

The time was one of great religious stagnation. It was as though, as the old chronicle of the Middle Ages once put it: "G.o.d and all his angels seemed as asleep." For months past a purely secular spirit had been abroad. Socialistic teachings had been widely heard, and the man in the street was told that here, and here only, was the real panacea for the ills of life to be found.

And now, at the very moment of this universal stagnation, Joseph had come to London.

There had suddenly arisen, with every circ.u.mstance of mystery and awe calculated to impress the popular mind, a tremendous personality, a revolutionary from G.o.d--as it seemed--a prophet calling man to repent, a being with strange powers, a lamp in which the fires of Pentecost burned anew, one who "spake boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus."

By dinner-time on the Sat.u.r.day night all Mayfair knew that Joseph was to preach at St. Elwyn's on the evening of the morrow. The evening papers had announced the fact, and a series of notes had been sent round to various houses by the vicar and his a.s.sistant clergy.

St. Elwyn's was a large and imposing building, but its seating capacity was limited.

Mr. Persse was very well aware that the occasion he had provided would have filled Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's as well. The crowd was sure to be enormous. He therefore determined that admission to the service should be by ticket only, a perfectly unjustifiable proceeding, of course, but one which would secure just the sort of congregation he wished to be impressed by his own activity and broad-mindedness. The tickets were hurriedly printed and issued, some of them were sent to the Press, the remainder to the wealthy and influential society people who were accustomed to "wors.h.i.+p" at this church.

The service was fixed for eight o'clock. As a usual thing the Sunday evensong was but poorly attended at St. Elwyn's. The fas.h.i.+onable world didn't mind going to church on Sunday morning, and afterwards for "church parade" in Hyde Park, but one really couldn't be expected to go in the evening! The world was dining then--and dinner was dinner!

Mr. Persse knew this, and he announced a "choral evensong" at eight, and "an address by the Evangelist Joseph" at nine. No one, owing to the fact of the numbered and reserved tickets, need necessarily attend the preliminary service. Every one could dine in peace and comfort and arrive in time for the sensation of the evening. Nothing could have been more pleasant and satisfactory.

The vicar, busy as he was with the necessary work of preparation, yet found time for a few moments of acute uneasiness. Nothing had been seen of Joseph. Would he come after all? Could he be depended upon, or would the whole thing prove a tremendous fiasco?

Late on the afternoon of the Sat.u.r.day, Mr. Persse heard of the doings outside the hotel which had obviously occurred within an hour of Joseph's acceptance of the offer to preach and his mysterious departure from Berkeley Square. Immediately on reading this the vicar had dispatched his senior curate in his motor-brougham to make final arrangement with the Teacher about Sunday evening.

The young man, however, had returned with the news that Joseph and his companions had left the house by a back entrance during the afternoon, and that nothing was known of their whereabouts.

During the day of Sunday Mr. Persse, though he wore an expression of pious and sanctified expectation, found his uneasiness and alarm increase. He showed nothing of it at the luncheon party which he attended after morning service, and answered the excited inquiries of the other guests with suavity and aplomb. But as the hour of eight drew near and no word had been received from the Teacher, all the mean fears and worries that must ever be the portion of the popularity-hunter a.s.sailed him with disconcerting violence.

At eight o'clock that evening there was probably no more nervous and frightened man in the West End of London than this priest.

The stately ritual of evensong was over. The celebrated choir, in their scarlet ca.s.socks and lace cottas, had filed away into the vestry, preceded by the great silver-gilt cross which Lady Kirwan had given to the church, and followed by the clergy in their copes and birettas.

A faint sweet smell of incense lingered about the great arched aisles, and an acolyte was putting out the candles on the High Altar with a long bra.s.s extinguisher.

It was a quarter before nine, and the church was filling rapidly. The vergers in their gowns of black velvet were showing the ticket-holders to their seats; on all sides were the rustle of silk, the gleam of jewels, breaths of faint, rare perfumes.

Mr. Persse always encouraged people to come to his church in evening dress. He said, and quite rightly, that there was no possible reason why people who belonged to a cla.s.s which changes its costume in the evening as a matter of course should be prevented from coming together to wors.h.i.+p G.o.d by that circ.u.mstance.

Nevertheless, the sight was a curious one, in comparison with that seen at the same hour in most other churches. The women wore black mantillas over their elaborate coiffures--just as the poorer cla.s.s do at church in Italy--but the sparkle of diamonds and the dull sheen of the pearls were but hardly veiled. Fans moved incessantly, and there was a continuous sound of whispering, like the wind in the reeds on the bank of a river.

Mr. Persse was in the inner vestry with his two curates. His face was pale, and little beads of perspiration were beginning to start out upon it.

"I don't know what we shall do, Nugent," he said to one of the young men; "this is dreadful. We can't wait very much longer. Nearly every one has come, the verger tells me. Every seat is occupied, and they are putting chairs in the aisles. There is an enormous crowd of ordinary people outside the church, and fifty policemen can hardly keep a way for the carriages. There has been nothing like it before; it is marvellous.

And the man has never turned up! I don't know what to do."

"It's very awkward," Mr. Nugent answered--he was Sir Arbuthnot Nugent's second son, and a great pet in Park Lane and its environs--"and if the man does not come it will do St. Elwyn's a great deal of harm."

"It will indeed," the vicar answered, "and I don't mind telling you, Nugent, that I have had quite an inspiration concerning him. When I asked him to come here he a.s.sented at once. I felt--you know how one has these intuitions--that he was a man over whom I should have great influence. Now, why should I not induce him to take Holy Orders, and give him a t.i.tle to St. Elwyn's? He is no mere ignorant peasant, as the general public seem to imagine. He is a gentleman, and, I am informed by Sir Thomas Ducaine, took an excellent degree at Cambridge. The bishop would be glad to obtain him, I feel quite sure of it, and there can be no manner of doubt that he is a real spiritual force. Nor must we forget that G.o.d in His Providence has ensured a most influential following for him. I have it on quite unimpeachable authority that Joseph is to be taken up by all the best people."