Part 14 (1/2)

It is understood that this was done by the dead man's wish and stipulation, though, probably quite contrary to law. No one, however, interfered--and interference would, of course, have been useless against several thousand people, who appeared to be in an ecstasy of grief, and who were obviously determined to carry out the wishes of their dead friend to the letter.

If at this point readers of the _Daily Wire_ express incredulity at what follows we can only say that we guarantee the substantial accuracy of our report in the completest way.

After the actual interment of the corpse, and amid the wailing cries of the vast mult.i.tude of mourners, a man mounted the cairn of boulders which forms the highest part of the mountain--the exact summit, so to speak.

Immediately the sounds of mourning were hushed, as if at the beat of a conductor's baton.

Our correspondents describe the scene as wonderfully impressive and without parallel in their very varied experience.

It was a cloudy morning, and somewhat chill in those high places.

Yet a beam of sunlight, white and sudden, fell upon the tall figure upon the cairn. Every one could see the man quite distinctly; every one knew that this was the stranger known as Joseph, who had been the companion of Lluellyn Lys during the last weeks of his life.

The sudden silence was perhaps due to the fact of this universal knowledge, but equally, perhaps, to another and extraordinary fact.

Joseph in appearance resembles the traditional pictures of the Christ in an astounding manner. It seems almost irreverent to write these words. But they are written with no such intention. This man, whoever he may be--charlatan and impostor, or sincere saint and reformer of our own day--is the living, walking image of that idea which all the world has of Him who died upon the Cross!

The words came; not very many, neither mystical nor obscure, but plain statements of intention. Yet the voice hushed that vast mult.i.tude of people as if with a magician's wand. Deep and clear, full of a music that our correspondents say no orator of our day can compa.s.s, a voice that goes straight to the heart--so, we are informed, was the voice of this man Joseph.

The substance of his speech was startling--an actual shorthand report of the words will be found upon another page:

This man, call him what you will, believes that he has a Divine mission to come to London, that he may warn it of its sins and bring its inhabitants to the foot of the Cross.

With a band of disciples--we must use the word--he is even now speeding towards the metropolis. A dozen or more people are with him, and it is also said that the sister of the late Teacher, a very beautiful girl, who was formerly a hospital nurse, has joined the little band of fanatics. One thing is quite certain. London is on the eve of a new and most extraordinary sensation.

Thus the article concluded.

Lady Kirwan gave a gasp of dismay.

”Augustus!” she cried, ”what a terrible scandal! What does it all mean?

I was right! I knew something had happened to Mary. Why hasn't Mr. Owen looked after her properly? The poor girl has lost her senses, of course.

She is under the influence of some unscrupulous impostor. Oh, this is awful, awful! To think that a member of the House of Lys should come to this! What shall we do? What can we do? Something must be done at once!”

She had but hardly finished speaking, and both husband and wife were looking into each other's eyes with faces of perplexity and alarm, when the door opened and the butler entered.

”Mr. Owen has returned, Sir Augustus,” he said, ”and asks to see you immediately.”

In a moment or two a tall, elderly gentleman, with grey side-whiskers and a keen, though benevolent face, was ushered into the room. He was in morning dress, carried a plaid travelling-coat upon his arm, and a hard felt hat in his hand.

He seemed anxious and distressed.

”I can't get up, Owen,” Sir Augustus said at once. ”I'm still a victim to this confounded gout. What's all this preposterous stuff I see in the _Daily Wire_? And where is my niece?”

The lawyer choked and swallowed. His face grew red and embarra.s.sed. For a moment or two he did not speak.

Mr. Owen was a considerable man. He was one of the best known family solicitors in London. His reputation was unspotted; he was the confidant of many great folk, and he may or may not have been worth three hundred thousand pounds. But he was, at this moment, obviously embarra.s.sed, and perhaps angry also.

”Kirwan,” he said, at length, ”we are old friends, and we have been in business relations for many years. You know, I think, that I am no fool.