"What a wonderful man your friend Joseph must be," he said suddenly. "There cannot be any one else like him in the world. There seems something almost supernatural about him—only, of course, the supernatural does not exist."
Then Hampson spoke.
"I know that you will believe what I am going to tell you," he said quietly. "First, I must say a few words about myself. All my thinking life—since I was a very young man—I have been a convinced Christian. Even in the darkest hours my faith has not wavered, whatever my sins and errors may have been. Joseph, on the contrary, has been as convinced an atheist as you say that you yourself are. A hundred times in my hearing he has derided Jesus Christ and mocked at God. He threw up a great career at Cambridge because he felt it his duty to express his convictions in public. Only a few weeks ago he was exactly of the same way of thinking. To-night you heard him sway and move hundreds of sinful men and women directly inspired by God. Like a prophet of old—even as Jesus Himself—he preached the truth in the places of the ungodly. You, yourself, were profoundly stirred. Now, I ask you, what does this mean?"
Sir Thomas had been gazing at his guest with deep interest and wonder.
"You startle me, sir," he said. "You overwhelm me with what you tell me. I must believe you. I do indeed! But what had changed him? Tell me that!"
"The power of the Holy Ghost," said the journalist.
There was a silence.
Sir Thomas leant back in his chair with an abstracted gaze. He had eaten nothing, though his guest, wiser than he, had made a sufficient and recuperative meal.
The little Japanese spaniel rose from his sleep before the glowing fire, and put his nose into his master's hand. Sir Thomas stroked the tiny creature absently.
"The Holy Ghost?" he said, fixing his eyes upon Hampson. "What is that? Who can say?"