What happened he could never afterwards remember, but the impression of that moment remained with him till he died. For a fraction of time the painted shadows of this material world faded from his eyes, and he beheld the awful reality which lies behind the Sacramental Presence.
Perhaps he saw an anguished Body, writhing upon a rough cross of wood, surrounded by a jeering multitude; perhaps a manger, with a tiny Babe, and grave-eyed kings adoring; perhaps even an effulgent Throne, flanked by rank upon serried rank of guardian figures, with folded, mighty wings.
For an instant of Time, for an age of Eternity, those terrible, gentle eyes looked into his, and his soul cried out in agony. Then the vision passed, the world resumed its sway, and he was in the little church once more, and the choir were singing Agnus Dei.
The remainder of the service passed like a dream, and long after it was over and the people had all gone Tony remained motionless on his knees. At last Valerie touched him gently.
Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head and stared at her. She smiled uncertainly, half frightened by his blank, unseeing gaze. Recognition crept slowly back into his eyes, and in a hoarse whisper he told her that he must speak to the rector at once.
As they went up the aisle he staggered like a drunken man, and she caught his arm. He clung to her gratefully, and together they reached the sacristy door, just as the rector, who had finished unvesting, came out.
He gave one glance at Tony’s ravaged face, then gestured to Valerie to leave them. Bereft of her support, Tony sank down on to a bench. As soon as she was gone the rector sat down beside him:
“Well, Tony, what is it?” he asked gently.
The young man turned his head stiffly and stared at him. The rector was shocked at his appearance. His face was rigid, and pale as death. His eyes were sunk in their sockets, and burned with an unnatural lustre. He opened his lips, and spoke in a voice that was scarcely audible:
“At the Consecration — I saw — Oh, God help me!”
The last exclamation was a cry of agony. Abruptly he fell on his knees, burying his face in the priest’s lap. His whole frame was racked with harsh, dry sobs. The old man stroked his hair as gently as a woman, saying:
“I prayed that this would happen, my son. Be of good heart, the Mercy has not failed.”
“Is there any hope for me?” Tony’s voice was muffled by the priest’s cassock.
“There is always hope. You will make your confession now, and I will give you Absolution, for I can see that you are truly penitent.”
“But I have committed the unforgivable sin: I have defiled the Blessed Sacrament!”
“So did we all nineteen hundred years ago, on Calvary. It shall be forgiven. There is no sin beyond forgiveness save the ultimate rejection of the love of God.”
“But I am bound to them by oaths which may not be broken. If I reject them I shall be instantly destroyed.”
“They lied when they told you that, as they have lied since their Master first rebelled against the One True God. Come, my son!”
The authority in the priest’s voice was irresistible, and together they went into the confessional.
Much that Tony told him was a repetition of what he had heard the previous day, but the rector remained silent as a priest should until the miserable tale was finished. Then, being satisfied of his penitent’s contrition, he gave the Absolution.
“… And by His authority committed unto me, I absolve thee from all thy sins, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
As the blessed words were uttered Tony felt peace such as he had never dreamed of descend upon his tortured soul. The battle was over, Light had conquered, and Darkness was vanquished for ever.
Early next morning Tony made his Communion, and his repentance was sealed.
He remained alone in the church for some time after the short, simple service, reflecting upon the great change which had so suddenly come upon him.
Even now he could scarcely realize that he was no longer a member of that dark brotherhood, vowed to wage war continually against the religion of Christ, but he knew that he had at last found that which he had been seeking — a purpose in life and a sense of fulfillment and peace.
He recognized that, hate him how he would, he was nevertheless indebted to Gaunt for many things. Good had come out of evil in his case, for the ancient curse of his family had passed from him, and had made his repentance easier. He carried no secret burden as his ancestors had done; his soul was free. Whether this could have come to pass without his passing through the Valley of the Shadow, so close to everlasting damnation, he did not know, but he was filled with deep thankfulness that it was so.
He had had a long talk with the rector on the previous day, and the old man had assured him that he was not entirely to blame for the wrong turning which he had taken, for the continual drain of power and virtue which the curse had made upon him, as upon all his predecessors, had made Gaunt’s task of leading him astray all the easier. In the circumstances he could scarcely have resisted the doctor’s will, so intent had he been upon dominating him.
He was also surprised to find that his powers of intense mental concentration and clairvoyance had not departed from him, as he had half expected them to do, upon his conversion. Only the instinctive use of them in the service of evil was gone. He recognized that they were not wrong in themselves, and that he could now use his awakened transcendental faculties for their proper end — namely, in the mystical approach to God.
He looked towards the curtained Tabernacle and was instantly aware of the living Presence within it. He could feel the Sacred Heart beating there in unison with That which lay in his own breast. Humbly thanking God for this wonderful gift of spiritual insight, he rose, genuflected, and left the church.
Coming out into the open, he observed that the wind had almost ceased and that the sky, though still clouded, was bright with the sun behind. It seemed that the storm was over, and that he would be able to return to Kestrel well before the eleventh hour and do what yet remained for him to prevent Gaunt carrying out his fiendish plan at whatever cost. With this resolve strong in his heart Tony went into the rectory.
He found that the others had waited for him, and soon the four of them were sitting round the breakfast-table, eating and talking cheerfully. The rector had told Valerie and Hamilton that Tony had made his peace with God at the young man’s own request, but even if he had not done so the inward light which shone through his eager face would have told its own story.
His blue eyes were calm and happy and his lips were set in firm lines, but with no trace of grimness. This was the old Tony, thought Hamilton; but there was a repose and sense of purpose about him which had been lacking in the old days. There was humility also in the manner in which he deferred to the old priest over some trivial matter, which almost brought a lump into his friend’s throat, so different was it from the arrogant and carefree boy he used to know.
When the meal was over and tobacco-smoke was perfuming the air of the study Tony broached the matter of his return to the Abbey.
The rector took his pipe from his mouth and regarded him steadily.
“You still feel that the matter is important, then?” he asked.
“Tremendously important, Father,” Tony answered with quiet emphasis. “You do not know Gaunt as I do. His power is terribly real, and he is absolutely certain that, when he releases this horror, it will do incalculable harm.”
“If that is so I cannot think that God will permit it,” said the old man, “but since you feel to some extent responsible it is only right that you should endeavour to prevent him. How you will set about it I do not profess to know. You know more about these matters than I do. At all events the storm seems to be practically over. We will go down to the harbour this morning and see what the sea looks like.”