A Second Coming

by Richard Marsh

'I think not. I am only shaken. The Lord has gone!'

'Gone! Lean on me. We will find Him.'

The two went out into the lifting shadows, the lame man on Mr. Treadman's arm. The country was covered by a morning mist. It was damp and cold. The light was puzzling. Mr. Treadman looked to the right and left.

'Which way can He have gone?'

'There! there He is! I see Him on the road. My leg is better; let us hasten. We shall catch Him.'

'No. Do not let us catch Him. Let us follow and see which way He goes. I have a reason.'

'But He will know you are following, and your reason.'

'May be. Still let us follow.'

Mr. Treadman had his way. They followed at a distance. As was his habit, Mr. Treadman talked as he went.

'It is strange that He should try to leave us like this, when He knows that we would leave no stone unturned to follow Him, through life, to death.'