When she realized this fact, Enid rose from her seat with a murmur of
dismay. In her sharply feminine sense of loss, she took one involuntary
step towards the door; but almost as the step was taken, her anger, her
shattered faith assailed her anew, and, with a fresh burst of tears she
turned and flung herself back upon the couch.
For a long time she lay with her face among the pillows; then, at last,
as her angry sobs died out and the violence of her grief subsided, she
sat up, wiped her eyes, and glanced at her dripping handkerchief.
[Illustration: "WITH A FRESH BURST OF TEARS, SHE TURNED AND FLUNG
HERSELF UPON THE COUCH"]
At sight of the handkerchief--a mere wisp of wet cambric--her sense of
injury stung her afresh, and once more her lips began to quiver; but
fate had decided against further tears. Before her grief had gathered
force, the bell of the hall-door sounded once more long and loudly; and
hard upon the sound the door of the room opened.
With a start of confusion she sprang to her feet, and turned to confront
Norris, standing at a discreet distance, with an apologetic manner and
downcast eyes.
"Mr. Bale-Corphew, ma'am," she murmured, as Enid looked at her. "I told
him you were not at home; but he said he would wait till whenever he
could see you, it didn't matter how long."
With a little cry of dismay and annoyance, Enid put her hands to her
disordered hair.
"Oh, how stupid of you!" she cried, tremulously. "You know I can't see
him. You know I won't see him. Tell him I'm out--ill--anything you can
think of--" But her voice suddenly faltered, and her words ended in a
gasp, as she glanced from the servant to the door, which had abruptly
reopened, displaying the face and figure of Bale-Corphew himself.
Without hesitation he had entered the room; and without hesitation he
walked straight towards her.
"Forgive me!" he exclaimed. "I know this must seem unpardonable; but the
occasion is without precedent. May I speak with you alone?"
In the moment of his entry, and during his hurried greeting, Enid had
mastered her agitation. She looked at him now with an attempt at
calmness.
"Certainly, if you have anything to say."
In the excitement under which he was obviously laboring, he did not
observe the coldness of the granted permission. He waited with
ill-concealed impatience until Norris had withdrawn, then he turned to
her afresh.
"Mrs. Witcherley!" he cried, "you see before you an outraged man!"
He made the announcement fiercely and theatrically; but, to any ear, it
would have been evident that, below the instinctive desire for dramatic
effect, his voice trembled with genuine agitation--his speech was
charged with violent feeling. To Enid, watching him with surprise and
curiosity, it was patent at a glance that some circumstance, strange in
its occurrence or vital in its issue, had shaken him to the base of his
emotional nature. And as she looked at him her own coldness, her own
humiliation, suddenly forsook her.
"What is it?" she cried, involuntarily. "What is it? Something has
happened?"
For one moment his answer was delayed--held back by the torrent of words
that rushed to his lips; then, at last, as his tongue freed itself, he
threw out his hands in a fierce gesture.
"Outrage! Outrage and sacrilege!" he cried. "We have been
duped--deceived--tricked. We, the Chosen--the Elect!"
"Duped? Deceived?" She echoed the words, faintly. "What do you mean?
What has happened?"
"Everything! Everything!" Again he threw out his hands. "This man that
we have called Prophet--this man that we have bent the knee to--he is
nothing; nothing--" Once more emotion overpowered his words.
"Nothing?" Enid's voice was indistinct, her tongue dry.
"--Nothing but an impostor! An impostor! A thief!"
He spoke loudly--even violently. To his listener it seemed that his
voice rang out, filling the room, filling the street outside, filling
the whole world. As she had done in the Prophet's presence, she raised
her hands and pressed them over her ears. But, even through her fingers,
his tones came loud and penetrating.
"An impostor!" he cried, again. "A liar! A blasphemer!"
Her hands dropped from her face.
"Stop! Stop!" she cried, weakly.
But he was beyond appeal.
"You must hear!" he cried. "It is ordained. You have been the unwitting
instrument by which the man has fallen."
"I? I? The instrument?" She stared at him with wide eyes and a white
face.
"Yes, you!" He stepped to her side. "Without you, suspicion would never
have been aroused. Without you, he might have carried out his base
designs. It was the power of the Unseen that guided me on the day I
entered the Presence Room and found you alone with him." He spoke
hurriedly and disjointedly, but as the last word left his lips another
expression crossed his face, as though a new suggestion passed through
his mind.
"Did you see nothing strange in that Audience?" he demanded. "Did you
see nothing strange in the fact that he--a Prophet of Sublime
Mysteries--should hold your hand, as any man of the earth might hold
it?" He bent still closer, jealousy and suspicion darkening his face.
Enid glanced at him fearfully. "No! No!" she said, sharply. "I--saw
nothing strange. He was the Prophet."
Bale-Corphew's face relaxed.
"Ah!" he said, slowly. "I believe you. But, if _you_ were blind, _I_
saw." He paused and passed his handkerchief over his face. Cold as the
day was, drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead.
"I saw. And from that hour the man was lost."
"Lost?"
