His speeches of enormous power and force were delivered daily and reported verbatim in all the newspapers. He became the leading light of the campaign to remove all forms of religion from mankind.
On every side the churches were almost deserted. Day by day ominous political murmurs were heard in street and factory. With a sickness of heart, an utter weariness that was almost physical nausea, the vicar let himself into his house with a latchkey.
He went into his study where Helena rose to meet him. Her face was pale and worn as if by long vigils. Small lines of care had crept round her eyes, though the eyes themselves were as calm and steadfast as of old.
Basil was unable to return to London in time for the celebration of Christmas at St. Mary's, Bloomsbury. For two weeks he had lain prostrate in the house of his fiancée and future father-in-law. It was as though he had some inner awareness of evil that was overwhelming his brain.
"Basil feels much stronger tonight, Father," she said. "He's dressing now, and will come down to supper. He wishes to have a long talk with you."
He had watched the waters gradually rising round him until at last he was submerged in a merciful unconsciousness. The doctor said he was enduring a very slight attack of brain-fever, but one which need cause no one any alarm, and which was in fact nothing at all in comparison to his former illness.
Basil's fine physical strength asserted itself and helped him to an easy recovery.
To Basil, with returning health and a clearer brain, came a renewal of mental power. A great strain was removed, the strain of waiting and watching, the tension of a sick anticipation of a forthcoming evil.
During the days of darkness, Helena's lot had been hard. While her father was attending the conferences at the Bishop's palace, speaking at meetings, visiting the sick with passionate assurance that the Truth would prevail and the Light of the World once more shine out undimmed, she had to live and pray alone.
Her faith never weakened, but all around her she saw the enemies of Christ prevailing with a great shout of triumph and exultation which resounded through the world. The Church she loved seemed to be tottering.
All that she could do was pray. But as she moved about her household duties, as she tended her sick fiancé with an almost wifely care, her prayers went on unceasingly, and every action was interwoven with supplication.
Pale, subdued, but with a quiet clearness and resolution in his eyes, Basil came down to the meal. There was but little conversation during it. Afterwards, Helena went to her own room, knowing that her father and Basil wished to be left alone.
In the study the two men sat on either side of the fireplace. Basil would not smoke, the doctor had forbidden it, but Mr. Byars lit his pipe with a sigh of satisfaction.
"To think, Basil," the older man said in a broken voice, "to think that Christmas is upon us now. The vigil of Christmas, and never since our Lord's Passion has the world been in such a state. And worse than all is our utter impotence!" His voice grew almost angry. "We know, know as surely as we know anything, that this terrible business is some stupendous mistake or fraud. But there isn't the slightest possibility of anyone listening to us. On one side is the weightiest expert proof, on the other nothing but a conviction in the soul to oppose what appear to be the hardest facts. Viewing the thing clearly and without prejudice, I can't blame anyone, Christian or not. It is only the smallest minority, even of professing Christians, whose faith is strong enough to keep them from an utter denial of our Lord's Divinity."
He put down his pipe on the table and rested his head in his outstretched hands. "It is awful, Basil," he said in a broken voice, with his eyes full of tears. "In my old age I have seen this. I wish I had gone with my dear wife. But what is so bitter to me, my dear boy, is the sight of the utter overthrow of Faith. It all shows how terribly weak the majority of Christians are."
"It won't last long," said Basil, gravely. "For my part, I think this terrible trial is allowed and permitted by God to bring about a great and future triumph for His Son, which will marshal, organise, and consolidate Faith as nothing has ever done before. I'm convinced of it."
"Yes, it must be that," answered the vicar. "Undoubtedly that is God's purpose. But I would that the light might come in my time. I fear I'll not live to see it. I'm an old man now, Basil. This has aged me very much, and I won't live much longer. It is hard to think I'll die seeing Christ dethroned in the hearts of men: the Cross broken."
