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Mary was leaning over the table。 Miss Ensor's four…penny veal and ham pie was ready。 Mary arranged it in front of her。 〃Eat it while it's hot； dearie；〃 she counselled。 〃It won't be so indigestible。〃
Miss Ensor turned to her。 〃Oh； you talk to him；〃 she urged。 〃Here； he's lost his job again； and is losing his girl： all because of his silly politics。 Tell him he's got to have sense and stop it。〃
Mary seemed troubled。 Evidently； as Miss Ensor had stated； advice was not her line。 〃Perhaps he's got to do it； dearie；〃 she suggested。
〃What do you mean by got to do it？〃 exclaimed Miss Ensor。 〃Who's making him do it； except himself？〃
Mary flushed。 She seemed to want to get back to her cooking。 〃It's something inside us； dearie；〃 she thought： 〃that nobody hears but ourselves。〃
〃That tells him to talk all that twaddle？〃 demanded Miss Ensor。 〃Have you heard him？〃
〃No； dearie；〃 Mary admitted。 〃But I expect it's got its purpose。 Or he wouldn't have to do it。〃
Miss Ensor gave a gesture of despair and applied herself to her pie。 The hirsute face of Mr。 Simson had lost the foolish aggressiveness that had irritated Joan。 He seemed to be pondering matters。
Mary hoped that Joan was hungry。 Joan laughed and admitted that she was。 〃It's the smell of all the nice things；〃 she explained。 Mary promised it should soon be ready； and went back to her corner。
A short； dark； thick…set man entered and stood looking round the room。 The frame must once have been powerful； but now it was shrunken and emaciated。 The shabby； threadbare clothes hung loosely from the stooping shoulders。 Only the head seemed to have retained its vigour。 The face； from which the long black hair was brushed straight back； was ghastly white。 Out of it； deep set beneath great shaggy； overhanging brows； blazed the fierce； restless eyes of a fanatic。 The huge； thin…lipped mouth seemed to have petrified itself into a savage snarl。 He gave Joan the idea； as he stood there glaring round him； of a hunted beast at bay。
Miss Ensor； whose bump of reverence was undeveloped； greeted him cheerfully as Boanerges。 Mr。 Simson； more respectful； rose and offered his small； grimy hand。 Mary took his hat and cloak away from him and closed the door behind him。 She felt his hands； and put him into a chair close to the fire。 And then she introduced him to Joan。
Joan started on hearing his name。 It was one well known。
〃The Cyril Baptiste？〃 she asked。 She had often wondered what he might be like。
〃The Cyril Baptiste；〃 he answered； in a low； even； passionate voice； that he flung at her almost like a blow。 〃The atheist； the gaol bird； the pariah； the blasphemer； the anti…Christ。 I've hoofs instead of feet。 Shall I take off my boots and show them to you？ I tuck my tail inside my coat。 You can't see my horns。 I've cut them off close to my head。 That's why I wear my hair long： to hide the stumps。〃
Mary had been searching in the pockets of his cloak。 She had found a paper bag。 〃You mustn't get excited；〃 she said； laying her little work…worn hand upon his shoulder； 〃or you'll bring on the bleeding。〃
〃Aye；〃 he answered； 〃I must be careful I don't die on Christmas Day。 It would make a fine text； that； for their sermons。〃
He lapsed into silence： his almost transparent hands stretched out towards the fire。
Mr。 Simson fidgeted。 The quiet of the room； broken only by Mary's ministering activities； evidently oppressed him。
〃Paper going well； sir？〃 he asked。 〃I often read it myself。〃
〃It still sells；〃 answered the proprietor； and editor and publisher； and entire staff of The Rationalist。
〃I like the articles you are writing on the History of Superstition。 Quite illuminating；〃 remarked Mr。 Simson。
〃It's many a year； I am afraid； to the final chapter；〃 thought their author。
〃They afford much food for reflection；〃 thought Mr。 Simson； 〃though I cannot myself go as far as you do in including Christianity under that heading。〃
Mary frowned at him； but Mr。 Simson； eager for argument or not noticing； blundered on：…
〃Whether we accept the miraculous explanation of Christ's birth；〃 continued Mr。 Simson； in his best street…corner voice； 〃or whether； with the great French writer whose name for the moment escapes me； we regard Him merely as a man inspired； we must； I think； admit that His teaching has been of help： especially to the poor。〃
The fanatic turned upon him so fiercely that Mr。 Simson's arm involuntarily assumed the posture of defence。
〃To the poor？〃 the old man almost shrieked。 〃To the poor that he has robbed of all power of resistance to oppression by his vile； submissive creed！ that he has drugged into passive acceptance of every evil done to them by his false promises that their sufferings here shall win for them some wonderful reward when they are dead。 What has been his teaching to the poor？ Bow your backs to the lash； kiss the rod that scars your flesh。 Be ye humble； oh； my people。 Be ye poor in spirit。 Let Wrong rule triumphant through the world。 Raise no hand against it； lest ye suffer my eternal punishments。 Learn from me to be meek and lowly。 Learn to be good slaves and give no trouble to your taskmasters。 Let them turn the world into a hell for you。 The gravethe grave shall be your gate to happiness。
〃Helpful to the poor？ Helpful to their rulers； to their owners。 They take good care that Christ shall be well taught。 Their fat priests shall bear his message to the poor。 The rod may be broken； the prison door be forced。 It is Christ that shall bind the people in eternal fetters。 Christ； the lackey； the jackal of the rich。〃
Mr。 Simson was visibly shocked。 Evidently he was less familiar with the opinions of The Rationalist than he had thought。
〃I really must protest；〃 exclaimed Mr。 Simson。 〃To whatever wrong uses His words may have been twisted； Christ Himself I regard as divine； and entitled to be spoken of with reverence。 His whole life； His sufferings〃
But the old fanatic's vigour had not yet exhausted itself。
〃His sufferings！〃 he interrupted。 〃Does suffering entitle a man to be regarded as divine？ If so； so also am I a God。 Look at me！〃 He stretched out his long； thin arms with their claw…like hands； thrusting forward his great savage head that the bony； wizened throat seemed hardly strong enough to bear。 〃Wealth； honour； happiness： I had them once。 I had wife； children and a home。 Now I creep an outcast； keeping to the shadows； and the children in the street throw stones at me。 Thirty years I have starved that I might preach。 They shut me in their prisons； they hound me into garrets。 They jibe at me and mock me； but they cannot silence me。 What of my life？ Am I divine？〃
Miss Ensor； having finished her supper； sat smoking。
〃Why must you preach？〃 she asked。 〃It doesn't seem to pay you。〃 There was a curious smile about the girl's lips as she caught Joan's eye。
He turned to her with his last flicker of passion。
〃Because to this end was I born； and for this cause came I into the world； that I should bear witness unto the truth；〃 he answered。
He sank back a huddled heap upon the chair。 There was foam about his mouth； great beads of sweat upon h