the captives-第36部分

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ore　ultimate　loneliness；　fear　or　expectation；　something　that　set　him　apart　and　made　him；　as　are　all　men　in　the　final　recesses　of　their　spirit；　as　lonely　as　though　he　were　by　himself　on　a　desert　island。

The　thrill　of　anticipation　faded　through　the　Chapel　as　Thurston　continued　his　prayer。　He　had　not　to…night；　at　any　rate；　power　over　his　audiencethe　thing　that　they　were　waiting　for　was　something　that　he　could　not　satisfy。　A　restlessness　was　abroad；　coughing　broke　out　once；　twice；　then　everywhere；　chairs　creaked；　sighs　could　be　heard；　some　one　moved　to　the　door。　Thurston　seemed　to　realise　his　failure；　with　a　sudden　snap　of　impatience　he　brought　prayer　to　an　end　and　rose　to　his　feet。

〃We　will　sing；〃　he　said；　〃No。　341。　'Bathed　in　the　blood　of　the　Lamb。'〃

The　singing　of　the　hymn　roused　the　excitement　of　the　congregation　to　even　more　than　its　earlier　pitch。　The　tune　was　a　moving　one；　beginning　very　softly；　beseeching　God　to　listen；　then；　more　confident；　rising　to　a　high　note　of　appeal：

By　all　Thy　sores　and　bloody　pain　Come　down　and　heal　our　sins　again；

falling；　after　that；　to　a　note　of　confidence　and　security　in　the　last　refrain：

By　the　blood；　by　the　blood；　by　the　blood　of　the　Lamb　We　beseech　Thee

In　spite　of　the　crudity　of　the　words　and　the　simplicity　of　the　tune　Maggie　had　tears　in　her　eyes。　The　whole　Chapel　was　singing　now；　singing　as　though　the　sins　of　the　world　could　be　redeemed　only　by　the　force　and　power　of　this　especial　moment。　Maggie　was　caught　up　with　the　rest。　She　found　herself　singing　parts　of　the　second　verse；　then　in　the　third　she　was　carried　away；　had　forgotten　herself；　her　surroundings；　even　Martin。　There　was　something　real　in　this；　something　beyond　the　ugliness　of　the　Chapel　and　its　congregation。　She　remembered　what　Mr。　Magnus　had　said：　〃If　there's　something　of　great　value；　don't　think　the　less　of　it　because　the　people；　including　yourself；　who　admire　it；　aren't　worth　very　much。　Why　should　they　be？〃

She　looked　for　a　moment　at　Aunt　Anne　and　saw　her　in　an　ecstasy；　singing　in　her　cracked　tuneless　voice；　a　smile　about　her　lips　and　in　her　eyes；　that　gazed　far；　far　beyond　that　Chapel。　Maggie　felt　the　approach　of　tears；　she　stopped　singingsoftly　the　refrain　of　the　last　verse　came：

By　the　blood；　by　the　blood；　by　the　blood　of　the　Lamb　We　beseech　Thee！

The　hymn　over；　Mr。　Warlock　read　the　Bible　and　then　offered　up　a　long　extempore　prayer。　Strangely　enough　Mr。　Warlock　brought　Maggie　back　to　realitystrangely　because；　on　an　earlier　occasion；　he　had　done　exactly　the　opposite。　She　realised　at　once　that　he　was　not　happy　to…　night。　Before；　he　had　been　himself　caught　up　into　the　mood　that　held　the　Chapel；　to…night　he　was　fighting　against　a　mood　that　was　then　outside　him；　a　mood　with　which　he　did　not　sympathise　and　in　which　he　could　not　believe。

She　saw　that　he　was　unhappy；　he　spoke　slowly；　without　the　spontaneity　and　force　that　he　had　used　before；　once　he　made　a　long　pause　and　you　could　feel　throughout　the　Chapel　a　wave　of　nervous　apprehension；　as　though　every　one　were　waiting　to　see　whether　he　would　fight　his　way　through　or　not。　Maggie　felt　her　earlier　emotion　sentimental　and　false；　it　was　as　though　he　had　said　to　her：　〃But　that's　not　the　true　thing；　that's　cheap　sham　emotion。　That's　what　they're　trying　to　turn　our　great　reality　into。　I'm　fighting　them　and　you　must　help　me。〃