"While I have been quietly upstairs," said Basil, "many strange thoughts have come to me, of which I want to speak to you tonight. I have things to tell you which I have not mentioned to anyone. But before I go into these matters -- very dark and terrible ones, I fear -- I want you to give me a summary of the position of things as they are now. The present state is not clear in my mind. I have not read many of the papers, and I want a sort of bird's eye view of what's going on."
"The position at present," said Mr. Byars, "from our point of view, is a kind of anarchy. Within every Christian denomination there are those who absolutely refuse to credit the truth of the discovery, but they are in the minority. Abroad, in France especially, wild free-thought has broken out everywhere in a kind of hysterical rage against Christianity. All the papers are taking a horribly cynical view. They say the delusion of Christianity has clouded men's brains for so long that they are now incapable of bearing the truth. The vast majority of Roman Catholics, both abroad and in England, have remained utterly uninfluenced. It is one of the most marvellous triumphs of discipline and order that history has ever witnessed."
"Then I wish we had something of that unity and discipline," said Basil. "But is submission, possibly without the fire of an inward conviction, worth very much?"
"It is not for us to judge," answered the vicar. "But the result has been that the Catholic Church, both here and on the Continent, is undergoing a storm of persecution and popular hatred. There have been fearful fights in Liverpool, and riots between the Irish dock labourers and a mob of people who called themselves 'Protestants' last year and 'Rationalists' today.
"The attitude of the Low Church party is varied. Some have accepted the discovery as being a true one, and evolved an entirely new theory from it, while using it as a party weapon also. This attitude is reflected in The Tower in an article which says that, though the actual body of Christ is now proved never to have risen from the dead, the spiritual body was what the Disciples saw. It is a clever piece of work, Basil, which has attracted an immense number of people. The Moderate and High Church parties are in some ways in a worse position than any other. They find themselves unable to compromise. The majority of the clergy say it is utterly impossible to accept the discovery and remain Christian. The result everywhere is chaos. Churchmen are resigning their livings, there have been several suicides -- isn't it horrible to think of? Congregations are dwindling everywhere, although the Methodists and Wesleyans are more successful than anyone. They are holding revival meetings all over the country. Very few of these two bodies have joined the atheist ranks. Dissent has always implied an act of choice, which, at any rate, means a man is not indifferent to the whole thing. I suppose that's why the Wesleyans seem to be making a firmer and more spiritual stand than any of us. To my shame I say it, but the Churchmen of England are not bearing witness as these others are."
"And the Bishops?"
"Most of them don't know what to do. But see the horror of their position. The only way in which this awful thing can be combated is by just the methods which only scholars and cultivated people can understand. How are people who read the hard, material, logical speeches of people like Schuabe, or that abominable woman, Mrs. Hubert Armstrong, going to be convinced by the subtleties of the intellect or by the reiteration of a personal conviction which they cannot share?"
"It is all very terrible to see how much less Christianity means to mankind than earnest Christians believed," said Basil, sadly. "To see the edifice tumbling round us like a house of paper when we thought it so secure and
strong. What a terrible lesson this will be in the future to everyone; what frightful shame and humiliation will come to those who've denied their Lord when this is over!"
"When will that be, Basil?" said the vicar, wearily. "It seems as if the real hour of test is at hand, and now, finally and for ever, God means to separate the true believers from the rest. I have thought that all this may be but a prelude to the Last Day of all, and Christ's Second Coming is very near. But what I cannot understand, what is utterly beyond the power of any of us to appreciate, is what this all means. How can this new tomb have been discovered after all these years? Can all these great experts be deceived? There have been historical forgeries before, but surely this cannot be one. And yet, I know, you know, that our Lord rose from the dead."
"I believe that of all the men in England, The Hand of God has given me the key to the mystery," said Basil.
Mr. Byars looked uneasily at him. "Basil," he said, "I have been thoughtless. We have talked too long. You're not quite clear as to what you're saying. Let us pray together and go to bed."
