“I don’t know, gentlemen. But I do know that I will not awaken him now for all Chicago, New York, and San Francisco.”

“Then give us a story yourself, Mr. Maxwell,” said another, one of the older men.

“You must excuse me. I have not given any interviews since he came. I do not believe it is his wish. In fact, I know it is not. I shall respect it.”

Another silence, broken by a man representing a prominent Washington paper who asked, “At least tell us this one thing, Mr. Maxwell: do you really believe this person is Jesus?”

Mr. Maxwell was silent a minute. The newspapermen crowded together, evidently very eager to get his answer. He spoke slowly and solemnly. “Gentlemen, I believe with all my soul and mind that the person asleep in my house tonight is Jesus Christ, the same person who lived on the earth before.”

A deep and prolonged silence followed. Then several of the men began to ask more questions.

Mr. Maxwell courteously but firmly refused to say more, and urged the men to leave, which they finally in good-natured unanimity agreed to do. Mr. Maxwell went back inside while the newspaper reporters scattered to their hotel rooms, all deeply impressed with what they had seen and heard.

The New York man stopped suddenly and said to the Washington correspondent, “I meant to have questioned Maxwell about this camera story. I don’t mind saying I have no picture.”

“Nor I,” replied the other quietly, but with deep excitement. “No one has. How do you account for that? It is unparalleled.”

“I don’t account for it.”

They walked along talking with other groups that filled the hotel lobbies and swarmed over the town, roused into thrilling excitement over the day.

And somehow, all over the city seemed to rise and swell in widening intensity the awe-inspiring whisper, “Jesus is here! Jesus is here!” And all men had their hearts in vague expectancy of the future.

At ten o’clock that night, Henry Maxwell, up in his study above the guest room where Jesus lay asleep, was summoned by the telephone. It was Stanton calling him.

“I cannot sleep, and I felt certain you must be awake too. I want to inquire about him.”

“He is fast asleep.”

“How wonderful! What a stupendous series of events!”

“Yes. How little we could have dreamed it.”

“Was the little girl that he carried given her sight?”

A pause, then, “No. He gave her back to her mother, saying words I did not catch. But she went away apparently satisfied.”

Another pause. Then Stanton said, “That cry to the mob! Was it not wonderful?”

“Yes. Indescribable. You were not seriously hurt?”

“No. A blow on my cheek.”

“Miss Page took it all bravely?”

“Yes. No one could have been braver.”

Then Maxwell said, “I will tell you, Stanton, what I have told no one yet. He is going away tomorrow.”

“Going away?”