HIS eyes growing dark, the vicar asked for a prayer book. When this had
been procured, the doctor led him through a maze of dismal corridors to
a small door at the extreme end of a long passage.
At the doctor’s gentle tap it was opened by the head attendant.
“Any change, Boswell?” whispered the doctor.
There was no change it appeared.
At first the vicar stood irresolute on the threshold of the cell. His
manner made it clear that he desired to be alone with the dying man,
and in a few moments the doctor and the attendant went away. The vicar,
grasping his prayer book like a staff, then passed in alone, and the
heavy door swung to behind him with a self-closing click which locked
it securely.
The room had only a bedstead. It was very hard to see in that night of
time through which the vicar was now looking. Not daring to approach
the bed, he stood hopelessly by the door, naked in spirit, faint of
soul. He could neither speak nor move. There was not a sound in the
room, nor any light. He stood alone.
He stood alone and without any kind of power; he could neither hear
nor see; he was in a void in which time was awfully revealed in a new
notation. Broken with fear, he began slowly to lose apperception.
How long he remained solitary there was no means of knowing, but at
last he heard a voice in the room. It was hardly more than a sigh, yet
so strangely familiar and expected was the sound that the vicar knew it
at once for the voice of One.
“You did as your light directed. Faithful servant, kiss me.”
Transfigured with a wild emotion, like music and wine in his heart, the
vicar moved to the bed. He fell on his knees, and flung his arms round
the form which lay there. He pressed wild kisses upon the luminous
face. At the contact of his lips, the image of the spectrum altered
and Truth itself was translated to a higher value. Then he seemed to
realize that he was holding in his arms a heroic son----.
“My darling boy!” he whispered. “My darling boy!”
Again he rained kisses on the upturned face.
He suddenly perceived that a third presence was by his side. He knew it
for the happy mother and beloved wife. Again the image of the spectrum
altered. He was born again. There came to him with new, intenser
meaning the doctrine of the Trinity and through it the mystic union of
husband, wife and child in the Father’s Love.
After a further lapse of time which was measureless, the ecstasy of the
human father was terminated by the sound of a key turning in the door
of the room. Instantly the spell was broken and he realized that he was
fondling the face of a corpse.
The vicar rose from his knees as the doctor entered the room. He stood
by the bed, shivering now with strange happiness, while the doctor
lifted the hand and looked at the face of his patient.
“I was afraid,” said the doctor in a hushed voice, “that he would not
be able to receive the deputation. Dear fellow! He is now with the
souls in whom he believed.”
“And who believed in Him,” said the vicar in a tone that the doctor
could hardly recognize.
“Yes, there were souls who believed in him,” said the doctor in a
matter-of-fact voice which had a kind of gentle indulgence. “There must
have been. More than one of our poor old men here died with his name on
their lips. You would hardly believe what an influence he had among us.
We shall miss him very much. In his way he was a true saint, a real
teacher, and he has left this place better than he found it.”
“If only he could have received the homage that awaited him,” the vicar
whispered.
“Yes, if only he could have done so! But it is written otherwise.
Still, we all feel that a very remarkable honor has been paid to one
of our inmates. By the way, isn’t it Aristotle--or is it Plato?--who
says that it is a part of probability that many improbabilities will
happen?”