He watched Basil as he spoke, but before he had finished his sentence he saw something in the young man's face which sent the blood leaping and tearing through his veins.
In a sudden, utterly unreasoning way, he saw a truth, a certain knowledge in Basil's eyes which flooded his whole heart and soul with exaltation and joy.
Basil's good and almost saintly face looked as the apostle John's might have looked when, after the octave of the Resurrection Day, the heavy-hearted disciples were once more returning to the daily round and common task, and met the resurrected Lord upon the shore.
Chapter 19
"I have been piecing things together gradually, as I lay silent upstairs," said Basil, drawing his chair a little closer to the fire.
"Slowly, little by little, I have added link and link to a chain of circumstantial evidence which has led me to an almost incredible conclusion. When you have heard what I have to say you will realise two things. One is that there are depths of human wickedness so abysmal and awful that the mind can hardly conceive of them. The other is that I have been led, by a most extraordinary series of events and coincidences, to something very near the truth about the discovery in Jerusalem."
The vicar leaned forward in his chair. "Continue, Basil," he said, knowing now that this young man who was engaged to his daughter, did indeed have something of importance to tell.
"You'll remember that many months ago Constantine Schuabe called here to discuss the school scholarships. I left the house with him and he invited me to go on to Mount Prospect. Earlier in the evening we had been talking of the antichrist. When Schuabe invited me to his house, something impelled me to go. I went, feeling I was on the threshold of some discovery."
Basil paused for a moment, white and tired with the intensity of his narrative.
"When we got to Schuabe's house we began upon the controversial points you and he had carefully avoided here. At first our talk was quiet, mere argument between two people having different points of view. Schuabe went out to get some supper -- the servants were all in bed. While he was gone, I felt a sense of direct spiritual protection. I went to the bookshelf and took down a Bible. I opened it at random, half ashamed of myself for the tinge of superstition, and my eyes fell on the words of Jesus to His disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane:
WATCH AND PRAY
"I couldn't help taking it as a direct message. Then Schuabe came back. Gradually, as I saw his bitter hatred and contempt for our Lord and the Christian faith becoming revealed, some power was given to me to see far into the man's soul. He knew it, and all pretence between us was utterly swept away. Then I told him that his hate was real and active, that I saw him as he was. And these were the words in which he answered me, standing like Lucifer before me. For months these words have haunted me. They are burnt into my brain for all time. 'I tell you, paid priest as you are, a blind man leading the blind, that a day is coming when all your boasted fabric of Christianity will disappear. It will go suddenly, and be swept utterly away. And you, you will see it. You will be left naked of your faith, stripped and bare, with all Christendom beside you. Your pale Nazarene will die amid the bitter laughter of the world, die as surely as He died two thousand years ago, and no man or woman will resurrect Him. You know nothing, but you will remember my words of tonight, until you also become as nothing and endure the inevitable fate of mankind.'"
Mr. Byars started. As yet he realised nothing of where Basil's story was to lead. "A prophecy!" he cried. "It is as if Schuabe was gifted to know the future. Something of what he said has already come to pass."
"My story's a long one," said Basil, "and as yet it is only begun. You will see plainer soon. Well, as he said these words I knew with certainty that this man was afraid of God. I saw his awful secret in his eyes. This man, this antichrist, believes in our Lord, and in terrible presumption dares to lift his hand against Him. Little more of importance happened on that night. The next day, as you know, I fell ill for some weeks. When I recovered and remembered perfectly all that had happened -- do you remember how the picture of Christ fell and broke when Schuabe came into the room? -- I saw I must keep all these things locked within my own mind. What could I do or say more than that I, a fanatical curate -- that's what people would have said -- had been involved in a row with the famous atheist millionaire and politician? I couldn't hope to explain to anyone the reality of that evening, the certain knowledge I had of it being only a prelude to some horror I could not foresee or name. So I kept my own counsel. Perhaps you remember on the night of the tea party when I said goodbye to the people, I urged them to keep fast hold on faith?"
