A LINK CHAPTER
Joseph, his followers, and Mary Lys, had passed out of the theatre
without hindrance in the dark. They encountered no one in their passage,
and found themselves in Shaftesbury Avenue as people pass from one dream
into another. The faces of all of them were pale and set, but no one
spoke.
It is a well-known fact that hardly any one attracts attention in the
streets of London unless because of noise or eccentric behavior. This is
quite true of the daytime, and especially true at night. So cosmopolitan
is the modern Babylon, so intent upon their own business or pleasure are
the inhabitants, that a Chinaman in full native costume or an admiral in
full-dress would do no more than excite the merest passing regard.
When, therefore, Joseph and his companions walked up the busy
pleasure-street, they were almost unnoticed. A man with a soft felt hat
pressed down upon his forehead, a bearded man wearing a black cloak of a
somewhat peculiar cut--what was there in that? A hospital nurse and a
few grave-faced men in country-clothes and obviously from the
country--who was to give them any notice?
It happened, therefore, that the little party were well on their way
towards Oxford Street before the first member of the audience had left
the Frivolity. As far as any knowledge of their whereabouts was
concerned, they might have vanished into thin air.
They walked on in silence, Joseph leading the way with Mary, the
half-dozen men following behind.
When Oxford Street was reached, Joseph hailed a cab.
"You have been with us long enough for to-night, sister," he said; "your
aunt and uncle must be anxious about you, and you owe them a duty after
you have fulfilled your duty to the Lord. Truly, the Holy Spirit has
been with us on this night, during the first few hours we have been
here. May He always be with us and bless and prosper our great
undertaking! Good-night, and God bless you, my dear sister. If it be
God's will we shall all meet again on the morrow. It may be that even
before then some one of us will receive a sign or a revelation."
His eyes shone with mystical fire as he said this, and watched the cab
drive away into the roar of lighted traffic.
Then he turned to his companions.
"Brethren," he said, "I feel, I know not why or how, that my work
to-night is not yet ended. But go you to your lodgings. I will be with
you for prayer and to break the fast not long after dawn. You trust me
still? You believe in our great work? You are not terrified by the noise
and the glitter of this wicked, mighty city? If there is one among you
who would even now draw back, and once more seek the quiet hills of
Wales, then he may yet do so on this very night."
"We have no home, Master," one of the men said, Owen Rees by name, and
obviously speaking in the name of his companions. "We have no home but
the Kingdom of God. We have set our hand to the plough, and will not
turn back. The Lord is with us," he concluded simply--"whatever and why
should we fear?"
"Then, brethren," Joseph answered, "God be with you. That omnibus there
will take you to the door of the place by the station where we have
taken our lodging. David Foulkes knows the number, and has the money.
Pray for us all."
With these words he turned and strode away westward. They gazed after
him until the tall, black figure was swallowed up by the crowd.
On and on went Joseph, regardless of all around him. His mind was full
of doubt and fear, despite the calm words he had spoken to his
disciples. All the saints of God have known dark and empty moments,
wherein all seems hopeless and sad, and the great world seems closing
round, shutting them off from the Almighty. It is always thus. We are
tried and tempted to the last. We also must know faintly some of those
hours of agony which the Man of Sorrows Himself knew and suffered.
It was thus with Joseph now. During the tremendous effort in the theatre
he had been conscious that God was with him, and speaking through the
mouth of His servant. He was the vessel of the Unseen and Awful Power.
In a flash of Divine inspiration he had known of the lives of the men
who sat below him.
But when it was all over, a reaction set in. He was filled with gloomy
and troubled thoughts. Had his words been right words after all? Was the
impulse which had drawn him to the theatre with irresistible strength an
impulse from on high? And who was he, after all, that he should lead
others in a new crusade against the sin and wickedness of this great
city?
He felt exactly as if some actual personality which had been animating
him was now withdrawn.
To his left, Park Lane stretched away towards Piccadilly, the palaces
there all blazing with light. It was typical of what he had come to
denounce, to warn, and to save.
And how was it possible that he, a weak man, could do this thing?
He walked on. Half-way down Park Lane he saw that a coffee-stall stood
in the shadow of the Park railings, drawn up close to the curb. The
sight reminded him that he had not eaten for many hours, and he crossed
the road towards it.
There were no customers but himself, and in a moment or two a steaming
cup of coffee and two great wedges of bread-and-butter stood before him.
He had never enjoyed a meal so much, he thought idly--no, not even in
the recent days of starvation in Whitechapel, when an unexpected
windfall had provided him and Hampson with food.
Whitechapel! What a lifetime of experience had been his since those
days! Wales, the mystical life with Lluellyn Lys--
A flush of shame and sorrow came over him. Why had he doubted even for a
single moment the power and guidance of God! Had not the Holy Ghost been
always with him--always, from the very first?
"O Lord," he cried, in his heart, "forgive Thine unworthy servant his
weak doubts and fears! I know that Thou art with me, now, and forever
more!"
He had concluded the short and unspoken prayer when he was startled by a
voice.
He had not noticed that when the coffee-stall proprietor--an old man
with snow-white hair, and large, horn-rimmed spectacles--had given him
the coffee, he had returned to a large book he was reading.
Now Joseph looked round suddenly, and realized that the old fellow was
saying the sentences aloud to himself.
"He shall call upon Me, and I will hear him; yea, I was with him in
trouble. I will deliver him, and bring him to honour."
Joseph put down his pennies upon the counter. The answer to his prayer
had come, once more God had spoken.
"Thank ye!" said the old man, in a strong Scotch accent. "I doot but I
startled ye with me reading. I read aloud to my wife, who can nae mair
see to read for hersel', and sae I've got in the way o't. But they're
gran' words, lad."
"Thank you for them, and God bless you!" Joseph answered; and with the
old fellow's kindly "Good nicht!" ringing in his ears, resumed his walk.
He was immeasurably comforted and helped, and his whole soul went up in
a burst of praise and adoration.
No thought of sleep came to him. He no longer felt physically weary. He
was impelled to walk and pray for sleeping London.
"Lord, grant that they will hear me! Lord, send down Thy Holy Spirit
upon me, and give me Thy grace! Raise up great and powerful helpers for
the work, for I am weak and poor."
He was in Piccadilly now, and as he prayed he walked more slowly.
Oh, that those great people who lived in this wonderful street--now so
dark and silent--would open the doors of their hearts that Christ might
enter in!
The dark was suddenly illuminated.
A great door swung slowly open, and two men in evening dress stood
together upon the threshold.
He turned instinctively and looked them full in the face.
There was a startled cry of "Joseph!" And as if in a dream he mounted
the steps and passed under the lintel.
The door closed quietly behind him.