“That’s all very well,” called a voice. “But what about going into the sacred place against orders?”
“When one is in earnest, one goes much farther than one intends. It’s an unconscious action. The lady said she was in earnest; she has accounted for what she did.”
“So then are all the women who looked at the Serpent when the curtain fell. I remember hearing a conversation between two sisters who were present at that—that unfortunate service. One fainted, the other retained presence of mind. Since then they have scarcely spoken—one was enabled to see so much more than the other. It is generally acknowledged that all women worthy the name did what was natural.”
Whether Mr. Barringcourt were laughing or no, there were few there who took him anything but seriously. They considered this the acme of perfection in simplicity of reasoning, for the time, at any rate.
“But,” continued he, “to return to the general subject, the choice of a Great High Priest. It seems to me the greatest fault in the past has been the age of the chosen candidate. What one wants at the head of such a great organisation as the Church is younger men—younger blood—younger principles and ideas.”
“You don’t agree with me. But lately I was travelling in Lucifram in a country of world-wide respect and renown. It surprised me at first to find all the places of importance filled by comparatively young men—State, Church, professions, even trades. In the centre of their chief city I saw a famous statue in marble of a man, and underneath in letters of gold was carved ‘Aged sixty-five.’ There was no mistaking it; the smallest child could read and understand it. On seeing this I made inquiries, and was told his history by the High Sheriff, himself a man of about fifty-five.
“His name was Hugo de Bretton, and as a lad he had been an errand boy, and in that capacity acquired an unfailing stock of good manners and alertness, the necessary adjuncts to all successful men who are not boors. From thence he travelled the ordinary roads of success till, in due course, he became a great banker. His own fortune was enormous—his power equalled it. This at fifty. At sixty his wealth was increased. At sixty-five he seemed in the very zenith of his glory—physically and mentally of astounding strength. His name a magic spell in speculations. Then suddenly he resigned from public life.” Here a shrewd little smile, almost imperceptible, wrinkled Mr. Barringcourt’s face.