Gortre

“ As Basil Gortre listened his heart expanded in love and fellowship towards these brother Christians. The dark phantoms which had rioted in his sick brain during the long weeks of his illness lay dead and harmless now. The monstrous visions of a conventional and formal Christianity, covering a world of secret and gibing atheism, seemed incredibly far removed from the glorious truth, as these strong, homely people sang a full-voiced ave to the great brooding Trinity of Power and Love unseen, but all around them. ”

“ Gortre sat down at her invitation, and they fell into a [129] desultory conversation. He waited for her to open on the real subjects that had brought him there.
He watched the tired, handsome face. Coarse it certainly was, in expression rather than feature, but that very coarseness gave it power. This woman, who lived the life of a doll, had character. One saw that. Perhaps, he thought, as he looked at her, that the very eagerness and greed for pleasure marked in her face, the passionate determination to tear the heart and core out of life, might still be directed to purer and nobler ends. ”

“ Gortre and the vicar drew their chairs closer.
Suddenly a curious pain shot through Basil's head and all his pulses throbbed violently. He experienced a terribly familiar sensation — the sick fear and repulsion of the night before his illness in the great library. The aroma of some utterly evil and abominable personality seemed to come into his brain. ”

“ As Gortre drove from Euston through the thronged veins of London towards the Inn, he thought much and with great thankfulness of the little episode in the train. Such simple faith, such supreme conviction, was, he knew, the precious possession of thousands still. What did it matter to these sturdy Nonconformists in the lone West that savants denied Christ? All over England the serene triumph of the Gospel, deep, deep down in the hearts of quiet people, gave the eternal lie to Schuabe and his followers. Never could they overcome the Risen Lord in the human heart. ”

“ He went to open the door, and Father Ripon, his new vicar, came in like a whirlwind. His voluminous black cloak brought cold air in its folds; his breezy, genial personality was so actual a fact, struck such a strident, material note, that dreams and reverie fled before it.
Gortre turned up the gas-jets and flooded the room with light.
Father Ripon was a tall, well-made man, too active to be portly, but with hints of a tendency towards plumpness, which was never allowed to ripen. His iron-grey hair was cropped close to his large, well-shaped head. ”

“ But this reverence for the cross, the instrument of execution on which an excellent teacher, and, as far as we know, a really good man, suffered, angers me because it reminds me of the absurd and unreasoning superstitions which cloud the minds of so many educated men like yourself."
"Ah," said Gortre, quietly, "now we are 'gripped.' We have come to the point."
"If you choose, Mr. Gortre," Schuabe answered; " you are an intellectual man, and one intellectual man has a certain right to challenge another. ”

“ And, moreover, Gortre had said "the evil was growing and spreading each day, each hour." True as it was that the myriad lamps of the Faithful only burned the brighter for the surrounding gloom, yet that gloom was growing and rolling up, even as the clouds on which her unseeing eyes were fixed as she walked along the shore. Men were becoming reckless; the hosts of evil triumphed on every side. ”

“ Philemon recited the doxology with thunderous assertion and capped each prayer with an echoing "Amen."
The curate, Basil Gortre, was a young fellow with a strong, impressive face. His eyes had the clearness of youth and looked out steadily on the world under his black hair. His face was of that type men call a "thoroughly honest" face, but, unlike the generality of such faces, it was neither stubborn nor stupid. The clean-shaven jaw was full of power, the mouth was refined and, artistic, without being either sensual or weak. ”

“ The world was as usual and the night came to England with no hintings of the morrow.
Far away in Lancashire, Basil Gortre was sleeping calmly after a long, quiet evening with Helena and her father.
Father Ripon had said his prayers and lay half dreaming in bed, watching the firelight glows and shadows on the panelling and listening to the fierce outside wind as if it were a lullaby.
Mrs. Hubert Armstrong was touching up an article [177] for the Nineteenth Century in her bedroom. An open volume of Renan stood by her side; here and there the lady deftly paraphrased a few lines. ”

