A long silence fell while the priest racked his brains for the best way in which to approach this problem. At last he said:
“Well, Tony, there is only one thing left for you to do. Deny them as they have denied you; as they have cast you out, so cast their abominable bondage from your soul, and come back to us.”
Tony turned his sad eyes to the priest. He shook his head.
“I do not think I shall ever believe anything any more,” said he. “I cannot tell which is true and which is false. It’s all so hopeless. I shall go back and make one last attempt to undo the harm I’ve done, and then I hope I die. At least I shan’t be able to do any more harm then.”
“Nonsense!” said the rector sharply. “You have been sadly deceived, but that is all the more reason for coming back to the old faith. After all, it is the one stable thing in this unhappy world.”
“What can you offer me?”
“Nothing. They offered you the world and the glory of it in exchange for your own soul, and it turned to dust and ashes in your mouth. I offer you only perpetual bondage in the sweet yoke of Christ. He will give you the glory of His service, the burning reality of His great love, and the peace which passeth all understanding. Moreover, He will give you your own soul back again.”
“It all sounds so vague, so full of aspiration, but achieving so little.”
“So says the world. But we are not of the world. The martyrs found the faith strong enough to support them in the flame — they knew it was no illusory promise, lacking fulfillment.”
“They gave me power and strength.”
“He gives you service and weakness, the contradiction of all they teach; truth and beauty, pity and kindliness; all the lovely things which they reject. We rely not on our own poor mortal strength, but upon the infinite power of the Most High God, who was Himself content to suffer at our ignorant hands.”
“There was a certain sombre glory in their worship,” Tony ventured.
“The sombre glory of damnation,” the priest countered instantly. “Our worship is glorious enough with its ancient ritual, which they pervert to blasphemy, but more glorious than this is the inner knowledge of a soul at one with the Creator of all things.”
“I wish I could believe as you do, sir,” said Tony in a voice tremulous with self-pity, “but I just can’t, that’s all.”
“That is not to be wondered at, my son. You have never been instructed in the mysteries of our great faith, and you are still soiled by contact with their abominations. Will you put yourself unreservedly in my hands? I can promise you new life, new hope, and everlasting salvation.”
“Gaunt said just the same. But I’ll give it a trial — afterwards. First I must get back to Kestrel.”
While they had been talking the room had been growing steadily darker, and even as Tony spoke a distant mutter of thunder stirred the air. The rector went over to the window and looked out.
The sky was heavily overcast and the wind was rising. Already the sea was showing its teeth in the white crests of the waves.
“Not today, I’m afraid, my boy,” said he; “there’s another storm brewing.”
Tony struggled into a sitting position, one hand to his bandaged head. Panic stared from his eyes.
“A storm?” he gasped. “It’s his doing. I might have known. I shall never get back, and the world is doomed!”
“Nonsense!” snapped the rector. “No man can control God’s sea.”
“You don’t know Gaunt,” Tony groaned, falling back on his pillow. “Sometimes I wonder if he is a man at all, or a fiend in human form.”
“Don’t imagine such vain things. This will be over well before the twenty-fifth; there’s plenty of time. At the moment your own soul is of far greater importance. Lie still and rest, and think over what I have told you.”
He went out, leaving Tony alone. For a long time the young man lay there listening to the sound of the rising storm, which mirrored so truly the battle raging in his own heart.
Chapter XVIII
Dr. Pellew gave Tony permission to get up next morning, and after breakfast he sat by the fire in the rector’s study, a prey to the most gloomy imaginings.
The first violence of the storm had passed with the night, but, though the rain had ceased and the thunder was silent, the wind still roared tempestuously round the house, and the booming of the surf penetrated to every room.
Presently Valerie came, wearing a mackintosh, a prayer-book in her hand. His heart leapt at the sight of her, for his love had been reborn in all its strength with the passing of the shadows which had come from Vaughan’s evil mind, but he did not allow himself to show it, deeming himself unworthy for ever having doubted her.
“I’m going to church, Tony,” she announced. “Would you care to come?”
A refusal leapt automatically to his lips, then he stopped. After all, why not? He would be close to her, at least, and it would be interesting to see what all this business was that they made so much of.
With sweet solicitude she helped him into a mackintosh: his own, in point of fact, the one he had lent her when she had left Kestrel. She pointed this out to him gaily, but his answering smile was sombre.
He was scarcely aware of their passage through the rectory garden and the churchyard. His whole being seemed torn in two struggling halves: one frantically rebelling from the idea of entering that small grey building, with its squat tower, the other consumed by a strange longing. In the porch he hesitated, but she tugged at his arm, and they went in.
They slipped into a pew at the back, and she knelt to pray. He sat down, silently refusing to make a show of reverence he did not feel.
It was Sunday, and the little church was nearly full. One or two of the villagers near by glanced curiously in his direction, recognizing the young master of Kestrel, but for the most part they did not heed him, for the corner in which he sat was dark and inconspicuous.
He glanced round at the images and pictures, and all the paraphernalia of worship, but without great curiosity, for he had been here once before, on the occasion of his father’s funeral. Looking at the High Altar, with its six lights and snowy cloth, he remembered the last time he had seen an illuminated altar, and his lips twitched slightly, but whether in sorrow or amusement he scarcely knew himself.
