The Master pushed back the blotting-pad with impatience, and rose from the chair. Elsie took possession of the signed cheques, the cheque book, the Bank book, and the letter. She had all--the statement in Edmund Gray's own handwriting-all--all--that was wanted to clear up the business from the beginning to the end. She put everything together in her handbag. She glanced at her companion: she perceived that his face was troubled. 'I wish,' he said fretfully, 'that you had not worried me with those questions about the past. They disturb me. The current of my thoughts is checked. I am full of Dering and his office and his safe--his safe--and all----' Elsie trembled. His face was changing--in a minute he would have returned to Mr. Dering, and she would have had to explain. 'Master,' she cried, laying her hand upon his arm, 'think. We are going to the Hall of Science--your Hall of Science--yours. The people are waiting for their Prophet. You are to address them. To-night you must surpass yourself, because there are strangers coming. Tell us--once again--all over again--of that world where there is no crime, no suffering, no iniquity, no sin, no sorrow--where there are no poor creatures deprived by a cruel social order of liberty, of leisure, of comfort, of virtue, of everything--poor wretches born only to toil and to endure. Think of them. Speak for them. Plan for them. Make our hearts burn within us for shame and rage. Oh, Master'--for his face was troubled still and doubtful, as if he was hovering on the border-land between himself and his other self--'no one can speak to them like you; no one has your power of speech: make them feel that new world--make them see it--actually see it with their earthly eyes--make them feel it in their hearts.' 'Child'--he sighed; his face fell back into repose--'you comfort me. I was falling--before you came to me I often used to fall--into a fit of gloom--I don't know why. Something irritates me; something jars; something awakens a feeling as if I ought to remember--remember--what? I do not know.--I am better now. Your voice, my dear, at such a moment is to me like the sound of David's harp to Saul. It chases away the shadows. Oh! I am better already. I am well. If you want to ask any other questions, do so. As for those transactions--they are perfectly correct in form and everything. I cannot for the life of me understand why Dering, who is a practical man----' 'Never mind Dering, my dear Master--or those transactions. Think only of the world of the New Humanity. Leave the transactions and the papers to me. I hope that you will never find out why they were wanted, or how they were to be used.--Now let us start. We shall be in excellent time.'