MANSON.  Come along, Rogers.  Take that end.

[They lay the cloth, as it were with ceremonial gravity, MANSON being at the upper end of the table.  They pay no heed to the others, who watch them interestedly.]

ROBERT.  I could just do with a good, square feed.  My work meks me ’ungry.

MANSON.  Flowers, Rogers.

[ROGERS brings vase from side-board and places it on the VICAR’S side of the table.  MANSON removes it to a more communal position.  Presently looking up, he sees the group to his left watching him.]

Oh, beg pardon, sir:  perhaps you’d like to know—­the Bishop of
Benares is here.

VICAR.  What, already!  Let’s have him in at once!

[MANSON deliberates with the flowers before he speaks.]

MANSON.  He is here.

[The VICAR crosses towards him.]

VICAR.  What do you mean?  Where is he?

[MANSON looks at him over the flowers.]

MANSON.  Here.

[The VICAR steps back, gazing at him.  After a moment he gasps.]

VICAR.  In God’s name, who are you?

MANSON.  In God’s Name—­your brother.

[He holds out his hand.  The VICAR takes it, sinking to his knees and sobbing as one broken yet healed.]

[The curtain descends slowly.]

THE END