The bell ceased its tolling, scarcely audible above the sound of the wind, and the sacristy bell tinkled. The congregation rose like one man as the little procession came out of the vestry and wound its way into the sanctuary. First the thurifer, with his diminutive boat-boy, and the acolytes, splendid in scarlet and lace; then the rector, very dignified in his glittering vestments, preceded by the master of ceremonies, clad in a plain black cassock and short linen surplice. Tony was surprised to recognize Hamilton in this unfamiliar garb. He had not realized that John was keen on this sort of thing.
The organ burst into song, and the boys’ choir joined their high, clear voices with its deep melody.
After the Preparation the thurifer came forward, a silver censer twinkling in his gloved hands; the priest blessed incense, and scattered the grains of aromatic gum upon the glowing charcoal. The blue smoke rose in clouds, ringing the candle-flames with golden haloes, and the fragrant odour quickly permeated the whole building. It occurred to Tony that this must be different incense from that which he had burnt in the dark crypt beneath the Abbey — less pungent, more sweet, not stupefying.
With quickened interest he watched the intricate ceremonial. How like, and yet how unlike, the dark mysteries he had assisted at! Here was no double meaning, no sinister intention. All was simple and direct, showing forth as in a mirror the worship of God in the beauty of holiness. He observed the simple faces of the servers as they went about their business with the precision of well-drilled soldiers. They believed all this! Strange. His mind stood apart, remote, watchful. The Mass went on.
After the Creed had been sung the rector removed his chasuble and went into the pulpit. Tony half expected that
the sermon would be directed at himself, and waited, rather resentfully, for the opening words. But the rector delivered a discourse on the devotion due to the Blessed Virgin, a subject which Tony felt was rather remote from his own immediate needs. Apparently he was not the most important person in the world! Amused at his own childishness, he let his attention wander, and his eyes strayed to the figure of the Virgin which stood on the left of the chancel screen.
He considered the cold purity of the sculptured features, mentally comparing them with the warm, living face of the girl at his side. Stealing a glance at her, he was surprised to note a certain resemblance. Odd, he thought; and then with a sudden rush of contrition he acknowledged that it was meant that it should be so. That statue represented the highest and holiest form of womanhood that these people could imagine. Was it not just that Valerie, who stood in his mind for all that was good and pure, should show forth in her face that same glory which had shone from the countenance of her whom they called the Mother of God?
This recognition awoke in his mind some faint perception of the innate naturalness of the Christian religion, and he felt his attitude changing imperceptibly as the bonds of that other worship slackened about his heart.
The sermon ended, the rector took his place once more at the altar, and the interrupted service continued. The bread and wine were offered to their Creator, and the moment of Consecration approached. All at once Tony became aware of a new atmosphere in the church. His clairvoyant faculties, trained and intensified by long weeks of preparation, revealed to him the eager expectancy which gripped the kneeling congregation. On every side of him minds were reaching out towards the altar, as with a quivering earnestness the people prepared to worship the coming Presence.
Despite himself a sense of awe began to steal over Tony. Angrily he strove to shake it off — this was unreal, auto-suggestion, mass-hypnotism! There was no God, only a shadowy thought-form conjured up by credulous worshipers; there could be no real Presence in the sacrament. But, strive as he would, he could not deny the inner knowledge that grew steadily stronger in his heart: something tremendous was about to happen, and every soul in the church knew it, welcomed it, but he.
“Blessed is He that cometh in the Name of the Lord: Hosanna in the highest!” rang out the clear voices of the choir. The organ ceased its playing, and an almost painful silence fell within the building. From the sanctuary came the low, continuous muttering of the priest as he recited the Canon of the Mass. The censer swung rhythmically, emitting little puffs of smoke beside the altar; the six golden spears of the tall candles burnt with an unwavering flame. The supreme moment was at hand.
Tony felt as if he were stretched upon the rack, the already well-nigh unbearable tension increasing every second. An awful chasm of suspense yawned in the pit of his stomach. He gripped the back of the seat before him until his fingernails grew white with the pressure, as with startling eyes he glared at the bowed figure of the priest.
The murmuring voice ceased, and the rector bent his head to whisper the miraculous words.
The sanctuary bell tinkled softly thrice, and the chains of the censer rattled as the kneeling thurifer censed the Host. The priest genuflected, then raised the Sanctissimum high above his head for all to see. A great wave of adoration swept over the people, like the wind over a field of corn, and every head was bowed. The Presence of God throbbed and quivered upon the altar.
With the breaking of the tension Tony’s attitude of mind changed abruptly. A blind rage swept through him: rage against that holy Thing these people worshipped. He wanted to rend, destroy, defile It. Shaking with fury, he half rose from his knees. Quickly Valerie laid her hand upon his.
At the touch of her cool fingers sanity returned, and, quelling his anger, he sank down once more.
Then followed the consecration of the Chalice, and at the second Elevation Tony’s eyes were opened, and he saw that which is rarely given to mortal sight.
