A week later there came a second letter which severely dashed Brandon’s hopes. The Lord Chamberlain was not prepared to license the play unless the chief character and two of the principal scenes were removed, in other words Hamlet must be played without the Prince of Denmark. “But,” the letter added, “my reader and I are agreed that these ‘cuts’ will give the production as a whole a far better chance with the large public. The big scenes are full of danger and religion is not wanted in the theater. Therefore, if the author is willing for the cuts to be made, the play may be a practical proposition. The acting, the scenery, the mounting and the incidental music, which I am told is really first-rate, will then have less to interfere with them.” Brandon was rather dismayed. And he was in a trying position. Every week that passed added to his belief in the plenary inspiration of the work as a whole. His physical and mental power were growing day by day and the more firmly he became rooted in the living world of the present the greater his faith in the miracle which had made him so. To him, therefore, every word of the play was sacred. But in face of the official ukase there was only one thing to be done: he constrained himself to write to Wellwood, giving the history of the negotiations and inclosing Pomfret’s letter. He had not long to remain in doubt. In two days there came a reply. “Dear friend,” it said, “the Masters of Wisdom in council assembled say to you, let none impair the Truce of God. It is or it is not. The Terms are the fruit of deep communing. The world must accept or reject them.” It was the kind of answer Brandon had looked for. Yet while it simplified his difficulties, it also added to them. On the surface there was nothing more to be done, and the fact could be accepted with a clear conscience. But his faith being now as it was, and reënforced by his daily, his hourly experience, he felt his duty to the world at large bearing upon him more and more heavily. Although the matter seemed to have reached its logical end, Brandon, somewhat to his wife’s dismay, suddenly determined to go up to town. Even if there was nothing to hope for by still pursuing it, he would give himself the satisfaction of doing his utmost in the charge laid upon him. Millicent did her best to keep him from London. His recovery had been so recent and so unforeseen that she could not help feeling that he was still on probation, and that undue stress, either of mind or body, would involve a serious relapse.