Elsie looked over his shoulder, reading every word. 'The letters which Mr. Dering wrote to the stockbroker in accordance with your instructions. They were written for him--perhaps--by you. It is unusual, but----'

'I told you,' he replied sharply. 'What is the use of saying things twice? There are some things which confuse a man. I wrote them--he wrote them--he acted for me--or I acted for myself. What matter? The end is as I have written down for you.--Now, will this paper be of any use to you?'

'Of the greatest use. Please sign it, dear Master.'

He obeyed, and signed 'Edmund Gray.'

'There is one thing more.' Elsie saw in his face signs of disquiet, and hastened on. 'You have got your Bank book here?'

'Yes. The Manager sent it here with an impertinent note about references, which I have sent on to Dering.--What do you want with the Bank book? It is in one of those drawers. See--here it is--cheque book too.'

'If I were you, Master, I would have no more trouble about the money.

You have given Mr. Dering the transfers and papers--why not give him back the money as well? Do not be bothered with money matters. It is of all things important to you to be free from all kinds of business and money matters. Who ever heard of a Prophet drawing a cheque? You sit here and work and meditate. You go to the Hall of Science and teach. It is the business of your friends to see that all your necessities are properly supplied.--Now, if you will in these minor matters suffer your friends to advise----'

'Surely. I ask for nothing else.'

'Then, dear Master, here is your cheque book and here your Bank book.

Draw a cheque payable to the order of Edward Dering for all the money that is lying here--I see it is seven hundred and twenty-three pounds five shillings and threepence.--I will take care of the cheque--so.--Oh!

you have signed Edward Dering--careless Master! Draw another--now sign it Edmund Gray.--That will do.--And you had better at the same time write a letter to the Bank asking the Manager in future to receive the dividends for the account of Mr. Dering. I will write the letter, and you shall sign it. Now--no--no--not Edward Dering--Edmund Gray. Your thoughts are wandering.--There!--Now, dear Master, you are free from everything that might trouble you.'

The Master pushed back the blotting-pad with impatience, and rose from the chair. Elsie took possession of the signed cheques, the cheque book, the Bank book, and the letter. She had all--the statement in Edmund Gray's own handwriting-all--all--that was wanted to clear up the business from the beginning to the end. She put everything together in her handbag. She glanced at her companion: she perceived that his face was troubled. 'I wish,' he said fretfully, 'that you had not worried me with those questions about the past. They disturb me. The current of my thoughts is checked. I am full of Dering and his office and his safe--his safe--and all----'

Elsie trembled. His face was changing--in a minute he would have returned to Mr. Dering, and she would have had to explain. 'Master,' she cried, laying her hand upon his arm, 'think. We are going to the Hall of Science--your Hall of Science--yours. The people are waiting for their Prophet. You are to address them. To-night you must surpa.s.s yourself, because there are strangers coming. Tell us--once again--all over again--of that world where there is no crime, no suffering, no iniquity, no sin, no sorrow--where there are no poor creatures deprived by a cruel social order of liberty, of leisure, of comfort, of virtue, of everything--poor wretches born only to toil and to endure. Think of them. Speak for them. Plan for them. Make our hearts burn within us for shame and rage. Oh, Master'--for his face was troubled still and doubtful, as if he was hovering on the border-land between himself and his other self--'no one can speak to them like you; no one has your power of speech: make them feel that new world--make them see it--actually see it with their earthly eyes--make them feel it in their hearts.'

'Child'--he sighed; his face fell back into repose--'you comfort me. I was falling--before you came to me I often used to fall--into a fit of gloom--I don't know why. Something irritates me; something jars; something awakens a feeling as if I ought to remember--remember--what? I do not know.--I am better now. Your voice, my dear, at such a moment is to me like the sound of David's harp to Saul. It chases away the shadows. Oh! I am better already. I am well. If you want to ask any other questions, do so. As for those transactions--they are perfectly correct in form and everything. I cannot for the life of me understand why Dering, who is a practical man----'

'Never mind Dering, my dear Master--or those transactions. Think only of the world of the New Humanity. Leave the transactions and the papers to me. I hope that you will never find out why they were wanted, or how they were to be used.--Now let us start. We shall be in excellent time.'

