"You have already given some attention to this strange idea?" suggested his listener, watching closely the working of the other's face. "You have perhaps even experimented—— A ceremonial of some sort, you mean? A performance, a ritual—or what?"
Father Collins lowered his voice, becoming more earnest, more impressive:
"Beauty, the arts," he whispered, "can alone provide a vehicle for the expression of those Intelligences which are the cosmic powers. A performance of some sort—possibly—since there must be sound and movement. A bridge between us, between our evolution and their own, might, I believe, be thus constructed. Art is only great when it provides a true form for the expression of an eternal cosmic power. By combining—we might provide a means for their manifestation——"
"A body of thought, as it were, through which our 'N. H.' might become articulate? Is that your idea?"
Behind the question lay something new, it seemed, as though, while listening to the exposition of an odd mystical conception, his mind had been busy with a preoccupation, privately but simultaneously, of his own. "In what way precisely do you suggest the arts might combine to provide this 'body'?" he asked, a faint tremor noticeable in the lowered voice.
"That," replied Father Collins promptly, never at a loss, "we should have to think about. Inspiration will come to us—probably through him. Ceremonial, of course, has always been an attempt in this direction, only it has left the world so long that people no longer know how to construct a real one. The ceremonials of to-day are ugly, vulgar, false. The words, music, colour, gestures—everything must combine in perfect harmony and proportion to be efficacious. It is a forgotten method."
"And results—how would they come?"
"The new wisdom and knowledge that result are suddenly there in the members of the group. The Power has expressed itself. Not through the brain, of course, but, rather, that the new ideas, having been acted out, are suddenly there. There has been an extension of consciousness. A group consciousness has been formed, and——"
"And there you are!" Dr. Fillery, moving his foot unperceived, had touched a bell beneath the table. The foot, however, groped and fumbled, as though unsure of itself.
"You learn to swim—by swimming, not by talking about it." Father Collins was prepared to talk on for another hour. "If we can devise the means—and I feel sure we can—we shall have formed a bridge between the two evolutions——"