A Second Coming
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 23: And the Child
The noise in the street had continued without ceasing. It grew louder. A sound arose as of many voices shrieking. While it still filled the air the lame man and the charcoal-burner descended from an upper room. They spoke of the tumult.
‘The people are fighting with the police as if they have gone mad.’
‘They seek Me,’ said the Stranger.
The lame man looked at him anxiously.
‘You!’
‘Even Me. Fear not. All will be well.’
‘Who are these persons?’ inquired the Archbishop.
‘They are of those that know Me.’
‘Ay,’ said the charcoal-burner, ‘I know You--know You very well, I do. So did my old woman; she knowed You, too. I be that glad to have seen You. It’s done me real good, that it have.’
‘You have been with me so long; then this little while, and soon for ever.’
‘Ay, very soon.’
‘Father, these are of those that know Thy Son.’
He touched with His hand the six persons that were about Him.
The Archbishop plucked the Cardinal by the sleeve.
‘I--I really think we’d better go. I--I’m not feeling very well.’
There came a succession of crashes. The Cardinal stood up.
‘What’s that? It’s stones against the windows. Unless I err, they have shivered every pane.’
Someone knocked loudly at the door. The Cardinal moved as if to open. The Archbishop sought to restrain him.
‘What are you doing? It isn’t safe to open. The people may come in.’
The Cardinal smiled.
‘Let them. The sooner the thing is done the better. To you and me what does it matter what comes?’
On the doorstep stood that Secretary of State who had given the dinner at which the Archbishop had been present. Behind him was the yelling mob.
‘Your Eminence! This is an unexpected pleasure. The Archbishop, too! How delightful! The people seem in a curious frame of mind; our friend Braidwood is justified--already. It’s a wonder I’m here alive. I am told that several persons have been killed in the crowd-- terrible! terrible! My own opinion is that we’re threatened with the most serious riot which London has known in my time. Ah, dear sir!’ He bowed to the Stranger. ‘I need not ask if you are he to whom I desire to tender my sincerest salutations. There is that about you which tells me that I stand in the presence of no mean person. Unfortunately, I am so constituted as to be incapable of those more ardent feelings which are to the enthusiast his indispensable equipment. Therefore I am not of that material out of which they fashion devotees. Yet, since I cannot doubt that my trifling personal peculiarities are known to him who, as I am informed, knows all, I venture to trust that they will be regarded as extenuating circumstances should I ever stand in instant need of palliation.’
The Stranger was still.