“ Gortre shook his head. "No, it is not that," he said. "It is not that. They would never have kept the knowledge secret. You have not been through the scenes with these men that I have. There are a hundred objections to that theory. I am absolutely persuaded that this 'discovery' is a forgery, executed with the highest skill, by the one man living capable of doing it at the instigation of the one man evil enough to suggest it. The hand of God is leading me towards the truth."
"But the proof!" said the vicar, "the proof! Think of the tremendous forces arrayed against us. What can we do? ”

“ But ever since Gortre's suspicions have been known to me, ever since Schuabe asked you that curious question in the train, Ripon, I have felt absolutely assured of their truth. Everything becomes clear at once. ”

“ Save only Gortre and the secretary of the Exploring Society, no one knew of his whereabouts.
In a week he was forgotten. Greater things began to animate Society — harsh, terrible, ugly things. There was no time to think of Hands, the instrument which had brought them about. ”

“ Old Mr. Philemon rose noisily from his knees, and shuffled off to the vestry coughing and spluttering. Outside, with startling suddenness, a piano organ burst into a gay, strident melody. After a few bars the music stopped with a jerk. A police constable had spoken to the organ-grinder and moved him on.
Gortre's voice went on in a deep, fervent monotone, unmoved by the darkness or the dissonance—
"Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord; and by Thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of Thy only Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ." ”

“ Basil Gortre of Lincoln's Inn; also, you've had a man at Charing Cross waiting for the continental express. Now, I've nothing against you yet, but I'll just tell you this. The people behind you aren't any guarantee for you. It's not as you think. This is a big thing. I'll tell you something more. This Mr. Gortre and this Mr. Spence you're waiting for are guarded night and day by order of the Home Secretary. It's an international affair. You can no more touch them than you can touch the Prince of Wales. ”

“ Gortre began to speak, taking for his text part of a verse from the Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans—"Declared to be the Son of God with power, according to the spirit of holiness, by the resurrection of the dead."
"In this world of to-day," he began calmly, and with a [112] certain deliberation and precision in his utterance, "what men in general are hungering after is a positive assurance of actual spiritual agency in the world. They crave for something to hold by which is outside themselves, and which cannot have grown out of the inner persuasions of men. ”

“ I am convinced of it."
"Yes, it must be that," answered the vicar; "undoubtedly that is God's purpose. But I would that the light might come in my time. And I fear I shall not live to see it. I'm an old man now, Basil; this has aged me very much, and I shall not live much longer. It is God's will, but it is hard to know that one will die seeing Christ dethroned in the hearts of men, the Cross broken."
"While I have been quietly up-stairs," said Gortre, "many strange thoughts have come to me, of which I want to speak to you to-night. ”

“ Gortre's face became dark and gloomy. The light died out of it, the kindliness of expression, which was habitual, left his eyes.
"We have never really told each other what we think of Schuabe and how we think of him, vicar," he said. "Let us have it out here and now while we are thinking of him and while we have the opportunity."
"In a question of this sort," said Mr. Byars, "confidences are extremely dangerous as a rule, but between you and me it is different. It will clear our brains mutually. ”

“ He put down his pipe on the table and rested his head in his outstretched hands, a grey and venerable head. "It's awful, Basil," he said in a broken voice, and with his eyes full of tears. "In my old age I have seen this. I wish that I had gone with my dear wife. 'Help, Lord; for the godly man ceaseth; for the faithful fail from among the children of men.' But what is so bitter to me, my dear boy, is the sight of the utter overthrow of Faith. It all shows how terribly weak the majority of Christians are. Surface and symbol! symbol and surface!"
"It will not last long," said Gortre, gravely. ”

“ So from the very first Basil had found his life congenial. Privately he blessed his good fortune in living in Lincoln's Inn with Spence. On the nights when the journalist was free from the office, and not otherwise engaged, the two men sat late with pipes and coffee, enjoying that vigorous communion of two keen, young, and virile brains which is one of the truly stimulating pleasures of life.
Gortre admired Spence greatly for some of his qualities. His intellect was, of course, first class—his high position on the great daily paper guaranteed that. His reading and sympathies were wide. ”

