A Second Coming

'Silence, sir! Another word of the sort and you are excommunicated.'

'For knowing it is the Lord?'

'For one thing, sir-for not knowing that on such matters Holy Church pronounces. Did they teach you so badly at Louvain that you have still to learn that in the presence of authority it is the business of a little seminary priest to preserve a reverent silence? It is not for you to oppose your variations of the creed upon your spiritual superiors, but to receive, with a discreet meekness, and in silence, your articles of faith from them.'

'If the Lord proclaims Himself, are His children to refuse Him recognition until the Church commands?'

'You had better return to your seminary, my son-and shall-to receive instruction in the rudiments of the Catholic faith.'

'If for any cause the Church withholds its command, is the Lord to depart unrecognised?'

'Say nothing further, sir, till you have been with your confessor. I command you to be silent until then.'

'Is, then, the Church against the Lord? It cannot be-it cannot be!' The young priest turned to the Stranger with on his face surprise, fear, wonder. 'Lord, of those that are here are You known to me alone?'

Ada came forward with her sisters.

'We also know the Lord.'

The Stranger said:

'Is it not written that many are called, but few chosen? As it was, is now, and ever will be. It is well that you know Me, and these that are the daughters of one who knows Me as I would be known; and there are those that know Me nearly.' With that He looked at Mr. Kinloch. 'Also here and there among the multitudes whom God has fashioned in His own image am I known, and in the hidden places of the world. Where quiet is, there am I often. Men that strive with their fellows in the midst of the tumult for the seats of the mighty call much upon My Name, but have Me little in their hearts; there is not room. Those that make but little noise, but are content with the lower seats, waiting upon My Father's will, they have Me much in their hearts, for there is room. Wherefore I beseech you to continue a little priest in a seminary, great in the knowledge of My Father, rather than a pillar of the Church, holding up heaven on your hands: for he that seeks to bear up heaven is of a surety cast down into hell. Would, then, that all men might be little men, since in My Father's presence they might have a better chance of standing high.'

The Cardinal, holding himself very straight, went closer to the young priest. His voice was stern.

'Father Nevill, your parents were my friends; because of that I have attached you to my person; because, also, of that I am unwilling to see you put yourself outside the pale of Holy Church as becomes a fool rather than a man of sense. What hallucination blinds you I cannot say. Your condition is probably one which calls for a medical diagnosis rather than for mine. How you can be the even momentary victim of so poor an impostor is beyond my understanding. But it ill becomes such as I am to seek for explanations from such as you. Your part is to obey, and only to obey. Therefore I bid you instantly to leave this-fellow; bow your head, and seek with shame absolution for your grievous sin. Do this at once, or it will be too late.'

When the young priest was about to reply, the Stranger, going to the Cardinal, looking him in the face, asked: 'Am I an impostor?'

The Cardinal did his best to meet His look, and return Him glance for glance. Presently his eyes faltered; he looked down. His lips twitched as if to speak. His gaze returned to the Stranger's countenance. But only for a moment. Suddenly he put up his hands before his face as if to shield it from the impact of the pain and sorrow which were in His eyes. He muttered:

'What have I to do with you?'

'Nothing; verily, and alas!'

'Why have you come to judge me before my time?'

'Your time comes soon.'

The Cardinal, dropping his hands, straightened himself again, as if endeavouring to get another grip upon his courage.

'I lean on Holy Church. She will sustain me.'

'Against Me?'

The Cardinal staggered against the wall, trembling so that he could hardly stand. The Archbishop cried, also trembling:

'What ails your Eminence? Cardinal, what is wrong?'

His Eminence replied, as if he all at once were short of breath:

'The rock-on which-the Church is founded-slips beneath my feet!'

The Archbishop surveyed him with frightened eyes.

CHAPTER XXIII

AND THE CHILD

The noise in the street had continued without ceasing. It grew louder. A sound arose as of many voices shrieking. While it still filled the air the lame man and the charcoal-burner descended from an upper room. They spoke of the tumult.

'The people are fighting with the police as if they have gone mad.'

'They seek Me,' said the Stranger.

The lame man looked at him anxiously.

'You!'

'Even Me. Fear not. All will be well.'

'Who are these persons?' inquired the Archbishop.

'They are of those that know Me.'

'Ay,' said the charcoal-burner, 'I know You-know You very well, I do. So did my old woman; she knowed You, too. I be that glad to have seen You. It's done me real good, that it have.'

'You have been with me so long; then this little while, and soon for ever.'

'Ay, very soon.'

'Father, these are of those that know Thy Son.'

He touched with His hand the six persons that were about Him.

The Archbishop plucked the Cardinal by the sleeve.

'I-I really think we'd better go. I-I'm not feeling very well.'

There came a succession of crashes. The Cardinal stood up.

'What's that? It's stones against the windows. Unless I err, they have shivered every pane.'

Someone knocked loudly at the door. The Cardinal moved as if to open. The Archbishop sought to restrain him.

'What are you doing? It isn't safe to open. The people may come in.'

The Cardinal smiled.