Part 74 (1/2)
The Judge gave a keen glance at his friend and nodded.
The Bishop in the Chair now read a few brief statements as to the progress of the work that was being done. Lady Harold Buckingham was down to speak next. She sat on the Bishop's left hand, and it was obvious to the audience that she understood his next remark.
”You all have the printed programme in your hands,” said the Bishop, ”and from it you will see that Lady Harold is set down to address you next. But I have--” his voice changed a little and became uncertain and had a curious note of apprehension in it--”I have to ask you to give your attention to another speaker, whose wish to address the Meeting has only recently been conveyed to me, but whose right to do so is, in my judgment, indubitable. He has, I understand from Father Joseph who has brought him here, something to say to us of great importance.”
There was a low murmur and rustle among the audience, as well as among the semicircle of people on the dais.
The name of Father Joseph Edward attracted instant attention. Every one knew all about him; the slight uneasiness on the Bishop's face had not been unremarked. They all felt that something unusual and stimulating was imminent.
”It is Mr. Gilbert Lothian,” the Bishop went on, ”who wishes to address you. His name will be familiar to every one here. I do not know, and have not the least idea, as to what Mr. Lothian is about to say. All I know is that he is most anxious to speak this afternoon, and, even at this late hour pressure has been put upon me to alter the programme in this regard, which it is impossible for me to resist.”
Now every one in the hall knew that some sensation was impending.
People nodded and whispered; people whispered and nodded. There was almost an apprehension in the air.
Why had this poet risen from the tomb as it were--this poet whose utter disappearance from social and literary life had been a three weeks'
wonder--this poet whom everybody thought was dead, who, in his own personality, had become but a faint name to those who still read and were comforted by his poems.
Very many of that distinguished company had met Gilbert Lothian.
n.o.body had known him well. His appearances in London society had been fugitive and he had shown no desire to enter into the great world. But still the best people had nearly all met him once or twice, and in the minds of most of them, especially the women, there was a not ungrateful memory of a man who talked well, had quite obviously no axe to grind, no personal effort to further, who was only himself and pleased to be where he was.
They were all talking to each other in low voices, wondering what the scandal was, wondering why Gilbert Lothian had disappeared, waked up to the fact of him, when Lothian himself came upon the platform.
Mr. Justice Harley vacated his seat and took the next chair, while Lothian sat down on the right of the Chairman.
Some people noticed--but those were only a very few--that the dark figure of a clergyman in a monastic cape and ca.s.sock came upon the platform at the same time and sat down in the far background.
Afterwards, everybody said that they had noticed the entrance of Father Joseph Edward and wondered at it. As a matter of fact hardly anybody did.
The Bishop rose and placed his hands upon the little table before him.
He coughed. His voice was not quite as adequate as usual.
This is what he said. ”Mr. Gilbert Lothian, whose name all of you must know and whose works I am sure most of you, like myself, have in the most grateful remembrance, desires to address you.”
That was all the Bishop said--he made a motion with his hand and Gilbert Lothian rose from his chair and took two steps to the front of the platform.
Those present saw a young man of medium height, neither fat nor slim, and with a very beautiful face. It was pale but the contour was perfect. Certainly it was very pale, but the eyes were bright and the aesthetic look and personality of the poet fitted in very well with what people had known of him in the past.
Only Morton Sims, who was sitting within arm's reach of Lothian--and perhaps half a dozen other people who knew rather more than the rest--were startled at what seemed to be a transformation.
As Lothian began to speak Father Joseph Edward glided from his seat, and leant over the back of Dr. Morton Sims' chair. This was a rather extraordinary proceeding and at any other time it would have been immediately remarked upon.
As it was, the first words which Gilbert Lothian spoke held the audience so immediately that they forgot, or did not see the watchful waiting ”Abbot of Mullion.”
In the first place Gilbert Lothian was perfectly self-possessed. He was so self-possessed that his initial sentence created a sensation.
His way and manner were absolutely different from the ordinary speaker--however self-possessed he may be. The poet's self-possession had a quality of rigidity and automatism which thrilled every one. Yet, it was not an automaton which spoke in the clear, vibrating voice that Gilbert Lothian used.
The voice was terrible in its appeal--even in the first sentence of the memorable speech. It was the sense of a personality standing in bonds, impelled and controlled by something outside it and above it--it was this that hushed all movement and murmur, that focussed all eyes as the poet began.