The Hall of Science was half full of people--the usual gathering--those who came every Sunday evening and took the simple feast of fraternity.

The table was spread with the white cloth, on which were laid out the toast and m.u.f.fins, the ham and shrimps, and bread and b.u.t.ter and watercress; and on the appearance of the Chief, the tea was brought up, and they all sat down. Now, it had been observed by all that since the adhesion of this young lady the Leader's discourses had been much more confident, his manner had been clearer, his points more forcibly put.

This was because, for the first time, he had had an opportunity of discussing his own doctrines with a mind able to follow him. Nothing so valuable to a teacher of new things as a sympathetic woman for listener and disciple. Witness the leading example of the Prophet Mohammed. Also, their leader had never before been so cheerful--so hopeful--so full of life and youth and spring. He was young again: he talked like a young man, though his hair was gray. This was because he loved a woman, for the first time in his life: he called it paternal affection: whatever kind of love it was, it worked in him the same miracle that love always works in man--young or old--it gave him back the fire of youth.

This evening he sat at the head of the table dispensing his simple hospitality with a geniality and a heartiness unknown before the arrival of this young lady. He talked, meantime, in the lofty vein, above the style and manner common to his hearers, but not above their comprehension; he spoke of a higher life attainable by man at his best, when the victory over nature should be complete, and every force should be subdued and made slave to man, and all diseases should be swept away, and the Perfect man should stand upon the earth at last, Lord and Master of all--Adamus Redivivus. When that time should come, there would be no Property, of course; everything was to be in common; but the new life would be full of love and joy; there would be long-continued youth, so that none should be made to rise from the feast unsatisfied; nay, it seemed to this Dreamer that everyone should continue at the feast as long as he pleased, till he was satiated and desired a change.

Long-continued youth; all were to be young, and to keep young; the girls were to be beautiful and the men strong; he p.r.o.nounced--he--the hermit--the anchorite--the celibate who knew not love--a eulogy on the beauty of women: and he mourned over those men who miss their share of love.

The hearts of those who heard were uplifted, for this man had the mesmeric faculty of compelling those who heard him to feel what he wanted them to feel. Most of them had been accustomed to regard their Leader as a man of benevolent manners but austere principles. Now he was tender and human, full of sympathy even with those weak vessels who fall in love, and for the sake of love are content to be all their lives slaves--yea, even slaves to Property.

After tea, the tables being cleared, the Chief p.r.o.nounced his weekly address or sermon. It was generally a discourse on the principles, which all professed, of equality and the abolition of Property. To-night, he carried on the theme on which he had spoken at tea-time, and discoursed on the part which should be played by Love in the New Humanity. Never before had he spoken so convincingly. Never had orator an audience more in sympathy with him.

Shortly after the beginning of the address, there arrived two gentlemen, young and well dressed, who sat down modestly just within the door and listened. The people turned and looked at them with interest. They were not quite the kind of young man peculiar to the street or to the quarter.

When the lecture was over and the audience crowded together to talk before they separated, Elsie slipped across to the new-comers and led them to the lecturer. 'Master,' she said, 'this is my brother Athelstan.'

Mr. Edmund Gray shook hands with him. 'Why, Elsie,' he said, 'your brother and I have met already in Gray's Inn.'

'And this is my friend George Austin, Partner of Mr. Dering.'

'Mr. Austin,' said Mr. Edmund Gray, 'I am glad to meet the man who is about to enter into the most sacred of all bonds with one whom I venture to love, sir, as much as you yourself can do, though I love her as my daughter, and you love her as your bride. You will be the happiest of men. Take care, sir, that you deserve your happiness.'

'This day,' said Elsie, 'you have rendered us all such a service as can never be acknowledged, or repaid, or forgotten. Yet we hope and pray that somehow you will never understand how great it is.'

