But on that day when I sat beside Wilbraham's bed the conviction
in his voice and eyes held me so that although my reason kept me back
my heart told me that he had been in contact with some power that was a
stronger force than anything that I myself had ever known.
But I have determined to make no personal comment on this story. I am
here simply as a narrator of fact....
Wilbraham told me that after his Visitor left him he sat there for some
time in a dream. Then he sat up, startled, as though some voice,
calling, had wakened him, with an impulse that was like a fire suddenly
blazing up and lighting the dark places of his brain. I imagine that
all Wilbraham's impulses in the past, chivalric, idealistic, foolish,
had been of that kind--sudden, of an almost ferocious energy and
determination, blind to all consequences. He must go out at once and
tell every one of what had happened to him.
I once read a story somewhere about some town that was expecting a
great visitor. Everything was ready, the banners hanging, the music
prepared, the crowds waiting in the street.
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