When It Was Dark: The Story of a Great Conspiracy. Thorne Guy

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and which, though he did not exalt the shadow into the substance, always made him happier when he was surrounded by them.

      He was to wait a year and then he would be married. There were no money obstacles in the way and no reason for further delay. Only the vicar looked forward with a sort of horror to his future loneliness, and tried to put the thought from him whenever it came.

      After dinner Helena left the two men to smoke alone in the study. There was a concert in the Town Hall to which she was going with Mrs. Pryde, the solicitor's wife, a neighbour. Her friend's carriage called for her about eight, and Gortre settled down for a long talk with the vicar on parochial affairs.

      They sat on each side of the dancing fire, with coffee on a table between them, quietly enjoying the after-dinner pipe, the best and finest of the five cardinal pipes of the day. It was a comfortable scene. The room was lighted only by a single electric reading-lamp with a green shade, and the firelight flickered and played over the dull gold and crimson of the books on the shelves, and threw red lights on the shining ivory of the sculptured Christ.

      "I daresay this North-country man will do all right," said the vicar. "He will be more popular than you, Basil."

      The young man sighed. "God knows I have tried hard enough to win their confidence," he said sadly, "but it was not to be. I can't get in touch with them, vicar. They dislike my manners, my way of speaking – everything about me. Even the landlady of my rooms distrusts me because I decline to take tea with my evening chop, and charges me three shillings a week extra because I have what she calls 'late dinner'!"

      The vicar laughed. "At any rate," he said, "you have got hold of Leef, your landlord; he comes to church regularly now."

      "Oh, Leef illustrates more than any one else how impossible it is, for me, at any rate, to do much good. Last week he said to me, 'It's a fine thing, religion, when you've got it at last, Mr. Gortre. When I look back at my unregenerate years I wonder at myself. Religion tells me to give up certain things. It only 'armonises with the experience of any sensible man of my age. I don't want to drink too much, for instance. My health is capital, and I'm not such a fool as to spoil it. To think that all those years I never knew that religion was as easy as winking, and with a certainty of everlasting glory afterwards. I'll always back you up, Mr. Gortre, in saying that religion's the finest thing out.'"

      "Well, dear boy, you will be in another environment altogether soon. It's no use being discouraged. Tot homines, quot sententiæ! We can't alter these things. The Essenes used to speak disrespectfully enough of 'Ye men of Galilee,' no doubt. Sometimes I think I would rather have these stubborn people than those of the South, men as easy and commode as an old glove, and worth about as much. Have you seen the Guardian to-day?"

      "No, I haven't. I've been at the schools all the morning, visiting in Timperley Street till Evensong, home for a wash, and then here."

      "I see Schuabe is going to address a great meeting in the Free Trade Hall on the Education Bill."

      "Then he is at Mount Prospect?"

      "He arrived from London yesterday."

      The two men looked at each other in silence. Mr. Byars seemed ill at ease. His foot tapped the brass rail of the fender. Then, a sure sign of disturbance with him, he put down his pipe, which was nearly smoked away, and took a cigarette from a box on the table and smoked in short, quick puffs.

      Gortre's face became dark and gloomy. The light died out of it, the kindliness of expression, which was habitual, left his eyes.

      "We have never really told each other what we think of Schuabe and how we think of him, vicar," he said. "Let us have it out here and now while we are thinking of him and while we have the opportunity."

      "In a question of this sort," said Mr. Byars, "confidences are extremely dangerous as a rule, but between you and me it is different. It will clear our brains mutually. God forbid that you and I, in our profession as Christ's priests and our socio-political position as clerks in Holy Orders, should bear rancour against any one. But we are but human. Possibly our mutual confidence may help us both."

      There was a curious eagerness in his manner which was reflected by that of the other. Both were conscious of feelings ill in accord with their usual open and kindly attitude towards the world. Each was anxious to know if the other coincided with himself.

      Men are weak, and there is comfort in community.

      "From envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness – " said Gortre.

      "Good Lord deliver us," replied the vicar gravely.

      There was a tense silence for a time, only broken by the dropping of the coals in the grate. The vicar was the first to break it.

      "I'll sum up my personal impression of the man for and against," he said.

      Gortre nodded.

      "There can be no doubt whatever," said Mr. Byars, "that among all the great North-country millionaires – men of power and influence, I mean – Schuabe stands first and pre-eminent. His wealth is enormous to begin with. Then he is young – can hardly be forty yet, I should say. He belongs to the new generation. In Walktown he stands entirely alone. Then his brilliancy, his tremendous intellectual powers, are equalled by few men in England. His career at Oxford was marvellous, his political life, only just beginning as it is, seems to promise the very highest success. His private life, as far as we know – and everything about the man seems to point to an ascetic temperament and a refined habit – is without grossness or vice of any kind. In appearance he is one of the ten most striking-looking men in England. His manners are fascinating."

      Gortre laughed shortly, a mirthless, bitter laugh.

      "So far," he said, "you have drawn a picture which approaches the ideal of what a strong man should be. And I grant you every detail of it. But let me complete it. You will agree with me that mine also is true."

      His voice trembled a little. Half unconsciously his eyes wandered to the crucifix on the writing-table. In the red glow of the fire, which had now ceased to crackle and flame, the drooping figure on the cross showed distinct and clear in all its tremendous appeal to the hearts of mankind. Tears came into the young man's eyes, his face became drawn and pained. When he spoke, his voice was full of purpose and earnestness.

      "Yes," he said, with an unusual gesture of the hand, "Schuabe is all that you say. In a hard, godless, and material age he is an epitome of it. The curse of indifferentism is over the land. Men have forgotten that this world is but an inn, a sojourning place for a few hours. O fools and blind! The terror of death is always with them. But this man is far more than this – far, far more. To him has been given the eye to see, the heart to understand. He, of all men living in England to-day, is the mailed, armed enemy of Our Lord. No loud-mouthed atheist, sincere and blatant in his ignorance, no honest searcher after truth. All his great wealth, all his attainments, are forged into one devilish weapon. He is already, and will be in the future, the great enemy of Christianity. Oh, I have read his book! 'Even now there are many antichrists.' I have read his speeches in Parliament. I know his enormous influence over those unhappy people who call themselves 'Secularists.' Like Diocletian, like Julian, he hates Christ. He is no longer a Jew. Judaism is nothing to him – one can reverence a Montefiore, admire an Adler. His attacks on the faith are something quite different to those of other men. As his skill is greater, so his intention is more evil. And yet how helpless are we who know! The mass of Christians – the lax, tolerant Christians – think he is a kind of John Morley. They praise his charities, his efforts for social amelioration. They quote, 'And God fulfils Himself in many ways.' I say again, O fools and blind! They do not know, they cannot see, this man as he is at heart, accursed СКАЧАТЬ