The door opened, Durthal and Lunn came in.
“You have come just in time!” he clasped their hands. “You have rescued me from the presence of my Maker!”
Lunn blinked. Durthal was sniggling already. He had caught Tom’s mood, the directions of favor and attack. That was enough.
“Oh—oh,” Tom laughed. “Don’t look scared. Markand is my Maker. Didn’t you know that? Being with Markand is a perpetual Day of Judgment. Even in the strictest Faith that should come only once. Living with Markand it never stops. Down—down one must go on one’s knees. And stay there.”
David felt Tom’s sneers cut him and bind him motionless.
“I am sorry, Tom. I did not mean——”
“Oh, it is easy for him.” Tom broke his words. He was facing Durthal and Lunn who had found quick seats on the couch, as one hastens to settle at a performance that has begun already. Tom’s back was to David. Lunn was peering toward him with his heavy head low on his shoulders: blinking and smiling. Durthal beamed into Tom’s face.
“It is easy for him. You see, he has nothing to confess. His soul is empty of sin. Did you know that, you fellows? He can promenade about in his soul quite freely, as one takes a stroll by the sea-shore. Altogether empty, I assure you—of sin. I must go dragging along.”
He paced up and down. He was very bitter.
David was still viced in the hurt of the interruption.