He　was　fighting　them。　She　could　imagine　Mr。　Thurston's　scornful　lip；　hidden　now　by　his　hands。　As　Mr。　Warlock　went　on　with　his　dignified　sentences；　his　restraint　and　his　reverence；　she　could　fancy　how　Thurston　was　saying　to　himself：　〃But　what's　the　good　of　this？　It's　blood　and　thunder　we　want。　The　old　feller's　getting　past　his　work。　He　must　go。〃

But　it　was　Mr。　Warlock's　reality　of　which　she　was　afraid。　As　he　continued　his　prayer　she　felt　all　her　old　terror　return；　that　terror　that　she　had　known　on　the　night　her　father　died；　during　the　hours　that　she　had　watched　beside　his　dead　body；　at　the　moment　when　she　had　first　arrived　at　the　house　in　London；　during　her　first　visit　to　the　Chapel；　when　she　had　said　good…night　to　her　aunt　before　going　out　with　Uncle　Mathew　。　。　。　And　now　Mr。　Warlock　was　sweeping　her　still　farther　inside。　The　intensity　of　his　belief　forced　hers。　There　was　something　real　in　this　power　of　God；　and　you　could　not　finish　with　it　simply　by　disregarding　it。　She　felt；　as　she　had　felt　so　often　lately；　that　some　one　was　suddenly　going　to　rise　and　demand　some　oath　or　promise　from　her　that　she；　in　her　panic；　would　give　her　word　and　then　would　be　caught　for　ever。

〃By　the　love　of　Thy　dear　Son；　Our　Lord　Jesus　Christ；　and　by　the　promise　of　Thy　second　coming；　we　beseech　Thee〃　。　。　。　finished　Mr。　Warlock。

During　all　this　time　the　atmosphere　of　the　Chapel　had　been　growing　hotter　and　hotter　and　closer　and　closer。　It　had　always　its　air　of　being　buried　deep　under　ground；　bathed　in　a　kind　of　sunken　heat　that　found　its　voice　in　the　gas　that　hissed　and　sizzled　overhead；　near　the　door　was　a　long　rail　on　which　coats　might　be　hung；　and　now　these　garments　could　be　seen；　swaying　a　little　to　and　fro；　like　corpses　of　condemned　men。

The　bare　ugliness　of　the　building　with　its　stone　walls；　its　rows　of　wooden　seats；　its　grey　windows；　its　iron…hung　gas…lamps；　its　ugly　desk　and　platform；　was　veiled　now　in　a　thin　steaming　heat　that　rose　mistily　above　the　heads　of　the　kneeling　congregation　and　seemed　to　hide　strange　shapes　and　shadows　in　its　shifting　depths。　Every　one　was　swimming　in　an　uncertain　world；　the　unreality　grew　with　the　heat。　Maggie　herself；　at　the　end　of　Mr。　Warlock's　prayer；　felt　that　her　test　of　a　real　solid　and　unimaginative　world　was　leaving　her。　She　was　expectant　like　the　rest；　as　ready　to　believe　anything　at　all。