"Yes, lost." He laughed excitedly; and to Enid the laugh sounded
singularly unpleasant, sharp, and cruel. "From that day we have watched
him--we, the Six. We have watched him and his friend--the dog who has
dared to desecrate the name of Precursor. We have watched them night
and day; we have seen them, listened to them hour after hour, while they
believed themselves unobserved--?"
"And what do you know? What have you learned?" There was a strange
faintness in the tone of her voice.
"Everything. Only yesterday we touched the key-stone of their scheme.
To-night--this very night--they have planned an escape. They will attend
as usual in the Place; they will fool us as they have fooled us before;
and then, when the house is quiet--when the Six are at rest, exhausted
by prayer and meditation--they will accomplish their vile work. They
will plunder the Treasury of the Unseen!"
"Oh no! No!" With a swift movement she turned to him.
He looked at her for an instant, of silence, and then again the
unpleasant, excited laugh escaped him.
"You are right," he cried, suddenly. "What you say is right. There will
be no plunder. The Treasury of the Unseen will remain inviolate!"
As he paused she made no sound; but her eyes rested upon his, fascinated
by their feverish brightness; and in the midst of her silent regard he
spoke again, bending forward until his lips approached her ear.
"They have laid their plans," he whispered, with a sudden and savage
exultation, "but we also have laid ours. And even we cannot reckon upon
the consequences. The spiritual enthusiast is not easy to hold in check,
once he has been aroused!"
Enid stared at him, the pupils of her eyes dilated, her lips pale.
"You mean--? You mean--?" she stammered; then her fear found voice.
"What do you mean?" she demanded, in sharp, alarmed tones.
Bale-Corphew met her question, steadily.
"I mean," he said, with fierce vindictiveness, "that at the Gathering
to-night he will be publicly denounced!"
He made the declaration slowly, and each word fell with overwhelming
weight upon his companion's understanding. As in the bewildered mazes of
a nightmare she saw the crowded chapel, the fanatical, unstable faces of
the congregation, the six Arch-Mystics--outraged, incensed, unrelenting;
and in their midst the Prophet, tall and grave and masterful, as she had
seen him a hundred times. One man facing a sea of ungoverned emotion! At
the vision her heart swelled suddenly and her soul sickened. With a
gesture, almost as passionate as his own, she turned upon Bale-Corphew.
"You would denounce him before the People?" she said, incredulously.
"You would trap him? One man against a hundred! Oh, it would be
cowardly! Cruel!"
Bale-Corphew's face flamed to a deeper red.
"Cowardly? Cowardly? Do you know what you are saying? The man is a
thief!"
For one moment she shrank before the epithet; the next she raised her
head, her eyes flashing, her lips parted.
"You have no right to use that word. You have not seen him steal."
"Seen him? No. But the ears are as reliable as the eyes, and we have
heard him declare that he intends to steal."
"Intends! Intends! Intentions are not acts." In her deep agitation, she
turned upon him with a new demeanor.
"Oh, be merciful!" she cried. "Give him the benefit of mercy. Wait till
the Assembly is over, and then accuse him. If you can prove your
accusation, then justice can be done. On the other hand--"
"The other hand?" Again Bale-Corphew's cruel laugh broke from him. "He
has not shrunk from lies--from imposture--from blasphemy. Is it likely
he will shrink from his reward? Oh no! We will run no risks. The trap
has closed. No one will gain access to him to-night until the hour of
the Gathering has arrived. It will be my special--my sacred--duty to
watch and guard." As he spoke his eyes seemed to devour her face, and
before the expression in their depths her strength faltered.
"And why have you come here?" she asked, unsteadily. "Why have you come
here? What has this to do with me?"
As she put the questions, he watched her closely; and when her voice
quivered, a spasm of emotion--a wave of jealousy and suspicion--swept
his face.
"Can you ask that question?" he demanded.
Enid wavered.
"Why not?" she murmured. "Why should I not?"
"Why not?" He laughed again, suddenly and savagely. "Because the man
loves you. Because he stole out of the house to-day--and came here to
you. I tracked him here and tracked him back again."
Enid shrank away from him.
"So--so you are a spy?" she said, in a confused, uneven voice.
He turned instantly, his passions aflame.
"A spy?" he cried. "I am a spy? Very well! We will see who comes out
victor. The thief or the spy." His voice rose, his face darkened. The
demon of jealousy that had pursued him for seven days was free of the
leash at last.
"I wanted to know this," he exclaimed. "I wanted to be sure. I had my
suspicions, but I wanted proof. On the day I surprised you with him, I
suspected; to-day, when I saw him enter this house, I felt convinced--"
"Convinced of what?"
"Convinced that there is more in this matter than his love for you. That
there is also--"
With a swift movement Enid stopped him. She was quivering violently, but
she held her head high.
"Yes," she said, distinctly. "Yes, you are quite right. There is more in
this matter than his love for me. There is also my love for him!"
Her eyes were blazing; her heart was beating fast. With an agitation
equal to Bale-Corphew's own she moved to the fireplace and pressed the
bell.
When the servant appeared she turned to her.
"Norris," she said, in a quiet voice, "show Mr. Bale-Corphew out."