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Updated: May 16, 2025
At last the Prophet raised his hand; and by habit and training, the people subsided into silence. Instantly Bale-Corphew's voice rang out. "Listen!" he cried; "listen!" But again the Precursor interrupted. "People," he demanded, "will you refuse the Prophet the right of speech? Will you refuse to hear the Prophet's words?" "This is sacrilege! Sacrilege!" Norov suddenly raised his voice.
"Did you see nothing strange in the fact that he a Prophet of Sublime Mysteries should hold your hand, as any man of the earth might hold it?" He bent still closer, jealousy and suspicion darkening his face. Enid glanced at him fearfully. "No! No!" she said, sharply. "I saw nothing strange. He was the Prophet." Bale-Corphew's face relaxed. "Ah!" he said, slowly. "I believe you.
"Is this right? Is this permissible?" A murmur rose from the chapel. Bale-Corphew's face became purple. "People! hear me!" he exclaimed. "This man is no Prophet. He is an impostor! A fraud! I have proof. I can give you proof!" Of the extraordinary effect of these words Enid crouching helplessly in her seat saw nothing.
And at the sight the real meaning of his incomprehensible discourse passed over her mind in a wave of incredulous admiration. Believing himself secure in his position, he had voluntarily chosen to denounce himself. That was her first thought as the matter became clear to her; but a chilling second thought followed sharp upon it. What would be the Prophet's reading of Bale-Corphew's knowledge?
"What spell has he cast upon you that you can forget his outrage and his blasphemy?" Enid met the question with her new fortitude; searching Bale-Corphew's turbulent face, she answered with a certain high simplicity. "I do not know," she said. "Once I believed that I admired him that I looked up to him because he was a Prophet; something higher and better than myself.
My uncle, Andrew Henderson, was an Arch-Mystic of your sect; and on the night he died, your sacred Scitsym was in his house!" The congregation thrilled, and the blind Arch-Councillor turned and clutched Bale-Corphew's arm. "My first impulse was to destroy that book. Look at it, look at it!" He pointed to the lectern.
The knowledge that in a single moment he would have begun to speak spurred her to a fever of alarm, while a terrible nervous incapacity chained her limbs and paralyzed her tongue. Bale-Corphew's words rose to her mind. "He will fool us as he has fooled us before."
With a gesture, almost as passionate as his own, she turned upon Bale-Corphew. "You would denounce him before the People?" she said, incredulously. "You would trap him? One man against a hundred! Oh, it would be cowardly! Cruel!" Bale-Corphew's face flamed to a deeper red. "Cowardly? Cowardly? Do you know what you are saying? The man is a thief!"
In her deep agitation, she turned upon him with a new demeanor. "Oh, be merciful!" she cried. "Give him the benefit of mercy. Wait till the Assembly is over, and then accuse him. If you can prove your accusation, then justice can be done. On the other hand " "The other hand?" Again Bale-Corphew's cruel laugh broke from him. "He has not shrunk from lies from imposture from blasphemy.
Behind the high railing, old Michael Arian's lips moved rapidly and nervously, as though he were muttering inaudible prayers; while Bale-Corphew's florid face flamed, as, with a rapid, agitated movement, he glanced over the tense faces of the congregation.
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