Gwen Wynn Part 17

She preserves her composure all through, and soon as the last course is ended, with a show of dessert placed upon the table--poor and _pro forma_--obedient to a look from Rogier, with a slight nod in the direction of the door, she makes her _conge_, and retires.

Murdock lights his meerschaum, the priest one of his paper cigarettes--of which he carries a case--and for some time they sit smoking and drinking; talking, too, but upon matters with no relation to that uppermost in their minds. They seem to fear touching it, as though it were a thing to contaminate. It is only after repeatedly emptying their gla.s.ses, their courage comes up to the standard required; that of the Frenchman first; who, nevertheless, approaches the delicate subject with cautious circ.u.mlocution.

"By the way, M'sieu," he says, "we've forgotten what we were conversing about, when summoned to dinner--a meal I've greatly enjoyed--notwithstanding your depreciation of the _menu_. Indeed, a very _bonne bouche_ your English bacon, and the greens excellent, as also the _pommes de terre_. You were speaking of some event, or circ.u.mstance, to be conditional on your death. What is it? Not the deluge, I hope! True, your Wye is subject to sudden floods; might it have aught to do with them?"

"Why should it?" asks Murdock, not comprehending the drift.

"Because people sometimes get drowned in these inundations; indeed, often. Scarce a week pa.s.ses without some one falling into the river, and there remaining, at least till life is extinct. What with its whirls and rapids, it's a very dangerous stream. I wonder at Mademoiselle Wynn venturing so courageously--so _carelessly_ upon it."

The peculiar intonation of the last speech, with emphasis on the word carelessly, gives Murdock a glimpse of what it is intended to point to.

"She's got courage enough," he rejoins, without appearing to comprehend.

"About her carelessness I don't know."

"But the young lady certainly is careless--recklessly so. That affair of her going out alone is proof of it. What followed may make her more cautious; still, boating is a perilous occupation, and boats, whether for pleasure or otherwise, are awkward things to manage--fickle and capricious as women themselves. Suppose hers should some day go to the bottom, she being in it?"

"That would be bad."

"Of course it would. Though, Monsieur Murdock, many men situated as you, instead of grieving over such an accident, would but rejoice at it."

"No doubt they would. But what's the use of talking of a thing not likely to happen?"

"Oh, true! Still, boat accidents being of such common occurrence, one is as likely to befall Mademoiselle Wynn as anybody else. A pity if it should--a misfortune! But so is the other thing."

"What other thing?"

"That such a property as Llangorren should be in the hands of heretics, having but a lame t.i.tle too. If what I've heard be true, you yourself have as much right to it as your cousin. It were better it belonged to a true son of the Church, as I know you to be, M'sieu."

Murdock receives the compliment with a grimace. He is no hypocrite; still with all his depravity he has a sort of respect for religion, or rather its outward forms--regularly attends Rogier's chapel, and goes through all the ceremonies and genuflexions, just as the Italian bandit, after cutting a throat, will drop on his knees and repeat a _paternoster_ at hearing the distant bell of the Angelus.

"A very poor one," he replies, with a half smile, half grin.

"In a worldly sense you mean? I'm aware you're not very rich."

"In more senses than that. Your Reverence, I've been a great sinner, I admit."

"Admission is a good sign--giving promise of repentance, which need never come too late if a man be disposed to it. It is a deep sin the Church cannot condone--a dark crime indeed."

"Oh, I haven't done anything deserving the name. Only such as a great many others."

"But you might be tempted some day. Whether or not it's my duty, as your spiritual adviser, to point out the true doctrine--how the Vatican views such things. It's after all only a question of balance between good and evil; that is, how much evil a man may have done, and the amount of good he may do. This world is a ceaseless war between G.o.d and the devil; and those who wage it in the cause of the former have often to employ the weapons of the latter. In our service the end justifies the means, even though these be what the world calls criminal--ay, even to the TAKING OF LIFE, else why should the great and good Loyola have counselled drawing the sword, himself using it?"

"True," grunts Murdock, smoking hard, "you're a great theologian, Father Rogier. I confess ignorance in such matters; still, I see reason in what you say."

"You may see it clearer if I set the application before you. As for instance, if a man have a right to a certain property, or estate, and is kept out of it by a quibble, any steps he might take to possess himself would be justifiable providing he devote a portion of his gains to the good cause--that is, upholding the true faith, and so benefitting humanity at large. Such an act is held by the best of our Church authorities to compensate for any sin committed--supposing the money donation sufficient to make the amount of good it may do preponderate over the evil. And such a man would not only merit absolution, but freely receive it. Now, Monsieur, do you comprehend me?"

"Quite," says Murdock, taking the pipe from his mouth and gulping down a half-tumbler of brandy--for he has dropped the wine. Withal, he trembles at the programme thus metaphorically put before him, and fears admitting the application to himself.

Soon the more potent spirit takes away his last remnant of timidity, which the tempter perceiving, says:--

"You say you have sinned, Monsieur. And if it were only for that, you ought to make amends."

"In what way could I?"

"The way I've been speaking of. Bestow upon the Church the means of doing good, and so deserve indulgence."

"Ah! where am I to find this means?"

"On the other side of the river."

"You forget that there's more than the stream between."

"Not much to a man who would be true to himself."

"I'm that man all over." The brandy has made him bold, at length untying his tongue, while unsteadying it. "Yes, Pere Rogier; I'm ready for anything that will release me from this d.a.m.nable fix--debt over the ears--duns every day. Ha! I'd be true to myself, never fear!"

"It needs being true to the Church as well."

"I'm willing to be that when I have the chance, if ever I have it. And to get it I'd risk life. Not much if I lose it. It's become a burden to me, heavier than I can bear."

"You may make it as light as a feather, M'sieu; cheerful as that of any of those gay gentry you saw disporting themselves on the lawn at Llangorren--even that of its young mistress."

"How, _Pere_?"

"By yourself becoming its master."

"Ah! if I could."

"You can!"

"With safety?"

"Perfect safety."

"And without committing"--he fears to speak the ugly English word, but expresses the idea in French--"_cette dernier coup_?"

"Certainly! Who dreams of that? Not I, M'sieu."

"But how is it to be avoided?"

"Easily."

"Tell me, Father Rogier!"

"Not to-night, Murdock!"--he has dropped the distant M'sieu--"Not to-night. It's a matter that calls for reflection--consideration, calm and careful. Time, too. Ten thousand _livres esterlies_ per annum! We must both ponder upon it--sleep nights, and think days, over it--possibly have to draw Coracle d.i.c.k into our deliberations. But not to-night--_Par-dieu!_ it's ten o'clock! And I have business to do before going to bed. I must be off."

"No, your Reverence; not till you've had another gla.s.s of wine."

"One more, then. But let me take it standing--the _ta.s.se d'estrope_, as you call it."