All that had gone before, he said, pointed to what had now actually taken place—­namely, the reconciliation of the world on a basis other than that of Divine Truth.  It was the intention of God and of His Vicars to reconcile all men in Christ Jesus; but the corner-stone had once more been rejected, and instead of the chaos that the pious had prophesied, there was coming into existence a unity unlike anything known in history.  This was the more deadly from the fact that it contained so many elements of indubitable good.  War, apparently, was now extinct, and it was not Christianity that had done it; union was now seen to be better than disunion, and the lesson had been learned apart from the Church.  In fact, natural virtues had suddenly waxed luxuriant, and supernatural virtues were despised.  Friendliness took the place of charity, contentment the place of hope, and knowledge the place of faith.

Percy stopped, he had become conscious that he was preaching a kind of sermon.

“Yes, my son,” said the kind voice.  “What else?”

What else?...  Very well, continued Percy, movements such as these brought forth men, and the Man of this movement was Julian Felsenburgh.  He had accomplished a work that—­apart from God—­seemed miraculous.  He had broken down the eternal division between East and West, coming himself from the continent that alone could produce such powers; he had prevailed by sheer force of personality over the two supreme tyrants of life religious fanaticism and party government.  His influence over the impassive English was another miracle, yet he had also set on fire France, Germany, and Spain.  Percy here described one or two of his little scenes, saying that it was like the vision of a god:  and he quoted freely some of the titles given to the Man by sober, unhysterical newspapers.  Felsenburgh was called the Son of Man, because he was so pure-bred a cosmopolitan; the Saviour of the World, because he had slain war and himself survived—­even—­even—­here Percy’s voice faltered—­even Incarnate God, because he was the perfect representative of divine man.

The quiet, priestly face watching opposite never winced or moved; and he went on.

Persecution, he said, was coming.  There had been a riot or two already.  But persecution was not to be feared.  It would no doubt cause apostasies, as it had always done, but these were deplorable only on account of the individual apostates.  On the other hand, it would reassure the faithful; and purge out the half-hearted.  Once, in the early ages, Satan’s attack had been made on the bodily side, with whips and fire and beasts; in the sixteenth century it had been on the intellectual side; in the twentieth century on the springs of moral and spiritual life.  Now it seemed as if the assault was on all three planes at once.  But what was chiefly to be feared was the positive influence of Humanitarianism:  it was coming, like the kingdom of God, with power; it