Silence had fallen again at the other end of the long room. Brandon was sensible of a faint stir among the dim figures round the fire. And then his heart leaped to his throat, his veins seemed to run with flame as there emerged and came slowly toward him an outline wholly different from that of the man he expected to see. John Smith--if John Smith it was!--had let his hair grow long, he had acquired a beard, and he wore a loose robe tied round his middle by a cord. The wide-pupiled eyes and the strange pallor of the face struck with vivid intensity through the ghostly half-light of the room. The shock of this appearance was like a knife in Brandon’s flesh. “Dear friend”--even the voice had changed--“you have heard great argument. And here is the matter of it.” A manuscript bound in brown paper was placed in Brandon’s hands. “I charge you in the name of humanity to give this to the world with the Father’s love.” A shiver of strange joy passed through the frame of the stricken man. The simple words pierced to a hidden spring. Forces long pent were released within him, new light, new power, seemed to suffuse him. Enfolded by his presence, he was conscious of a kind of rapture which was like a rebirth. He felt the caress of lips on his forehead, the great eyes sank into him. And then came the voice, familiar and yet strange, “Faithful servant, if you believe in me rise from your bed and walk.” The words were as a fire. In the same tone of gentleness they were repeated, and Brandon felt the icy touch of a hand upon his cheek. His heart seemed to break and thrill with joy, as, overborne by an anguish of feeling, he suddenly rose from his chair and cast himself at the feet of him in whose presence he was. “Master!” he cried. “Master!” XXXII IN the course of a few minutes two attendants entered for the purpose of conveying the visitor to the doctor’s room. Brandon returned to his chair, his friend bade him good-by, and then the sufferer allowed himself to be carried down the corridor as if nothing had happened. His brain was in a state of wild ferment, yet he was sufficiently its master to refrain from letting Dr. Thorp know that the power of motion had returned to his limbs. At the instance of faith he had risen from his bed and walked, but now was not the time to proclaim a miracle in the sight of men. “I hope you had an interesting talk with our friend,” said the doctor, with a smile of professional politeness. “And what is that I see? Is that the great work? How high you must stand in his favor!” The voice of the doctor rose to a sympathetic laugh. “You should be a proud man. Quite extraordinary pains have been bestowed upon it by him and his friends here.” “Have you read it?” asked Brandon, the blood drumming in his ears. “Oh, yes.” Brandon, startled by the sound of his own voice, had just enough courage to ask the doctor’s opinion of the play.