Again Mr. Byars showed his intense interest by a sudden movement of the muscles of his face. But he did not speak, and Basil continued.
"Now we come to Dieppe when we were all there together. You remember how Spence introduced us to Sir Robert Llwellyn, and how we talked over dinner at the Pannier d'Or. Since then, Sir Robert Llwellyn's evidence in favour of the absolute authenticity of Hands's discovery has had more weight with the world than that of anyone else. He is, of course, known to be the greatest living expert. And that fact also has a very important bearing on my story. After that dinner, the conversation turned on discoveries in exactly the direction that the recent discovery has been made. Llwellyn expressed himself as believing that -- I think I remember something like his actual words -- 'We are on the eve of stupendous discoveries in this direction.' None of us liked to pursue the discussion further."
"Yes!" said the vicar. "I remember it perfectly now. It all comes back to me vividly. Certainly I never thought of it in detail. But go on, Basil."
"Sir Robert drew a plan of the walls of Jerusalem on the back of a letter he took from his pocket. As he turned the letter over, I couldn't help seeing whom it was from. I read the signature quite distinctly. 'Constantine Schuabe.' This brings us up to a curious fact. Two eminent men, one antichristian, the other a famous archaologist, both express an opinion in my hearing. The first says openly that something is about to occur that will destroy faith in Christ, and the other hints at some wonderful impending discovery in the Holy Land. The connection between the two statements, startling enough in any case, becomes still more so when it is discovered that these two eminent people are in correspondence one with the other. And there's more. Two days after that dinner I was taking a stroll down by the quays in Dieppe when I saw Sir Robert Llwellyn, and Mr. Schuabe who had just landed from the Newhaven boat, get into the Paris train together."
A sudden short exclamation came from the chair on the opposite side of the fire. Very dimly and vaguely the vicar was beginning to see where Basil's story was leading. The fire had grown low, and Mr. Byars replenished it. The noise of the falling coals accentuated the tension which filled the quiet room.
Then Basil's tired, but even and deliberate, voice continued. "I ask you to consider one or two other points. Professor Llwellyn told us he had a year's lea
ve from the British Museum owing to ill health. So long a rest presupposes a real illness, does it not? Now, of course, one can never be sure of anything of this sort, but I find it curious and worthy of remark that Sir Robert seemed outwardly in perfect health and with a hearty appetite. He also said he was en route for Alexandria. Well, Alexandria is the nearest port to Jaffa, which is but one day's ride from Jerusalem.
"Now comes a still more curious part of my story. As I have told you, our parish in Bloomsbury is a centre of some shameless vice. Much of the work of the clergy lies among women of a certain class, and great tact and resolution is needed to deal with the problems these people present. Some months ago a woman, whose face seemed in some vague way familiar to me, began to come to church. Once or twice she seemed to show an inclination to speak to me or my colleagues after the service, but she never actually did. Eventually she called on Ripon and confessed her way of life. Her repentance and faith in Christ seemed sincere."
The vicar nodded, but looked puzzled. "Go on, my boy."
"It appeared the girl was a well-known dancer at one of the burlesque theatres, and I must have seen her portrait on the hoardings and advertisements of these places. She'd been touched by something in one of my sermons, it seems, and Ripon requested me to go and see her. I went to the flat where she lived, and we had a chat. The poor girl is suffering from an internal disease, and has only a year or two to live. She seems a kindly, sensible creature enough, vulgar and pleasure-loving, but without any very great wickedness about her, despite her wretched life. She wanted to get away, to bury herself in the country, and live a pure and new life as a Christian until she died. The great difficulty in the way was the man whose mistress she was, and of whom she seemed in considerable fear. I explained to her that with the help of Father Ripon and myself, no harm would come to her from him, and her quiet disappearance from the scenes of her past life could be very easily managed. Then it came out that the man in whose power she was, was none other than Sir Robert Llwellyn."