The words of farewell were spoken at last. He did not openly speak of death, yet I doubt whether there was one of them who did not divine it. He stood upon the little platform holding out his hands towards them, and they left their places in orderly fashion, yet jealously eager to be amongst the first to clasp them, and somehow we three felt that it was no place for us, and we made our way out again on to the pavement. My mother and I looked at one another with wet eyes.
“At last, then,” I murmured, “we know his secret. Would to God that we had known before.”
“It is wonderful,” my mother answered, “that he has escaped recognition. There has been so much written about this place lately. Only last week I was asked to come here. Every one has been talking about the marvellous influence he has gained over these people.”
We waited there for him. In little groups the congregation came slowly out and dispersed. The lights in the main body of the building were extinguished. Still he did not come. We were on the point of seeking for a side entrance when a man came hurriedly out of the darkened building and commenced running up the street. Something seemed to tell me the truth.
“That man has gone for a doctor,” I cried. “See, he has stopped at the house with the red lamp. He is ill! I am going inside.”
I tried the door. It opened at my touch and we groped our way across the unlit room, bare and desolate enough now with its rows of empty and disarranged chairs, and with little clouds of dense tobacco smoke still hanging about. In a little recess behind the platform we found my father. One man—a cabman he seemed to be—was holding his hand, another was supporting his head. When he saw us he smiled faintly.
“God is very good,” he murmured. “There was nothing I wished for but to see you once more.”
I dropped on my knees by his side. There was a mist before my eyes and a great lump in my throat.
“You are worse,” I cried. “Have they sent for a doctor?”
“It is the end,” he said, softly. “It will all be over very soon now. I am ready. My work here was commenced. It is not granted to any one to do more than to make commencements. Give—give—ah!”