"It came. But it came enveloped in no cloud of glory. The path to the lost inheritance was steep and rugged and dark. He was called upon to leave his mother; to leave the place that, however sordid, however mean, was yet his home; and to enter upon a period of servitude with an unknown master—a man related to him by blood, whom report described as an eccentric—a miser—a madman."
As he said these words a curious thing occurred. A wave of color flushed old Arian's sightless face; an inarticulate sound escaped him, and he made a tremulous attempt to rise. But the movement was instantly checked by Bale-Corphew, who bent close to him and whispered quickly in his ear.
Neither gesture nor whisper was noted by the Prophet. His own face had paled as if with some deep emotion; and lowering his raised hand, he spoke again with a new, suppressed intensity.
"Then began the vital period of that boy's career. He left his home—he left the mother he loved—he went into voluntary exile, animated by one purpose. Remember that, my People! He went into the service of this man animated by one purpose—the determination to win back his rightful fortune! And for seven weary years he continued his pursuit. For the seven most vital years of his youth he suppressed every instinct that animates a boy!
"He worked more laboriously than the laborer in the fields, for mental servitude is more galling to the young than any physical strain. But he never faltered; and at last he had the pride of knowing that his end was gained—he had the pride of knowing that he had become indispensable to the master whom he served!" Again he paused, but this time the pause was of impressive weight. Unconsciously, and without analyzing the feeling, every member of the congregation felt that some announcement was pending—that some extraordinary revelation was about to be made.
Enid sat rigid, holding her breath in an agony of suspense, fascinated and appalled by the incomprehensible discourse. Behind the high railing, old Michael Arian's lips moved rapidly and nervously, as though he were muttering inaudible prayers; while Bale-Corphew's florid face flamed, as, with a rapid, agitated movement, he glanced over the tense faces of the congregation. For one moment it seemed that he was bracing himself for action, but before his intentions could bear fruit, the voice of the Prophet again rang out across the chapel.
"My People!" he said. "It is now that I appeal to your humanity! It is now that I ask each one of you—men and women—to stand in this boy's place—this boy, built like yourselves of human desires, human hopes, human weaknesses. After seven long years he touched the knowledge that he had become indispensable; and the bearer of that knowledge was Death—his master's master!
"Death came; and in his chill presence the boy saw his task completed—laid aside like a written scroll!
"It was the most glorious moment of his life—that moment in which he stood with unshaken faith, looking towards the future. But the darker side of existence was his portion; he had been born to the darker side. Within one hour of his master's death, his dreams were dispelled. He learned that, in the eyes of the man he had served, he had never passed beyond the position of the outcast—the dependent, whose services are liberally rewarded by the gift of a few hundred pounds. The fortune—the inheritance—the golden mirage, was no longer existent, save as something that did not concern him. By the disposition of his master's will, it had passed into the coffers of a religious body—a fantastic, unknown sect to which the old man had belonged!"
The announcement fell with strange effect. Enid, inspired by sudden terror, rose to her feet; Bale-Corphew sat gripping the arm of his chair, his face contorted, his mouth working, while a rustle, an audible murmur of excitement passed over the whole chapel, and the Precursor, who all along had been crouching at the foot of the throne, turned quickly and anxiously towards his master.