"I believe," she said, in grave, quiet tones, "that a special revelation is to come to London in the person of Joseph. Strange and, indeed, miraculous things have happened. God has spoken in no uncertain way, and the Holy Spirit has manifested Himself as He has never done before in our time. I cannot now go into all the circumstances attending my dear brother's death. That they were supernatural and God-sent no one who witnessed them can have any manner of doubt. But, briefly, I can tell you just this. The Holy Ghost has descended upon this man Joseph in full and abundant measure, even as He descended upon the Apostles of old. Joseph and a few devoted companions have come to London. I have come with them. We are about to wage a holy war against the wickedness of London, and the Spirit is with us.
"I cannot measure or define Joseph's new nature. It is all beyond me. But I have thought deeply about it, and this is what I think. Joseph seems to be two persons, at different times. It almost appears to be a case of what the French doctors who are experimenting with hypnotism call "dual control." Yet both these natures are quite distinct from his old one. He was an atheist, you know, until he went to Wales, but now he is the most sincere, and convinced believer that I have ever met. So far he is no more than a brilliant and high-minded man who is trying to live a holy life, a man such as one has met before, now and then. But the other side of him is quite different again. At times he seems to one almost supernatural—or perhaps supernormal is the better word. Something comes into him. He is filled with the Holy Ghost. And there were such strange circumstances about his change of character and dear Lluellyn's death.... Do you know, dear, I sometimes wonder if it mightn't be that an angel of God inhabits him at times! People can be possessed by evil spirits, why couldn't they be controlled by good ones?"
Marjorie listened earnestly, the light fading out of her bright face as she did so.
"I don't think I quite understand," she said, with a little shudder. "Anyhow, it all seems very strange and—What can Joseph do—what can you do? Surely there will be a great deal of trouble and scandal! And, Mary darling, you mustn't be mixed up in anything of this sort. Oh, it would never do! What would father and mother say? Why, it's like"—she hesitated for a simile. "Why, it's like being a member of the Salvation Army! You can't go about dressed like that, dear—and in the streets, too, with a trombone. You are not your dear sweet self to-night, dear, so we won't talk about it any more now. You have been through so much, no wonder you are tired. Go to bed now, and you will be better in the morning. They will have taken your boxes to your room, and I will send Antoinette to you at once."
Mary rose.
"I do need sleep," she said, with a faint smile. "I do need it dreadfully badly. But about my boxes, Marjorie dear. I only had one, and I have forgotten all about it, I'm afraid. I suppose it's at the station or somewhere. Joseph led us straight from the station to the theatre."
"The theatre! You've been to the theatre to-night! Before coming here! Are you mad, Mary?"
Marjorie's face had grown quite white, her voice was shrill in its horror and incredulity. What could her cousin mean? Did she actually assert that two days after her brother's funeral she had gone to a theatre with a strange man, and kept the whole household in Berkeley Square in a state of suspense, while she did this dreadful thing?
"I can't explain, dear," Mary answered, in a tired voice. "But you will know all about it to-morrow. It is not as you think. And now I will really go to bed."
She kissed her astonished cousin, and, with a faint smile, left the boudoir under convoy of the French maid.