“Surely, Dan, he was an American,” remarked Sinclair, “for the gift of bottling the ocean, or of cramming into a nutshell all the contradictory philosophical theories, belongs to that race which unites the creative power of a Jupiter to the jugglery of a mountebank.” “What that man, be he god or charlatan, suggests is too grave to be spoken of lightly or to be taken up in a minute,” continued Danford, “and I implore your lordship not to jump too quickly at a conclusion. But, to come to facts, this man avers that he has discovered the means of reading human thoughts and secret motives just as clearly as one sees the hidden structure of a body by means of the X-rays. He says that we have, owing to our normal hygiene and purity of life, arrived at the time when this invention will be necessary to bring perfect happiness to human beings; and that our past weeks of paradisaical existence have changed John Bull and made him thirst for a complete knowledge of his fellow-creatures. This is a serious matter, gentlemen, and, for God’s sake, do not let us wreck the future bliss of the world through our incautiousness. You have done much for John Bull, my lord, but you have done it chiefly by being tactful with him, and by not ruffling his susceptibilities. After all, man is a strange being: he clings to the prejudices which makes his life a living purgatory; and you must first see John Bull develop a craving to investigate the ‘hidden garden’ before the final reform of man by man can be effected from within.” “Let us curb our enthusiasm for the sake of John Bull,” buoyantly exclaimed Lionel, “and let us turn back, Danford. It is getting late, and I have to be at the old War Office to meet ex-Field-Marshal Burlow, to discuss with him what is to be done with the old offices.” “My lord!” and Danford put his hand on Lionel’s shoulder, “an idea has just struck me! You can do a good turn to the American Seer, by giving over to him the War Office for his scientific experiments. What could be more fitted to the science which is devoted to the extension of sympathy, than the dwelling in which was planned the extermination of races?” “My dear man, the Seer shall have the old rookery, if I have a voice in the matter, although I fear the shadows of past victims and the remembrance of foregone civilised warfare will lurk at every corner, and interfere with his humanising studies.” “Quite the contrary,” said Sinclair. “The Seer, if he is what we think, is sure to be stimulated by the ghosts of barbaric civilisations, and his sense of humour will make him chuckle at the irony of fate, which selected him to metamorphose Janus’s eyrie into a temple of love and peace.” CHAPTER XVII The day came at last when the Bishop of Sunbury was to deliver his address on the future of religion.