At Lord Loring’s suggestion, a consultation of physicians was held on his case the other day.”
“Is he so ill as that?” Penrose exclaimed.
“So it appears,” Father Benwell replied.
“Lord Loring is mysteriously silent about the illness.
One result of the consultation I extracted from him, in which you are interested. The doctors protested against his employing himself on his proposed work.
He was too obstinate to listen to them.
There was but one concession that they could gain from him—he consented to spare himself, in some small degree, by employing an amanuensis. It was left to Lord Loring to find the man.
I was consulted by his lordship; I was even invited to undertake the duty myself.
Each one in his proper sphere, my son!
The person who converts Romayne must be young enough and pliable enough to be his friend and companion.
Your part is there, Arthur—you are the future amanuensis.
How does the prospect strike you now?”
“I beg your pardon, Father! I fear I am unworthy of the confidence which is placed in me.”
“In what way?”
Penrose answered with unfeigned humility. “I am afraid I may fail to justify your belief in me,” he said, “unless I can really feel that I am converting Mr. Romayne for his own soul’s sake.
However righteous the cause may be, I cannot find, in the restitution of the Church property, a sufficient motive for persuading him to change his religious faith.
There is something so serious in the responsibility which you lay on me, that I shall sink under the burden unless my whole heart is in the work.
If I feel attracted toward Mr. Romayne when I first see him; if he wins upon me, little by little, until I love him like a brother—then, indeed, I can promise that his conversion shall be the dearest object of my life.
But if there is not this intimate sympathy between us—forgive me if I say it plainly—I implore you to pass me over, and to commit the task to the hands of another man.”
His voice trembled; his eyes moistened.
Father Benwell handled his young friend’s rising emotion with the dexterity of a skilled angler humoring the struggles of a lively fish.
“Good Arthur!” he said.
“I see much—too much, dear boy—of self-seeking people.
It is as refreshing to me to hear you, as a draught of water to a thirsty man.
At the same time, let me suggest that you are innocently raising difficulties, where no difficulties exist.
I have already mentioned as one of the necessities of the case that you and Romayne should be friends.
How can that be, unless there is precisely that sympathy between you which you have so well described?
I am a sanguine man, and I believe you will like each other.
Wait till you see him.”
As the words passed his lips, the door that led to the picture gallery was opened. Lord Loring entered the library.
He looked quickly round him—apparently in search of some person who might, perhaps, be found in the room.
A shade of annoyance showed itself in his face, and disappeared again, as he bowed to the two Jesuits.
“Don’t let me disturb you,” he said, looking at Penrose.
“Is this the gentleman who is to assist Mr. Romayne?”
Father Benwell presented his young friend.
“Arthur Penrose, my lord.
I ventured to suggest that he should call here to-day, in case you wished to put any questions to him.”
“Quite needless, after your recommendation,” Lord Loring answered, graciously.
“Mr. Penrose could not have come here at a more appropriate time.
As it happens, Mr. Romayne has paid us a visit today—he is now in the picture gallery.”
The priests looked at each other.
Lord Loring left them as he spoke. He walked to the opposite door of the library—opened it—glanced round the hall, and at the stairs—and returned again, with the passing expression of annoyance visible once more.
“Come with me to the gallery, gentlemen,” he said; “I shall be happy to introduce you to Mr. Romayne.”
Penrose accepted the proposal.
Father Benwell pointed with a smile to the books scattered about him.
“With permission, I will follow your lordship,” he said.
“Who was my lord looking for?” That was the question in Father Benwell’s mind, while he put some of the books away on the shelves, and collected the scattered papers on the table, relating to his correspondence with Rome.
It had become a habit of his life to be suspicious of any circumstances occurring within his range of observation, for which he was unable to account.
He might have felt some stronger emotion on this occasion, if he had known that the conspiracy in the library to convert Romayne was matched by the conspiracy in the picture gallery to marry him.
Lady Loring’s narrative of the conversation which had taken place between Stella and herself had encouraged her husband to try his proposed experiment without delay.