“I say, come and take this coffee,” he said hastily. Brych, the stoker, held both hands up to him and took charge of the tray and the cups. Then Kuzenda let his feet hang down, crossed his arms on his breast, and hung there motionless, with his head a little on one side, and said, “Welcome, brothers. Don’t be afraid because I’m flying. It is only a sign. Will you take the cup with the flowers on, young lady.”

The stoker passed the cups and tins round. No one dared to speak. Those who had never been there before gazed in wonder on the levitation of Kuzenda. The guests of longer standing sipped their coffee slowly, and seemed, between the sips, to be praying.

“Have you finished?” asked Kuzenda after a while, opening wide his colourless, rapt eyes. “Then I’ll begin.” So saying, he cleared his throat, meditated for a while, and began: “In the name of the Father! Brethren and sisters, on this dredge, where signs of grace are shown to us, we are gathered together for worship. We need not send away the unbelievers and mockers as the spiritualists do. Mr. Hudec came as an unbeliever, and the gamekeeper has been looking forward to a little bit of fun. You are both welcome; but listen so that you may see that it is by grace I know you. You, gamekeeper, drink far too much; you drive the poor from the forest, and curse and swear even when there is no need. Do it no more. And you, Mr. Hudec, are a better-class thief. You know very well what I mean. And you’re shockingly bad-tempered. Faith will reform and redeem you.”

Utter stillness reigned on the deck. Mr. Hudec gazed steadfastly at the floor. The gamekeeper sobbed and sniffed, and fumbled with trembling hands for his pocket.

“I know what it is, gamekeeper,” said Kuzenda gently from above. “You’d like to smoke. Don’t be afraid to light up. Make yourself quite at home.”

“Look at the little fish,” whispered the young girl, pointing down to the smooth surface of the Vltava. “Look, Joe, the carp have come to listen, too.”

“They’re not carp,” came from the exalted Kuzenda. “They’re perch or dace. And, Mr. Hudec, you mustn’t worry about your sins. Look at me: I once cared for nothing but politics. And I tell you, that, too, is a sin. There’s no need to weep, gamekeeper; I didn’t mean to be hard on you. He who once experiences grace can see right into men’s hearts. You can see into people’s souls too, can’t you, Brych?”

“I can,” said Mr. Brych. “The postman here is thinking this minute how fine it would be if you could help his little daughter. She’s got scrofula, hasn’t she, postman? Mr. Kuzenda will help her right enough if you bring her here.”