Out　of　the　mist　rose　Mr。　Crashaw。　This　was　a　little　old　man　with　a　crabbed　face　and　a　body　that　seemed　to　have　endured　infernal　twistings　in　some　Inquisitioner's　torture…chamber。　Maggie　learnt　afterwards　that　he　had　suffered　for　many　years　from　intolerable　rheumatism；　but　to…night　the　contortions　and　windings　of　the　body　with　which　he　climbed　up　onto　the　platform；　and　then　the　grimaces　that　he　made　as　his　large　round　head　peered　over　the　top　of　the　desk；　might　have　struck　any　less　solemn　assemblage　as　farcical。　He　wore　an　old　shiny　black　frock　coat　and　a　white　rather　grimy　tie　fastened　in　a　sharp　little　bow。　His　face　was　lined　like　a　map；　his　cheeks　seamed　and　furrowed；　his　forehead　a　wilderness　of　marks；　his　scanty　hair　brushed　straight　back　so　that　the　top　of　his　forehead　seemed　unnaturally　shiny　and　bald；　his　hands；　with　which　he　clutched　the　side　of　his　desk；　were　brown　and　wrinkled　and　grasping　like　a　monkey's。　His　eyes　were　the　eyes　of　a　fanatic；　but　they　were　not　steady　and　speculative　like　Warlock's　or　glowing　and　distant　like　Aunt　Anne's；　but　rather　angry　and　restless　and　pugnacious；　they　were　the　eyes　of　a　madman；　but　of　a　madman　who　can　yet　calculate　upon　and　arrange　his　position　in　the　world。　He　was　mad　for　his　own　purposes；　and　could；　for　these　same　purposes；　bind　his　madness　to　its　proper　bounds。

He　seemed　to　Maggie　at　first　rather　pathetic　with　his　little　twisted　body　and　his　large　round　head。　Very　soon　it　was　emotions　quite　other　than　pity　that　she　was　feeling。　She　saw　at　once　that　he　was　a　practised　preacher；　and　she　who　had；　with　the　exception　of　Mr。　Warlock；　never　heard　a　fine　preacher；　was　at　once　under　the　sway　of　one　of　the　ablest　and　most　dramatic　orators　of　his　time。　His　voice　was　sweet　and　clear；　and　seemed　strange　enough　coming　from　that　ugly　and　malevolent　countenance。　Only　the　head　and　the　grasping　hands　could　be　seen；　but　sometimes　the　invisible　body　was　driven　with　such　force　against　the　desk　that　it　seemed　that　it　must　fling　the　thing　over；　down　into　the　congregation。

〃My　brothers　and　sisters；〃　he　began；　〃I　have　come　to…night　to　give　you　a　warning；　and　this　warning　is　given　to　you　not　as　the　expression　of　a　personal　opinion　but　as　the　declaration　of　an　assumed　fact。　Disregard　it　or　not　as　you　please；　but　I　shall　have　done　my　duty　in　pointing　out　to　you　the　sure　and　certain　meaning　of　my　message。〃

〃I；　a　sinner　like　the　rest　of　you；　live　nevertheless　in　the　fear　of　hell　fire。　Hell　fire　has　become；　I　think；　to　many　of　the　present　generation　a　mockery　and　a　derision。　I　come　to　tell　you　that　it　is　no　mockery；　that　it　as　surely　lies　there；　a　blazing　furnace；　in　front　of　us　as　though　we　saw　it　with　our　own　eyes　。　。　。〃

With　his　own　eyes　he　had　surely　seen　it。　They　were　fixed　now　in　a　frenzy　of　realisation　upon　some　distant　vision；　and；　with　a　shiver；　the　Chapel　followed　his　gaze。　It　is　easy　enough　to　laugh　at　bare　and　conventional　words　stripped　of　the　atmosphere　and　significance　of　their　original　surroundings。　The　merest　baby　in　this　twentieth　century　can　laugh　at　the　flames　of　hell　and　advance　a　string　of　easy　arguments　against　the　probability　of　any　such　melodramatic　fulfilment　of　the　commonplace　and　colourless　lives　that　the　majority　of　us　lead；　but　Maggie　was　in　no　mood　to　laugh　that　night。

Before　five　minutes　had　passed　she　found　herself　shivering　where　she　sat。　The　Chapel　was　convicted　of　Sin；　and　of　Sin　of　no　ordinary　measure。　The　head　that　rested　like　a　round　ball　on　the　surface　of　the　desk　thrust　conviction　into　every　heart：　〃You　think　that　you　may　escape；　you　look　at　your　neigh