Dawn of All | Page 5

little as possible.
But there was no great need for caution at present. The old priest who had spoken to him
before stepped a little in advance of the rest, and turning, said in a low sentence or two to
the Benedictines; and the group stopped, though one or two still eyed, it seemed, with
sympathy, the man who awaited him. Then the priest came up alone and put his hand on
the arm of the chair.
"Come out this way," he whispered. "There's a path behind, Monsignor, and I've sent
orders for the car to be there."
The man rose obediently (he could do nothing else), passed down the steps and behind
the canopy. A couple of police stood there in an unfamiliar, but unmistakable uniform,
and these drew themselves up and saluted. They went on down the little pathway and out
through a side-gate. Here again the crowd was tremendous, but barriers kept them away,
and the two passed on together across the pavement, saluted by half a dozen men who
were pressed against the barriers--(it was here, for the first time, that the bewildered man
noticed that the dresses seemed altogether unfamiliar)--and up to a car of a peculiar and
unknown shape, that waited in the roadway, with a bare-headed servant, in some strange
purple livery, holding the door open.
"After you, Monsignor," said the old priest.

The other stepped in and sat down. The priest hesitated for an instant, and then leaned
forward into the car.
"You have an appointment in Dean's Yard, Monsignor, you remember. It's important, you
know. Are you too ill?"
"I can't. . . . I can't. . . ." stammered the man.
"Well, at least, we can go round that way. I think we ought, you know. I can go in and see
him for you, if you wish; and we can at any rate leave the papers."
"Anything, anything. . . . Very well."
The priest got in instantly; the door closed; and the next moment, through crowds, held
back by the police, the great car, with no driver visible in front through the clear-glass
windows, moved off southward.

(II)
It was a moment before either spoke. The old priest broke the silence. He was a
gentle-faced old man, not unlike a very shrewd and wide-awake dormouse; and his white
hair stood out in a mass beneath 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 that you looked very well,
and I was asking you what was the matter."
The other was silent a moment. How, to explain the thing! . . . Then he determined on
making a clean breast of it. This old man looked kindly and discreet. "I . . . I think it's a
lapse of memory," he said. "I've heard of such things. I . . . I don't know where I am nor
what I'm doing. Are you . . . are you sure 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 come from. . . . 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't know who you are. I don't
know what day it is, or what year it is, or anything----"
He felt a hand on his arm, and his eyes met a look of a very peculiar power and
concentration. He sank back into his seat strangely quieted and soothed.
"Now, Monsignor, listen to me. You know who I am"--(he broke off). "I'm Father Jervis.
I know about these things. I've been through 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 in Hyde Park, on behalf
of the Missions to the East. Do you remember now? No! Well, it doesn't matter in the

least. That was Father Anthony who was preaching. He was a little nervous, you noticed.
It was his first