A Second Coming. Marsh Richard

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 are not-eh-fortuitous. I cannot sit here and allow my sacred office to be mocked.'

      'Mocked! Is it to mock your sacred office to spread abroad the news that He has come again? I am fresh from His presence, and tell you so-you that claim to be His priest.'

      Fordham, who had been standing by him all the time, came a little closer.

      'Come, Hugh, let's get out of this, you and I, and talk over things quietly together.'

      Again Chisholm kept him from him with his outstretched hand.

      'In your tone, Fordham, more even than in your words, there is suggestion. Of what? that I am mad? You have known me all my life. Have I struck you as being of the stuff which makes for madness? As a victim of hysteria? As a subject of hallucinations? As a liar? I am as sane as you, as clear-headed, as matter-of-fact, as truthful. I tell you, in very truth and very deed, that to-night I have seen Christ hard by here in the square.'

      'My dear fellow, these people have come here to dine.'

      'Is, then, dinner more than Christ?'

      Smiling his easy, tolerant smile, Fordham touched Chisholm lightly with his fingers on the arm.

      'My very dear old chap, this sort of thing is so awfully unlike you, don't you know?'

      'You, also, will be changed when you have seen Christ. Fordham, I have seen Christ!'

      The intensity of his utterance seemed to strike his hearers a blow. The women shivered, turning pale-even those who were painted. Mr. Warton leaned across the table towards Mrs. Amplett.

      'I really think that you ladies had better retire. Our friend seems to be in a curious mood.'

      The hostess nodded. She rose from her seat, looking very queerly at Mr. Chisholm, for whom her penchant is well known. The other women followed her example. The rustling concourse fluttered from the room, the Incumbent of St. Ethelburga holding the door open to let them pass, and himself bringing up the rear. The laymen were left alone together, Chisholm and Fordham standing at the head of the table with, on their faces, such very different expressions.

      The host seemed snappish.

      'You see what you've done? I offer you my congratulations, Mr. Chisholm. I don't know if you call the sort of thing with which you have been favouring us good form.'

      'Is good form more than Christ?'

      Amplett made an impatient sound with his lips. He stood up.

      'Upon my word of honour, Mr. Chisholm, you must be either drunk or mad. I trust, for your own sake, that you are merely mad. Come, gentlemen, let's join the ladies.'

      The men quitted the room in a body. Only Clement Fordham stayed with his friend. Chisholm watched them as they went. Then, when the last had gone and the door was closed, he turned to his companion.

      'Yet it is the truth that this night I have seen Christ!'

      The other laughed.

      'Then, in that case, let's hope that you won't see much more of Him- no impiety intended, I assure you. Now let you and me take our two selves away.'

      He slipped his arm through his friend's. As they were about to move, the door opened and a servant entered. It was the man who had dropped the dish. He approached Chisholm with stuttering tongue.

      'Pardon me, sir, if I seem to take a liberty, but might I ask if the Second Coming has really come at last? As a Seventh-Day Christian it's a subject in which I take an interest, and the fact is that there's a difference of opinion between my wife and me as to whether it's to be this year or next.'

      The man bore ignorance on his countenance written large, and worse. Hugh Chisholm turned from him with repugnance.

      'He's your brother,' whispered Fordham in his ear, as they moved towards the door.

      The expression of Hugh Chisholm's face was stern.

      CHAPTER II

      THE WOMAN AND THE COATS

      Mr. Davis looked about him with bloodshot eyes. His battered bowler was perched rakishly on the back of his head, and his hands were thrust deep into his trousers pockets. He did not seem to find the aspect of the room enlivening. His wife, standing at a small oblong deal table, was making a parcel of two black coats to which she had just been giving the finishing stitches. The man, the woman, the table, and the coats, practically represented the entire contents of the apartment.

      The fact appeared to cause Mr. Davis no slight dissatisfaction. His bearing, his looks, his voice, all betrayed it.

      'I want some money,' he observed.

      'Then you'll have to want,' returned his wife.

      'Ain't you got none?'

      'No, nor shan't have, not till I've took these two coats in.'

      'Then what'll it be?'

      'You know very well what it'll be-three-and-six-one-and-nine apiece-if there ain't no fines.'

      'And this is what they call the land of liberty, the 'ome