The Dawn of All

  (II)

  It was a moment before either spoke. The old priest broke thesilence. He was a gentle-faced old man, not unlike a very shrewdand wide-awake dormouse; and his white hair stood out in a massbeneath his biretta. But the words he used were unintelligible,though not altogether unfamiliar.

  "I . . . I don't understand, father," stammered the man.

  The priest looked at him sharply.

  "I was saying," he said slowly and distinctly, "I was saying thatyou looked very well, and I was asking you what was the matter."

  The other was silent a moment. How, to explain thething! . . . Then he determined on making a clean breast of it.This old man looked kindly and discreet. "I . . . I think it's alapse of memory," he said. "I've heard of such things. I . . . Idon't know where I am nor what I'm doing. Are you . . . are yousure you're not making a mistake? Have I got any right----?"

  The priest looked at him as if puzzled.

  "I don't quite understand, Monsignor. What can't you remember?"

  "I can't remember anything," wailed the man, suddenly broken down."Nothing at all. Not who I am, nor where I'm going, or where I comefrom. . . . What am I? Who am I? Father, for God's sake tell me."

  "Monsignor, be quiet, please. You mustn't give way. Surely----"

  "I tell you I can remember nothing. . . . It's all gone. I don'tknow who you are. I don't know what day it is, or what year itis, or anything----"

  He felt a hand on his arm, and his eyes met a look of a verypeculiar power and concentration. He sank back into his seatstrangely quieted and soothed.

  "Now, Monsignor, listen to me. You know who I am"--(he brokeoff). "I'm Father Jervis. I know about these things. I've beenthrough the psychological schools. You'll be all right presently,I hope. But you must be perfectly quiet----"

  "Tell me who I am," stammered the man.

  "Listen then. You are Monsignor Masterman, secretary to the Cardinal.You are going back to Westminster now, in your own car----"

  "What's been going on? What was all that crowd about?"

  Still the eyes were on him, compelling and penetrating.

  "You have been presiding at the usual midday Saturday sermon inHyde Park, on behalf of the Missions to the East. Do you remembernow? No! Well, it doesn't matter in the least. That was FatherAnthony who was preaching. He was a little nervous, you noticed.It was his first sermon in Hyde Park."

  "I saw he was a friar," murmured the other.

  "Oh! you recognized his habit then? There, you see; yourmemory's not really gone. And . . . and what's the answer to_Dominus vobiscum_?"

  "_Et cum spiritu tuo._"

  The priest smiled, and the pressure on the man's arm relaxed.

  "That's excellent. It's only a partial obscurity. Why didn't youunderstand me when I spoke to you in Latin then?"

  "That was Latin? I thought so. But you spoke too fast; and I'mnot accustomed to speak it."

  The old man looked at him with grave humour. "Not accustomed tospeak it, Monsignor! Why----" (He broke off again.) "Look out ofthe window, please. Where are we?"

  The other looked out. (He felt greatly elated and comforted. Itwas quite true; his memory was not altogether gone then. Surelyhe would soon be well again!) Out of the windows in front, butseeming to wheel swiftly to the left as the car whisked round tothe right, was the Victoria Tower. He noticed that the hourpointed to five minutes before one.

  "Those are the Houses of Parliament," he said. "And what's thattall pillar in the middle of Parliament Square?"

  "That's the image of the Immaculate Conception. But what did youcall those buildings just now?"

  "Houses of Parliament, aren't they?" faltered the man, terrifiedthat his brain was really going.

  "Why do you call them that?"

  "It is their name, isn't it?"

  "It used to be; but it isn't the usual name now."

  "Good God! Father, am I mad? Tell me. What year is it?"

  The eyes looked again into his.

  "Monsignor, think. Think hard."

  "I don't know. . . . I don't know. . . . Oh, for God's sake! . . ."

  "Quietly then. . . . It's the year nineteen hundred andseventy-three."

  "It can't be; it can't be," gasped the other. "Why, I rememberthe beginning of the century."

  "Monsignor, attend to me, please. . . . That's better. It's theyear nineteen hundred and seventy-three. You were born in theyear--in the year nineteen hundred and thirty-two. You are justforty years old. You are secretary and chaplain to theCardinal--Cardinal Bellairs. Before that you were Rector of St.Mary's in the West. . . . Do you remember now?"

  "I remember nothing."

  "You remember your ordination?"

  "No. Once I remember saying Mass somewhere. I don't know where."

  "Stay, we're just there." (The car wheeled in swiftly under anarchway, whisked to the left, and drew up before the cloisterdoor.) "Now, Monsignor, I'm going in to see the Prior myself andgive him the papers. You have them?"

  "I. . . I don't know."

  The priest dived forward and extracted a small despatch-box fromsome unseen receptacle.

  "Your keys, please, Monsignor."

  The other felt wildly about his person. He saw the steady eyes ofthe old priest upon him.

  "You keep them in your left-hand breast pocket," said the priestslowly and distinctly.

  The man felt there, fetched out a bundle of thin, flat keys, andhanded them over helplessly. While the priest turned them over,examining each, the other stared hopelessly out of the window,past the motionless servant in purple who waited with his hand onthe car-door. Surely he knew this place. . . . Yes; it was Dean'sYard. And this was the entrance to the cloister of the Abbey. Butwho was "the Prior," and what was it all about?

  He turned to the other, who by now was bending over the box andextracting a few papers laid neatly at the top.

  "What are you doing, father? Who are you going to see?"

  "I am going to take these papers of yours to the Prior--thePrior of Westminster. The Abbot isn't here yet. Only a few ofthe monks have come."

  "Monks! Prior! . . . Father!"

  The old man looked him in the eyes again.

  "Yes," he said quietly. "The Abbey was made over again to theBenedictines last year, but they haven't yet formally takenpossession. And these papers concern business connected with thewhole affair--the relations of seculars and regulars. I'll tellyou afterwards. I must go in now, and you must just remain herequietly. Tell me again. What is your name? Who are you?"

  "I. . . I am Monsignor Masterman. . . secretary toCardinal Bellairs."

  The priest smiled as he laid his hand on the door.

  "Quite right," he said. "Now please sit here quietly, Monsignor,till I come back."