My children, I am an old man, I am shortly to die.If I have scolded forgive me.Let me leave with you my blessing, and my earnest prayer that you will not pass by God on the other side.The day will come when you cannot pass Him by.Meet Him first of your own accord and then when that other day comes He will know you as a friend..."The old man's voice faltered, failed, stopped.He himself seemed to be deeply affected.Was it acting? Maggie could not tell.At any rate he was old and ill and very shortly to die...
The woman next her was crying rubbing the knuckles of her shabby old gloves in her eyes, the bugles on her bonnet shaking like live things.
She snuffled through her nose to Maggie "Beautiful--beautiful--I'aven't 'eard such preaching since I don't know when."Thurston again rose.
"A solo will now be sung," he said."After the singing of the solo there will be a prayer offered, then a procession, headed by the choir, will be formed to march, with lanterns, through the town, as a witness to the glory of God.It is hoped that those of the congregation who have received comfort and help during this service will join in the procession.There will be a collection for the expenses of the Mission at the door."Maggie watching him wondered.Of what was he thinking? Was there any truth in him? Had he, perhaps, behind the sham display and advertisement that he had been building felt something stirring? Was he conscious, against his own will, of his falsehood? Had he, while building only his own success, made a discovery? She looked at him.
The dramatic mask hid him from her.She could not, tell what he was.
The soprano, who had sung a verse of the hymn earlier in the evening, now undertook "Hear my Prayer." Very beautifully she sang it.
"Hear my prayer, Oh, God, incline Thine ear, Thyself from my distresses do not hide..."The voice rose, soaring through the building to meet the silver stars and the naked cherubs on the ceiling."The enemy shouteth...The enemy shouteth..."Skeaton sat enraptured.Women let the tears stream down their faces, men blew their noses.
Once again the voice arose.
"Hear my prayer, Oh, God, incline Thine ear..."It was Maggie's voice, Maggie's cry.From the very heart of the charlatanism she cried out, appealing to a God who might exist or no, she could not tell, but who seemed now to be leading her by the hand.She saw Aunt Anne at St.Dreot's whispering "The Lord is my Shepherd.He shall lead me..."In a dream she shared in the rest of the ceremony.In a dream she passed with the others out of the building.The sea air blew about her; down the promenade she could see the people, she could see the silver stars in the sky, the faint orange light of the lanterns, the dim stretch of the sand, and then the grey sea.She heard the splash and withdrawal of the tide, the murmur of many voices, the singing of the distant hymn, the blare of the trumpet.
Strange and mysterious, the wind blowing through it all like a promise of beauty and splendour to come...
She turned in the starlit dark, separated herself from the crowd, and hurried home.
In the hall on the table under the lamp she saw a letter.She saw that it was addressed to her and that the writing was Amy Warlock's.
Before she picked it up she stood there listening.The house was very still.Grace and Paul had probably begun supper.She picked up the letter and went up to her bedroom.
As though she were scanning something that she had already seen, she read:
I made you a promise and I will now fulfil it.
My brother, Martin, arrived in London three days ago.He is staying at No.13A Lynton Street, King's Cross.
I have seen him but he has told me that he does not wish to see me again.He is very ill; his heart is bad and his lungs are affected.
He has also spent all his money.I mentioned your name but he did not seem to be at all interested.I think it fair to tell you this lest you should have a fruitless journey.I have now kept my promise to you, unwisely perhaps.AMY WARLOCK.
Maggie sat down on the bed and considered.There was a train at 10.30 reaching London about midnight.She could just catch it if she were quick.She found a pencil and a piece of paper and wrote:
DEAR PAUL--I have to go to London suddenly on very urgent business.
I will write to you from there.Good-bye.MAGGIE.
She propped this up against the looking-glass.She put a few things, including the box with Martin's letters and the ring into a little bag, put on her hat and coat and went downstairs.She waited for a moment in the hall but there was no sound anywhere.She went out down the dark drive.
As she passed along the lonely road she heard the gate, screaming faintly, behind her.
