‘As for the deception,’ said Clarence, ‘it is horrible. One falsehood leads to another. I pretend weakness—even disease and pain—to escape being married to some one; because what can a man of my position—of the middle class—do to earn my bread? Then I have simulated sinful paroxysms of bad temper. This keeps women away: so long as I am believed to be ill-tempered and sickly, of course no one will offer to marry me. A reputation of ill-temper is, fortunately, the best safeguard possible for a young man who would possess his soul in freedom. I try to persuade myself that necessary deception is harmless deception; and if we succeed——’ he paused and sighed. ‘Come, my lord, let me teach you something of the true Faith.’
They spent the whole morning together, while Clarence Veysey unfolded the mysteries of the Ancient Faith, and showed how divine a thing it was, and how fitted for every possible phase or emergency of life. His earnestness, the sincerity and honesty of his belief, deeply moved Lord Chester.
‘But how,’ asked the neophyte, ‘came this wonderful religion to be lost?’
‘It was thrown away, not lost,’ replied the priest. ‘Even before the women began to encroach upon the power of men, it was thrown away. Had the Ancient Faith survived, we should have been spared the coming struggle. It was thrown away. Men themselves threw it away—some wilfully, others through weakness—receiving forms and the pretensions of priests instead of the substance; so that they surrendered their liberty, put the priest between themselves and the Father, practised the servile rite of confession, and went on to substitute the image of the Mother and Child upon their altars, in place of the Divine Manhood, whose image had been in their fathers’ hearts. Why, when after many years it was resolved to place on every altar the Veiled Figure of the Perfect Woman, the very thought of the Divine Man had been wellnigh forgotten.
‘But not lost,’ he went on in a kind of rapture—‘not lost. He lingers still among us—here in this most sacred house. He is spoken of in rustic speech; He lingers in rustic traditions; many a custom still survives, the origin of which is now forgotten, which speaks to us who knew of the dear old Faith.’
He spoke more of this old Faith,—the only solution, he declared, ever offered, of the problem of life,—the ever-living Divine Brother, always compassionate, always helping, always lifting higher the souls of those who believe.
‘See!’ cried the enthusiast, falling on his knees, ‘He is here. O Christ—Lord—Redeemer, Thou art with us—yea, always and always!’
When he brought Lord Chester again into the presence of the Bishop, they both had tears in their eyes.
‘He comes, my lord,’ said Clarence, a sober exultation in his voice—‘he comes as a catechumen, seeking instruction and baptism.’
Needless here to relate by what arguments, what teaching, Lord Chester became a convert to the New Faith; nor how he was baptized, nor with what ardour he entered into the doctrines of a religion the entrance to which seemed like the bursting of prison-doors, the breaking of fetters, the sudden rush of light. His new friends became, in a deeper sense, his brothers and his sisters. They were of the same religion; they worshipped God through the revelation of the Divine Man.