"How relentless Nature is, after all!" he thought. "What can man do in face of such forces as those? Is G.o.d behind it all, I wonder? If so, what is the use of our working against Him? Let the breath of the Almighty touch a man, and he shrivels like the leaves in autumn. Unless he works in unison with Nature, Nature crushes him. Have I been trying to do battle against G.o.d all these years, I wonder?"

The rain continued to fall, but he still trudged on. He had a sort of savage delight in feeling the rain beat against him, in seeing the lightning's flash and hearing the thunder's roar.

"I was a blind fool," he cried. "I believed that I hated her, I believed I should hate her for ever. Yet, at the first touch of her lips on mine, I find myself as weak as a child, and still I can't give up my dreams of revenge. What playthings we are, after all!"

A moment later he was blinded, first by a flash of lightning, which he thought had struck him, and then by the rain, which came upon him in a deluge.

"I can't battle against this," he said; "it's impossible, yet there's no shelter anywhere." Through the blinding storm he saw a huge rock. At least that would shelter him somewhat, and with difficulty he made his way towards it. From there he could watch the tornado of the elements.

"Is there a G.o.d behind it all, I wonder?" he thought as thunder-clap followed thunder-clap, and the whole heavens were lit up with streaks of light. "If there is, does He care? Yes, there is a G.o.d, there must be. I wonder if that woman was right? Did Jesus Christ come to tell us what G.o.d was like? Is there any meaning in that story? She believes it, and she says that that man Aaron Goudge found peace in it. I wonder, now; I wonder."

"G.o.d help me!" he cried presently. It was an involuntary prayer. It had pa.s.sed his lips even before he knew, and yet, although he knew it not, it was the natural expression of a soul in torment.

He laughed aloud. "I've been praying," he said. "Well, why not? I wonder now if G.o.d cares? Would He hear me if I spoke to Him?"

The thought struck him as curious. He had scarcely ever prayed in his life, but somehow there was a meaning in it now. Some words came back to his mind, like the memory of some forgotten dream. "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Heavenly Father. Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and the door shall be opened unto you."

Who said that? Yes, it was Jesus, the Man of Galilee, who claimed to be the Son of G.o.d. Was G.o.d His Father? Well, and why should he not pray?

Perhaps it was because of the experience through which he had been pa.s.sing, perhaps it was because of the storm which swept in mad fury across the moors, or perhaps it was because of a deeper reason which no man can put into words, but Leicester knelt down on the heather and prayed while the lightnings flashed and the thunder rolled.

He uttered no wild, incoherent cries, he scarcely spoke a word; but he prayed, and as he prayed the whole of his life seemed to sweep before him. Things forgotten, thoughts that were strange, visions seen only from afar came to him. There was something awesome, majestic about it all--the storm-tossed man pouring out his soul to his Maker, amidst the storm-rent heavens.

"Great G.o.d, tell me what to do, and I'll do it," he said at length. No voice came out of the skies, no message came to him from out of the angry winds. The storm still swept on in wild fury. How long he knelt he knew not, it might have been hours, but he knew that he had entered deep in the heart of things. A man who really prays enters into an experience to which the prayerless man is a stranger. What thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind I cannot tell; perhaps he could not have told himself--he only knew that the foundations of his life had been broken up. He realised what he had been, he knew what he was. He saw life as he had never seen it before--saw how poor and vain were the thoughts of man, how great were the thoughts of G.o.d. The great deeps seemed to be revealed to him, and he knew that no man lives unless he links himself to the Eternal Heart, the Heart made real by the Son of G.o.d, who lived and died. The reasonings of man seemed but the crying of children; the logic of the schoolmen no more than children's castles on the sands. There were great deeps beyond all their theories, deeps never to be understood by the mind, but felt by the soul. G.o.d had spoken.

When he rose to his feet, he also knew that he had risen from the dead.

There was a new life in his heart, and he was conscious of it. The Radford Leicester of hours before, and the Radford Leicester of now, were different. He had pa.s.sed from death unto life.

For a time he walked on, almost unheeding whither he went, but presently, as the sky became clearer, he saw the dim outline of the tor which had been his landmark. As he saw it, he realised that he was not more than an hour's walk from Vale Linden. In two hours or so he would see Olive again, and he would tell her what was right for him to tell.

For he knew what he had to do now. The only course was the right course, and he must walk in it. He knew what it meant, too. When he told Olive who he was, and related the story of the past six years, she would bid him go away, as she had bidden him long ago; but he must tell her all.

He owed it to her, and he would pay his debt. The future was not in his hands, but in G.o.d's, and he would fight against his Maker no longer.

"Good gracious, sur, you've been out in all this weather."

"In every bit of it, Mrs. Briggs."

"And there's not a dry thread on 'ee."

"Not one." And he laughed as he spoke.

"I've bin wonderin' 'bout 'ee for 'ours. It's bin a ter'ble storm."

"It's been very wonderful. Have you any hot water, Mrs. Briggs?"

"Plenty, sir."

"I'll have a bath, and dress for dinner. The simpler the meal the better, Mrs. Briggs."

"Certainly, sur. I'm thankful you are safe. I was afraid you was struck by the lightning, sur. Were you afraid of it all, sur?"

"Yes, I think I was."

"Well, thank G.o.d, you are safe, sur."

"Yes, I thank G.o.d too, Mrs. Briggs."

The woman looked at him curiously; there was a new tone in his voice, a new light in his eyes. He no longer seemed a "strange Eastern gentleman"

to her.

He ate his dinner in silence. He had but little appet.i.te, but he went through the form of eating for fear Mrs. Briggs should think he was not pleased with her cooking.

Presently he rose to go out. "Goin' out again, sur? I should have thought you'd been tired after bein' out in all that storm. I should think you don't get any wilder storms in the parts you've come from."

"Different, Mrs. Briggs, entirely different."

"I suppose it's very grand, in they furrin parts," said Mrs. Briggs, "but I don't want to leave Vale Linden."

"Nor I, Mrs. Briggs; but I shall have to."

"Not yet, sur, I hope."

"Yes, very soon, I expect."

"I am sorry. I was hopin' you'd stay a long time, I was, for sure. The house won't seem like the same without 'ee. You do git more English too, sur, makin' so bold."

"Thank you, Mrs. Briggs; you've been very good to me."

"You won't be laivin' before the end of the summer, will 'ee, sur?"

"Very likely I shall leave to-morrow."

"Nothin' wrong happened, I 'ope, sur?"

"A great deal has happened, but nothing wrong. Mrs. Briggs, do you believe a man can rise from the dead?"

"Not in these days, sur. Of course they did in the time of our Lord.

There was Lazarus, and the young man in the village of Nain. Of course the Lord can do whatever He will."

"Yes," said Leicester quietly, "I believe He can."

He went out into the night. The storm had gone now, and the sky was cloudless. After the wild tempest, a peace had come. The air was fresh, and pure, and sweet. Nature was a parable of his own life. After the black death of winter came the resurrection of spring, after the wild storm had come a peace. Life was new to him. He felt it in every fibre of his being; old things had pa.s.sed away, but he felt a great sorrow in his heart. For he knew what lay before him. From that night Signor Ricordo would be no more, and he, Radford Leicester, must go out into the wilderness again.

He hesitated for a moment, and then went indoors again to his own room.

In a few minutes he came out again, and started for Vale Linden Hall.

"It is the will of G.o.d," he said, as he went, "it is the price I must pay. Well, I will pay it to the uttermost farthing. Then I will go away, and live my new life."

He was not long in reaching the house, and he was admitted without a word.