Everybody started in the gloom. There was a little momentary flutter of excitement. And, as they all watched the gleaming circle of light upon which the brain of the Bishop had painted his memories so truthfully and well, they saw a sudden change. The whole, beautiful picture became troubled, misty. It shook like a thing seen through water at a great depth.
Then the vision of the City where God suffered went straight away. There was no more of it. It vanished as a breath breathed upon a window clouds and vanishes.
The concentration of mind of the Bishop must then—as it was said afterwards—have been interrupted by the sudden sound of the falling fan, for all those celebrated men and women who sat and watched saw dim grey words, like clouds of smoke which had formed themselves into the written symbols of speech, appear in the light.
And these were the words—
"God will not allow——"
At that moment the silence was broken by a tiny sound. It is always the small sound that defines blackness and silence.
Sir William, who perhaps had realized where the thoughts of the Bishop were leading him, who had doubtless understood the terror of the naked soul, the terror which he himself had made possible, switched on the light. The whole laboratory was illuminated, and it was seen that the people were looking at each other with white faces; and that the folk, who were almost strangers, were grasping each other by the wrist. And the Bishop himself was sitting quietly in the chair, with a very pale face and a slight smile.
At that moment the people who had come to catch the visual truth of this supreme wonder, rose as one man. Voices were heard laughing and sobbing; little choked voices mingled and merged in a cacophany of fear.
It was all light now, light and bright, and these men and women of the world were weeping on each other's shoulders.
The Bishop rose.