What happened he could never afterwards remember, but the impression of that moment remained with him till he died. For a fraction of time the painted shadows of this material world faded from his eyes, and he beheld the awful reality which lies behind the Sacramental Presence.
Perhaps he saw an anguished Body, writhing upon a rough cross of wood, surrounded by a jeering multitude; perhaps a manger, with a tiny Babe, and grave-eyed kings adoring; perhaps even an effulgent Throne, flanked by rank upon serried rank of guardian figures, with folded, mighty wings.
For an instant of Time, for an age of Eternity, those terrible, gentle eyes looked into his, and his soul cried out in agony. Then the vision passed, the world resumed its sway, and he was in the little church once more, and the choir were singing Agnus Dei.
The remainder of the service passed like a dream, and long after it was over and the people had all gone Tony remained motionless on his knees. At last Valerie touched him gently.
Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head and stared at her. She smiled uncertainly, half frightened by his blank, unseeing gaze. Recognition crept slowly back into his eyes, and in a hoarse whisper he told her that he must speak to the rector at once.
As they went up the aisle he staggered like a drunken man, and she caught his arm. He clung to her gratefully, and together they reached the sacristy door, just as the rector, who had finished unvesting, came out.
He gave one glance at Tony’s ravaged face, then gestured to Valerie to leave them. Bereft of her support, Tony sank down on to a bench. As soon as she was gone the rector sat down beside him:
“Well, Tony, what is it?” he asked gently.
The young man turned his head stiffly and stared at him. The rector was shocked at his appearance. His face was rigid, and pale as death. His eyes were sunk in their sockets, and burned with an unnatural lustre. He opened his lips, and spoke in a voice that was scarcely audible:
“At the Consecration — I saw — Oh, God help me!”
The last exclamation was a cry of agony. Abruptly he fell on his knees, burying his face in the priest’s lap. His whole frame was racked with harsh, dry sobs. The old man stroked his hair as gently as a woman, saying:
“I prayed that this would happen, my son. Be of good heart, the Mercy has not failed.”
“Is there any hope for me?” Tony’s voice was muffled by the priest’s cassock.
“There is always hope. You will make your confession now, and I will give you Absolution, for I can see that you are truly penitent.”
“But I have committed the unforgivable sin: I have defiled the Blessed Sacrament!”
“So did we all nineteen hundred years ago, on Calvary. It shall be forgiven. There is no sin beyond forgiveness save the ultimate rejection of the love of God.”
“But I am bound to them by oaths which may not be broken. If I reject them I shall be instantly destroyed.”
“They lied when they told you that, as they have lied since their Master first rebelled against the One True God. Come, my son!”
The authority in the priest’s voice was irresistible, and together they went into the confessional.
Much that Tony told him was a repetition of what he had heard the previous day, but the rector remained silent as a priest should until the miserable tale was finished. Then, being satisfied of his penitent’s contrition, he gave the Absolution.
“ . . . And by His authority committed unto me, I absolve thee from all thy sins, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
As the blessed words were uttered Tony felt peace such as he had never dreamed of descend upon his tortured soul. The battle was over, Light had conquered, and Darkness was vanquished for ever.
Early next morning Tony made his Communion, and his repentance was sealed.
He remained alone in the church for some time after the short, simple service, reflecting upon the great change which had so suddenly come upon him.
Even now he could scarcely realize that he was no longer a member of that dark brotherh
ood, vowed to wage war continually against the religion of Christ, but he knew that he had at last found that which he had been seeking — a purpose in life and a sense of fulfillment and peace.
He recognized that, hate him how he would, he was nevertheless indebted to Gaunt for many things. Good had come out of evil in his case, for the ancient curse of his family had passed from him, and had made his repentance easier. He carried no secret burden as his ancestors had done; his soul was free. Whether this could have come to pass without his passing through the Valley of the Shadow, so close to everlasting damnation, he did not know, but he was filled with deep thankfulness that it was so.
He had had a long talk with the rector on the previous day, and the old man had assured him that he was not entirely to blame for the wrong turning which he had taken, for the continual drain of power and virtue which the curse had made upon him, as upon all his predecessors, had made Gaunt’s task of leading him astray all the easier. In the circumstances he could scarcely have resisted the doctor’s will, so intent had he been upon dominating him.
He was also surprised to find that his powers of intense mental concentration and clairvoyance had not departed from him, as he had half expected them to do, upon his conversion. Only the instinctive use of them in the service of evil was gone. He recognized that they were not wrong in themselves, and that he could now use his awakened transcendental faculties for their proper end — namely, in the mystical approach to God.
He looked towards the curtained Tabernacle and was instantly aware of the living Presence within it. He could feel the Sacred Heart beating there in unison with That which lay in his own breast. Humbly thanking God for this wonderful gift of spiritual insight, he rose, genuflected, and left the church.
Coming out into the open, he observed that the wind had almost ceased and that the sky, though still clouded, was bright with the sun behind. It seemed that the storm was over, and that he would be able to return to Kestrel well before the eleventh hour and do what yet remained for him to prevent Gaunt carrying out his fiendish plan at whatever cost. With this resolve strong in his heart Tony went into the rectory.
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