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

LE CONSEIL DE FAMILLE

'Checkley,' said Mr. Dering on Monday morning, 'here is a note from Miss Elsie Arundel. She makes an appointment with me at four o'clock this afternoon. Keep me free for that hour. Her brother Athelstan is coming with her.--What's the matter, man?'

'It's coming, then. I knew it would come,' Checkley groaned. 'It's all over at last.'

'What is all over?'

'Everything. But don't you believe it. Tell 'em it's a lie made up to screen themselves. They can't prove it. n.o.body can prove it. I'll back you up. Only don't you believe it. Mind--it is a lie--a made-up lie.'

'I don't know what has been the matter with you for the last day or two, Checkley. What am I not to believe? What is a lie? Who is making up a lie which cannot be proved?'

'Oh! I can't say the word--I can't. It's all over at last--at last.' He ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

'My dear mother'--Hilda drove to Pembridge Square directly after breakfast--'I have had a most curious letter from Elsie. What does it mean? She orders--she does not invite--she positively orders--Sir Samuel--actually orders Sir Samuel!--and myself to attend at Mr.

Dering's office at four. We are ordered to a.s.sist, she says, at the demolition of the structure we have so carefully erected.--What structure? What does she mean? Here is the letter.'

'I too, dear, have had a letter from her. She says that at four o'clock this afternoon all the wrongful and injurious suspicions will be cleared away, and that if I value the affection of my son and herself--the affection of herself--I must be present.--Hilda, what does this mean? I am very much troubled about the letter. On Sat.u.r.day, she came here and informed me that the wedding would be held on Wednesday just as if nothing had happened; and she foretold that we should all be present, and that Athelstan would give her away--Athelstan. It is a very disquieting letter, because, my dear, do you think we could all of us--could we possibly be wrong, have been wrong from the very beginning--in Athelstan's case? Could Sir Samuel be wrong in George's case?'

'My dear mother, it is impossible. The case, unhappily, is too clear to admit of any doubt. Sir Samuel, with his long experience, could not be wrong.'

'Then, Hilda dear, what can Elsie mean?'

'We have been talking about it all through breakfast. The only conclusion we can come to is, that there is going to be a smothering up of the whole business. Mr. Dering, who has been terribly put out with the case, must have consented to smother up the matter. We think that the papers have been returned with the money received on dividends and coupons; and that Mr. Dering has agreed to take no further proceedings.

Now, if he would do that, Athelstan of course would come under a kind of Act of Indemnity; and as the notes were never used by him, but were returned to their owner, it becomes as easy to recognise his innocence as that of the other man.--Do you see?'

'Yes. But that will not make them innocent.'

'Certainly not. But it makes all the difference in the world. Oh! there are families everywhere who have had to smother up things in order to escape a scandal. Well, I hope you will agree with us, and accept the invitation.'

'I suppose I must.--But how about removing all the suspicions?'

'Oh! that is only Elsie's enthusiastic way. She will go on, if she likes, believing that George had nothing to do with it. He will have every inducement to live honestly for the future. We can easily pretend to believe that Athelstan was always innocent, and we can persuade him--at least I hope we can persuade him--to go abroad. Sir Samuel kindly says that he will advance a hundred pounds in order to get rid of him. Then there will be no scandal, and everybody will be satisfied. As for our relations with Elsie and her husband, we can arrange them afterwards. Perhaps they will agree to live in a distant suburb--say Redhill, or Chislehurst, or Walthamstow--so that there may be a good excuse for never having them to the house. Because--smothering or no smothering--I can no longer have the same feelings towards Elsie as before. Her obstinate infatuation for that man exasperates me only to think of it. Nor have I the least intention of being on intimate relations with a forger who has only just escaped being a convict. Sir Samuel entirely agrees with me.'

The mother sighed. 'I could have wished that we were mistaken. Perhaps, after all, there may be something that Elsie has found out, some unexpected----'

'Say a miracle at once, my dear mother. It is just as likely to happen.'