“ Moreover, the clergyman found a great refreshment in the fact that, in an age of indifference, at a time when the best intellects of younger London life were professedly agnostic, Harold Spence was an avowed Christian and Church-man. As Gortre got to know him better, when the silence and detachment of midnight in the old Inn broke down reticence, he realised with a sense of thankfulness, and sometimes of fear also, how a thorough belief in religion kept the writer straight and captain of his own soul.
For the man was a creature of strong passions and wayward desires. ”

“ His face was a strong one. Heavy reddish eyebrows hung over a pair of clear grey eyes, intellectual and kindly. The nose was beak-like and the large, rugged, red moustache hid the mouth.
This was Harold Spence, the journalist with whom Gortre was to live after the holiday was over and he began his work in Bloomsbury. Spence was snatching a few days from his work in Fleet Street, in order to accompany Gortre and Mr. and Miss Byars to Dieppe. It had been his first introduction to the vicar and his daughter.
"So that is really France, Mr. Spence!" said Helena ”

“ In Spence he was able to see but a single case out of thousands which he knew must be similar to it. The evil passions which lie in the hearts of all men had been loosened and unchained; they had sprung into furious activity, liberated by the appalling conspiracy of Schuabe and Llwellyn.
It is noticeable that there was by this time hardly any doubt in Gortre's mind as to the truth of his suspicions. ”

“ Gortre rose. "Man," he cried, with sudden sternness, [42] "I know! You hate our Lord, and would work Him evil. You are as Judas was, for to-night it is given me to read far into your brain."
Schuabe rose quickly from his chair and stood facing him. His face was pallid, something looked out of his eyes which almost frightened the other. ”

“ Basil saw at once that he had been drinking heavily. The cheeks were swollen under the pouch of the eye, he was unshaven, and his manner was full of noisy and tremulous geniality.
There are men in whom a week or two of sudden relapse into old and evil courses has an extraordinarily visible effect. Spence was one of them. At the moment he looked as the clay model compares with the finished marble.
Gortre was astounded at the change, but one thing the modern London clergyman learns is tact. ”

“ I love the simple life of the East, the sun, the deep blue shadows, my silent Arabs. I know of no more beautiful sight than the Holy City — why do they call Rome the 'Holy City'? Jerusalem is the Holy City — when the hills are covered with the January snows. It is a wonderful, immemorial land, Gortre, a silent, beautiful country. ”

“ A key was being inserted into the door of the flat.
They waited breathlessly. Gertrude Hunt grew very white. Without any words from her, Basil knew whose fingers were even now upon the handle of the door. Llwellyn entered. His huge form was dressed in a light grey suit and he carried a straw hat in his hand. His face was burned a deep brown.
He stopped suddenly as he saw Gortre and an ugly look flashed out on the sensual, intellectual face. Some swift intuition seemed to give him the key of the situation or something near it. ”

“ The two young people amused themselves by speculations about the varied types of people who passed and repassed them. Gortre wore a suit of very dark grey, with a short coat and an ordinary tweed cap — his holiday suit, he called it — and, except for his clerical collar, there was little to show his calling. He was pleased, with a humorous sense of proprietorship, a kind of vicarious vanity, to notice the attention and admiration excited by the beautiful English girl at his side.
Helena Byars held her own among the cosmopolitan crowd of women who walked on the Plage. ”

“ Byars showed his intense interest by a sudden movement of the muscles of his face. But he did not speak, and Gortre continued:
"Now we come to Dieppe when we were all there together. You will, of course, remember how Spence introduced us to Sir Robert Llwellyn, and how we talked over dinner at the Pannier d'Or. Since then, we must remember, Sir Robert's evidence in favour of the absolute authenticity of Hands's discovery has had more weight with the world than that of any one else. He is, of course, known to be the greatest living expert. ”