'I was insane. Now I am wise. I know, for I have seen. I have been among the first to see.'
There was something in his manner which affected them strangely. A wildness, an exultation, an intensity! If it had not been so entirely out of keeping with the man's everyday disposition it might not have seemed so curious. But those who knew him best were moved most. They were aware that his nerves were not easily affected; that something extraordinary must have occurred to have produced this bearing. Clement Fordham rose from his chair and went to him.
'Come, Hugh, tell me what's wrong outside.'
He made as if to slip his arm through Chisholm's, who would have none of it. He held Fordham off with hand extended.
'Thank you, Fordham, but for the present I'll stay here. I am not mad, nor have I been drinking. I'm as sober and as sane as you.'
A voice came down the table, Bertie Vaughan's. In it there was a ring of laughter:
'Tell us, Chisholm, what you've seen.'
'I will tell you.'
Chisholm removed his hat, as if suddenly remembering that he had it on. He rested the brim against the edge of the table, looking down the two rows of faces towards Amplett at the end. Mrs. Amplett interposed:
'Hadn't you better sit down, Hugh, and have something to eat? The entrees are getting cold. Or you might tell your story after we've finished dinner. Hunger magnifies; wonders grow less when one has dined.'
There was a chorus of dissentient voices.
'No, no, Mrs. Amplett. Let him tell his story now.'
'I will tell it to you now.'
The hostess gave way. Chisholm told his tale. He riveted his auditors' attention. The servants listened openly.
'I walked here. As you know, the night is fine, and I thought the stroll would do me good. As I was passing through Bryanston Square a man came round the corner on a bicycle. The road has recently been watered, and is still wet and greasy. His tyre must have skidded, or something, because he entirely lost control of his machine, and went dashing into the hydrant which stands by the kerb. He was moving pretty fast, and as it came into contact with the hydrant his machine was splintered, and he was pitched over the handle-bar heavily on to his head. He was some fifteen or twenty yards from where I was. I went to him as rapidly as I could, but by the time I reached him he was already dead.'
'Dead!'
The word came in a sort of chorus from half a dozen throats.
'Dead,' repeated Chisholm.
'Are you sure that he was dead?'
The question came from Amplett.
'Certain. He was a very unpleasant sight. He must have fallen with more violence even than I had supposed. His skull was shattered. He must have come down on it on the hard road, and then twisted over on to his back. He was a big, heavy man, and the wrench which he had given himself in rolling over had broken his neck. I was so astonished to find him dead, and at the spectacle which he presented, that for a second or two I was at a loss as to what steps I ought to take. No other person was in the square, and, so far as I could judge, the accident had not been witnessed from either of the windows. While I hesitated, on a sudden I was conscious that someone was at my side.'
He stopped as if to take breath. There came a rain of questions.
'Someone? What do you mean by someone?'
'I will try and tell you exactly what I saw. It is not easy. I am yet too near--fresh from the Presence.'
He clasped his hands a little more tightly on the brim of his hat, then closed his eyes for a second or two, opening them to look straight down the table, as if endeavouring to bring well within the focus of his vision something which was there.
'I was looking down at the dead man as he lay there in an ugly heap, conscious that I was due for dinner, and wondering what steps I ought to take. I felt no interest in him--none whatever; neither his living nor his dying was anything to me. My chief feeling was one of annoyance that he should have chosen that moment to fall dead right in my path; it was an unwarrantable intrusion of his affairs into mine. As I stood, I knew that someone was on his other side, looking down at him with me. And I was afraid--yes, I was afraid.'
The speaker had turned pale--the pallor of fear had come upon the cheeks of the man whose imperturbable courage had been proved a hundred times. His voice sank lower.
'For some moments I continued with eyes cast down; I did not dare to look up. At last, when my pulse grew a little calmer, I ventured to raise my eyes. On the other side of the dead bicyclist was one who was in the figure of a man. I knew that it was Christ.'
He spoke with an accent of intense conviction, the like of which his hearers had never heard from the lips of anyone before. It was as though Chisholm spoke with the faith which can move mountains. Those who listened were perforce dumb.
'His glance met mine. I knew myself to be the thing I was. I was ashamed. He pointed to the body lying in the roadway, saying: "Your brother sleeps?" I could not answer. Seeing that I was silent, He spoke again: "Are you not of one spirit and of one flesh? I come to wake your brother out of slumber." He inclined His hand towards the dead man, saying: "Arise, you who sleep." Immediately he that was dead stood up. He seemed bewildered, and exclaimed as in a fit of passion: "That's a nice spill. Curse the infernal slippery road!" Then he turned and saw Who was standing at his side. As he did so, he burst into a storm of tears, crying like a child; and when he cried, He that had been there was not. The bicyclist and I were alone together.'
A pause followed Chisholm's words.
'And then what happened?'
The query came from Mrs. Amplett.
'Nothing happened. I hurried off as fast as I could, for I was still afraid, and left the bicyclist sobbing in the roadway.'
There was another interval of silence, until Gregory Hawkes, putting his eyeglass in its place, fixedly regarded Chisholm.
'Are we to accept this as a sober narrative of actual fact, or--where's the joke?'
'I have told you the truth. Christ has come again!'
'Christ in Bryanston Square!'
Mr. Hawkes's tone was satirical.
'Yes, Christ in Bryanston Square. Why not in Bryanston Square if on the hill of Calvary? Is not this His own city?'
'His own city!'
Again there was the satiric touch.
One of the servants, dropping a dish, began to excuse himself.
'Pardon me, sir, but I'm a Seventh-Day Christian, and I've been looking for the Second Coming these three years now, and more. Hearing from Mr. Chisholm that it's come at last has made me feel a little nervous.'
Mrs. Amplett turned to the butler.
'Goss, let the servants leave the room.'
They went, as if they bore their tails between their legs, some with the entrée dishes still in their hands.
'I wish,' murmured Bertie Vaughan,' that this little incident could have been conveniently postponed till after we had dined.'
Arthur Warton, of St. Ethelburga's, showed signs of disapprobation.
'I believe that I am as broad-minded a priest as you will easily find, but there are seasons at which certain topics should not be touched upon. Without wishing in any way to thrust forward my clerical office, I would point out to Mr. Chisholm that this assuredly is one.'
'Is there then a season at which Christ should not come again?'
'Mr. Chisholm!'
'Or in which He should not restore the dead to life?'
'I should not wish to disturb the harmony of the gathering, Mr. Amplett, but I am afraid the--eh--circumstances