“Nothing can blind you if you have learned to see,” said the young man. It astonished them to observe that his gaze was fixed upon the flaming disc of light. Suddenly he placed a finger on his lips, entreating them to listen. The doctor and the vicar listened intently. “Do you hear the music?” “I am afraid I hear nothing,” said Dr. Parker. “Nor I,” said the vicar. “There are harps in the air.” “I don’t hear a sound,” said Dr. Parker. “Nor I,” said the vicar, straining his ears; “or if I do it is the water of the mill by Burkett’s farm.” “The longer I listen, the more wonderful the music grows.” The vicar and the doctor shook their heads gravely. “There are also times, I believe, when you hear voices?” said the vicar. “Yes, a voice speaks to me continually.” “Would you say it belonged to any particular person,” said the doctor, “or that it came from any particular source?” “It is the voice of the Father.” “The voice of God, I presume?” “Yes--the voice of God.” “Does it lay a charge upon you?” the vicar asked. “It tells me to save the world.” The complete simplicity of the statement took the vicar and the doctor aback. They looked solemnly at each other, and then at him who had made it. “And you intend to obey it?” The doctor managed to put the question in a tone of plain matter-of-course. The young man’s face took a strange pallor. “I must, I must,” he said. And as he spoke his questioners noticed that he had begun to shake violently. “Are we to understand,” said the vicar, speaking very slowly, “that you expect supernatural powers to be given you?” “I don’t know. I cannot say.” A light broke over the gentle face. “But a way will be found.” “How do you know that?” said the vicar. “It has been communicated to me.” “Is that to say,” the vicar sternly demanded, “that you are about to claim plenary powers?” Before the young man answered the question he covered his eyes with his hands. Again he stood in an attitude of curious listening intensity. The doctor thought he could hear a wind, very faint and gentle, stirring in the upper air, but to the vicar it was the sound of water flowing by Burkett’s farm. The vicar repeated his question. “I am to claim nothing,” said the young man at last. “You do not claim to be a Buddha or a Messiah, or anything of that kind?” said the vicar, compressing stern lips. Again there was silence. Again the young man closed his eyes. “I am to claim nothing,” he said. XVI INVOLUNTARILY, as it seemed, and without an attempt to carry the matter further, the vicar and the doctor turned abruptly on their heels and left the common. “A case of possession,” said the doctor, by the time they had reached the top of the village street. “And quite the most curious in my experience.” “At any rate,” said the vicar, “now you have seen the man for yourself, you will have not the slightest difficulty in certifying him!” “You really feel it to be wise and necessary?”