"Oh--a--little while," said the parson, rousing.... "Long enough, no
doubt."
The dark-eyed Director was standing. The two men exchanged a look; they
seemed to feel each other. Here was a matter with which the Labor
Commissioner had nothing to do.
"Well, then," said Pond, with a little intake of breath, "I'll go in."
The Director shut the door into the hall, took his hat from the chair.
He crossed the bare waiting-room, and turned the knob of the frequented
door into the office.
This door he opened, gently, just far enough to let himself in; he
closed it at once behind him. Nevertheless, by the chance of their
position, the other two saw, through the darkness of the room beyond,
what was not meant for their eyes.
A simple scene, in all truth; none commoner in the world; it really did
not matter who saw. Yet the two men in the waiting-room, beholding,
turned away, and Sam O'Neill bit a groan through in the middle.
He had never understood his friend, but he had loved him in his way. Old
memories twitched; his poise wavered. He lacked the parson's inner
supports. He paced about for some time, making little noises in his
throat. And then he tried his voice on a question.
"Did you ever hear him speak of John the Baptist?"
Mr. Dayne halted, and looked.
And Sam O'Neill, with some difficulty and in his own way, told of V.V.'s
creed about the Huns. Of how he had maintained that they needed
awakening, nothing else, and were always ready and waiting for it, no
matter how little they themselves knew that. And, finally, how he had
said one day--in a phrase that had been brought flashing back over the
months--that if a man but called to such as these in the right voice, he
could not hide himself where they would not come to him on
their knees....
Mr. Dayne had stood listening with a half-mystical look, a man groping
for elusive truths. Now his fine composure seemed to cloud for a moment;
but it shone out again, fair and strong. And presently, as he paced, he
was heard humming again his strange paradoxical song, which he, a
parson, seemed to lean upon, as a wounded man leans on his friend.
* * * * *
Her spirit returned to her body from the far countries, not without some
pain of juncture. But there was no strangeness now in being in this
room; none in finding Mr. Pond at her side, his saddened gaze upon her.
Happen what might, nothing any more would ever seem strange....
"Won't you come with me now?"