They left the house together.

BOOK THE FIFTH. THE FATAL LECTURE

CHAPTER 1

Late that night Amelius sat alone in his room, making notes for the
lecture which he had now formally engaged himself to deliver in a week's
time.

Thanks to his American education (as Rufus had supposed), he had not
been without practice in the art of public speaking. He had learnt to
face his fellow-creatures in the act of oratory, and to hear the sound
of his own voice in a silent assembly, without trembling from head to
foot. English newspapers were regularly sent to Tadmor, and English
politics were frequently discussed in the little parliament of the
Community. The prospect of addressing a new audience, with their
sympathies probably against him at the outset, had its terrors
undoubtedly. But the more formidable consideration, to the mind of
Amelius, was presented by the limits imposed on him in the matter of
time. The lecture was to be succeeded (at the request of a clerical
member of the Institution) by a public discussion; and the secretary's
experience suggested that the lecturer would do well to reduce his
address within the compass of an hour. "Socialism is a large subject
to be squeezed into that small space," Amelius had objected. And the
secretary sighed, and answered, "They won't listen any longer."

Making notes, from time to time, of the points on which it was most
desirable to insist, and on the relative positions which they should
occupy in his lecture, the memory of Amelius became more and more
absorbed in recalling the scenes in which his early life had been
passed.

He laid down his pen, as the clock of the nearest church struck the
first dark hour of the morning, and let his thoughts take him back
again, without interruption or restraint, to the hills and vales of
Tadmor. Once more the kind old Elder Brother taught him the noble
lessons of Christianity as they came from the inspired Teacher's own
lips; once more he took his turn of healthy work in the garden and the
field; once more the voices of his companions joined with him in the
evening songs, and the timid little figure of Mellicent stood at his
side, content to hold the music-book and listen. How poor, how corrupt,
did the life look that he was leading now, by comparison with the life
that he had led in those earlier and happier days! How shamefully he had
forgotten the simple precepts of Christian humility, Christian sympathy,
and Christian se