Part 34 (1/2)

”That the chalice should be thus profaned and desecrated by an invisible agency is a startling revelation indeed,” he said. ”A h.e.l.lish influence must be at work somewhere, unless,” and he paused, ”unless we have been tricked by a mere magician's feat.”

”But are not the ashes still hot?” I suggested. ”See here!” and I took up some of the fused metal. ”Is not this silver? There seems no doubt that the cup was actually consumed here in the spot where the verger placed it, and that it was consumed by an uncommonly fierce fire.”

Without responding, he stood gazing blankly upon the ashes. I saw that his heart was torn by a thousand doubts and fears, and fell to wondering whether he had ever had any cause to suspect the woman he feared of possessing the power of destruction.

Again he glanced round the cavernous darkness of the silent church, and a shudder went through him.

”Let's go, my dear fellow,” he said, endeavouring to steady himself.

”I'm utterly unnerved to-night. Perhaps the efforts of my sermon have been a little too much for me. The doctor told me to avoid all undue excitement.”

”Keep yourself quiet,” I urged. ”No doubt some explanation will be forthcoming very soon,” I added, endeavouring to rea.s.sure him.

But he shook his head gloomily, answering--

”The Prince of this World is all-powerful. The maleficent spirit is with us always, and evil has fallen upon me, and upon my work.”

”No, no!” I cried quickly. ”You talk too hopelessly, my dear old chap.

You're upset to-night. To-morrow, after a rest, you'll be quite fit again. You've excited yourself in your sermon, and this is the reaction.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and together we left the church. I walked with him across to his lodgings in a poorish-looking house in Liverpool Street, facing the disused burial-ground. He had not entered upon residence at the vicarage, for, as he explained to me, his wants were few, and he preferred furnished apartments to the worries of an establishment of his own. As I entered the small, rather close-smelling house, I could not help contrasting it with Mrs Walker's clean, homely cottage in Duddington, where the ivy covered the porch, and the hollyhocks grew so tall in the little front garden. He took me into his shabby little sitting-room, the window of which overlooked the churchyard, and I saw how terribly dreary was his abode.

I remarked that the place was scarcely so open and healthy as at Duddington, but as he sank into his chair exhausted, he answered simply--

”My work lies here among the poor, and it is my duty to live among them.

Many men in London live away from their parishes because the locality happens to be a working-cla.s.s one, but such men can never carry on their work well. To know the people, to obtain their confidence, and to be able to a.s.sist them, one must live among them, however dismal is the life, however dreary the constant outlook of bricks and mortar.”

With this theory I was compelled to agree. Surely this man must be devout and G.o.d-fearing if he could give up the world, as he had done, to devote himself to the poor in such a locality, and live the dismal life of the people among whom his work lay.

Yet in his acquaintances.h.i.+p with Aline there was some strange mystery.

His hiding from her, and her clandestine visit to Duddington, were sufficient in themselves to show that their friends.h.i.+p had been strained, and his words, whenever he had spoken of her, were as though he held her in fear. Mystery surrounded her on every side.

I sat with my friend for a long time smoking with him in that dingy, cheerless room. Once only he referred to the curious phenomenon which had occurred in the church, and noticing that I had no desire to discuss it, he dropped the subject. He was enthusiastic over his work, telling me sad stories of the poverty existing there on every side, and lamenting that while London gave liberally to Mansion House Funds for the relief of foreigners, it gave so little to the deserving poor at home.

Suddenly, glancing at the clock, he rose, saying that he had a visit to make.

”It's late,” I exclaimed, seeing that it was after ten o'clock.

”Not too late to do my duty,” he answered.

Then we pa.s.sed out, and in silence threaded our way back through the narrow alleys until we gained the Walworth Road, where we parted, after I had promised to call soon and see him again.

When he had left me, I turned once to look after him. His tall, athletic figure was disappearing in the darkness of the slums. Truly this man, who had been my old college chum, was a devoted servant of the Master.

Several days went by, during which I reflected a good deal upon the strange occurrence at St Peter's, and the promise made me by Aline.

Would Muriel return to me? Was the influence possessed by the Woman of Evil sufficient to cause her to abandon her newly-found lover and crave my forgiveness?

She had told me to possess myself in patience, and I, in obedience to her command, neither sought Muriel or wrote to her.

A week pa.s.sed. It was Sat.u.r.day evening. I had been dining early over at the club, and on entering my chambers with my latch-key about eight o'clock, having returned there before dropping in at the Alhambra, I perceived through the crack of the half-open door that some one was in my sitting-room.