"The catalogue is imperfect; many of the best books have been added to the collection lately."
"Can you spare half an hour to explain the arrangement to me?"
They went into the library, and Arthur carefully explained the catalogue.
When he rose to take his hat, the Director interfered, laughing.
"No, no!
I can't have you rushing off in that way.
It is Saturday, and quite time for you to leave off work till Monday morning.
Stop and have supper with me, now I have kept you so late.
I am quite alone, and shall be glad of company."
His manner was so bright and pleasant that Arthur felt at ease with him at once.
After some desultory conversation, the Director inquired how long he had known Montanelli.
"For about seven years. He came back from China when I was twelve years old."
"Ah, yes!
It was there that he gained his reputation as a missionary preacher.
Have you been his pupil ever since?"
"He began teaching me a year later, about the time when I first confessed to him.
Since I have been at the Sapienza he has still gone on helping me with anything I wanted to study that was not in the regular course.
He has been very kind to me--you can hardly imagine how kind."
"I can well believe it; he is a man whom no one can fail to admire--a most noble and beautiful nature.
I have met priests who were out in China with him; and they had no words high enough to praise his energy and courage under all hardships, and his unfailing devotion.
You are fortunate to have had in your youth the help and guidance of such a man.
I understood from him that you have lost both parents."
"Yes; my father died when I was a child, and my mother a year ago."
"Have you brothers and sisters?"
"No; I have step-brothers; but they were business men when I was in the nursery."
"You must have had a lonely childhood; perhaps you value Canon Montanelli's kindness the more for that.
By the way, have you chosen a confessor for the time of his absence?"
"I thought of going to one of the fathers of Santa Caterina, if they have not too many penitents."
"Will you confess to me?"
Arthur opened his eyes in wonder. "Reverend Father, of course I--should be glad; only----"
"Only the Director of a theological seminary does not usually receive lay penitents?
That is quite true.
But I know Canon Montanelli takes a great interest in you, and I fancy he is a little anxious on your behalf--just as I should be if I were leaving a favourite pupil--and would like to know you were under the spiritual guidance of his colleague.
And, to be quite frank with you, my son, I like you, and should be glad to give you any help I can."
"If you put it that way, of course I shall be very grateful for your guidance."
"Then you will come to me next month?
That's right.
And run in to see me, my lad, when you have time any evening."
. . . . .
Shortly before Easter Montanelli's appointment to the little see of Brisighella, in the Etruscan Apennines, was officially announced.
He wrote to Arthur from Rome in a cheerful and tranquil spirit; evidently his depression was passing over.
"You must come to see me every vacation," he wrote; "and I shall often be coming to Pisa; so I hope to see a good deal of you, if not so much as I should wish."
Dr. Warren had invited Arthur to spend the Easter holidays with him and his children, instead of in the dreary, rat-ridden old place where Julia now reigned supreme.
Enclosed in the letter was a short note, scrawled in Gemma's childish, irregular handwriting, begging him to come if possible, "as I want to talk to you about something."
Still more encouraging was the whispered communication passing around from student to student in the university; everyone was to be prepared for great things after Easter.
All this had put Arthur into a state of rapturous anticipation, in which the wildest improbabilities hinted at among the students seemed to him natural and likely to be realized within the next two months.
He arranged to go home on Thursday in Passion week, and to spend the first days of the vacation there, that the pleasure of visiting the Warrens and the delight of seeing Gemma might not unfit him for the solemn religious meditation demanded by the Church from all her children at this season.
He wrote to Gemma, promising to come on Easter Monday; and went up to his bedroom on Wednesday night with a soul at peace.
He knelt down before the crucifix.
Father Cardi had promised to receive him in the morning; and for this, his last confession before the Easter communion, he must prepare himself by long and earnest prayer.