The Master-Christian Part 54

The Cardinal regarded him straightly.

"True! But for you, a mere child, to say to the Head of the Church what Christ said to St. Peter, will be judged as blasphemy. I have never urged you, as you know, to tell me who you are, or where you came from.

I do not urge you now. For I feel that you have been sent to me for some special purpose--that young as you are, you have been entrusted by a Higher Power with some mission to me--for you possess the spirit of inspiration, prophecy and truth. I dare not question that spirit!

Wherever I find it, in the young, in the old, in the wise or the ignorant I give it welcome. For you have uttered not only what I have myself thought, but what half the world is thinking, though you are only one of those 'babes and sucklings out of whose mouth the Lord hath ordained wisdom.' But what you have said at the Vatican will be judged as heresy--and I shall be counted heretic for having permitted you to speak thus boldly."

"Your permission was not asked," said Manuel simply, "I was summoned to the Vatican, but I was not told what to say to the Pope. I spoke as I felt. No one interrupted me. The Pope listened to all my words. And I said no more than is true."

"Truth is judged as libel nowadays in the world," answered the Cardinal, "And we have to confront the fact that we have incurred the displeasure, and have also invited the vengeance of the Sovereign Pontiff. Thus we must expect to suffer."

"Then he who is called the visible Head of Christianity objects to the truth, and is capable of vengeance!" said Manuel, "That is a strange contradiction! But I will suffer whatever he pleases to inflict upon me. You shall suffer nothing!"

The Cardinal smiled gravely.

"My child, I am old, and whatever trouble is in store for me cannot last long. But I must guard you from harm with all the remaining powers of my life. Having const.i.tuted myself your protector and defender, I must continue to protect and defend. And so, Manuel, tomorrow or the next day I shall take you away to England. So far, at least, I will defy the powers of Rome!"

His eyes flashed, and his whole person seemed to be invested with sudden strength, dignity and command. He pointed to the crucifix on the table before him.

"He, the Holy One of the Heavens, was crucified for speaking the truth,--I can do no better than follow His divine example! If my soul is stretched on the crossbeams of injustice--if every tender emotion of my heart is tortured and slain--if I am stripped of honour and exposed to contempt, what matter! My glorious Master suffered likewise."

Manuel was silent. He stood near the great chimney where the wood fire burned and crackled, casting a ruddy glow through the room. After a few minutes he turned his fair head towards the Cardinal with an earnest, scrutinising gaze in his expressive eyes.

"Then, dear friend, you are not angry? You do not reproach me for what I have done?"

"Reproach you? I reproach no one!" said Bonpre,--"Least of all, a child! For you speak unconsciously--as genius speaks;--you cannot weigh the meaning of your words, or the effect of what you say on the worldly or callous minds which have learned to balance motives and meanings before coining them into more or less ambiguous language. No!--I have nothing to reproach you with, Manuel,--I am thankful to have you by my side!"

His eyes rested again upon the crucifix for a moment, and he went on, more to himself than to the boy,--

"In the early days of our Lord, He spoke to the wise men in the Temple, and they were 'astonished at his understanding and answers.' But they did not reprove Him,--not then,--on the contrary, they listened. How often in our own days do young children ask us questions to which we cannot reply, and which they themselves perchance could easily answer if they but knew how to clothe their thoughts with speech! For the Spirit of G.o.d is made manifest in many ways, and through many methods;--sometimes it whispers a hint or a warning to us in the petals of the rose, sometimes in the radiance of the sunset on the sea, sometimes in the simple talk of a child younger even than you are,--'Except ye become as little children--!"

He paused in his dreamy utterance, and turned in his chair listening.

"What is that?" There was a noise of hurrying footsteps and murmuring voices,--that sort of half-m.u.f.fled confusion in a household which bodes something wrong,--and all at once Prince Sovrani threw open the door of the Cardinal's apartments without ceremony, crying out as he entered,--

"Where is Angela?"

The Cardinal rose out of his chair, startled and alarmed.

"Angela?" he echoed, "She is not here!"

"Not here!" Prince Sovrani drew a sharp breath, and his face visibly paled,--"It is very strange! Her studio is locked at both entrances--yet the servants swear she has not pa.s.sed out of the house!

Besides she never goes out without leaving word as to where she has gone and when she is coming back!"

"Her studio is locked on both sides!" repeated the Cardinal, "But that is quite easy to understand--her picture is unveiled, and no one is to be permitted to see it until to-morrow."

"Yes--yes--" said the Prince Pietro impatiently, "I know all that,--but where is Angela herself? There is no sign of her anywhere! She cannot have gone out. Her maid tells me she was not dressed to go out. She was in her white working gown when last seen. Santissima Madonna!"--and old Sovrani gave a wild gesture of despair--"If any harm has happened to the child . . ."

"Harm? Why what harm could happen? What harm could happen?" said the Cardinal soothingly,--"My dear brother, do not alarm yourself needlessly--"

"Let us go to the studio," interposed Manuel suddenly--"She may not have heard you call her."

He moved in his gentle light way out of the room, and without another word they followed. Outside the studio door they paused, and Prince Sovrani tried again and again to open it, calling "Angela!" now loudly, now softly, now entreatingly, now commandingly, all to no purpose. The servants had gathered on the landing, afraid of they knew not what, and one old man, the Prince's valet, shook his head dolefully at the continued silence.

"Why not break open the door, Eccellenza?" he asked anxiously, "I know the trick of those old locks--if the Eccellenza will permit I can push back the catch with a strong chisel."

"Do so then," replied his master, "I cannot wait--there is something horrible in the atmosphere!--something that chokes me! Quick! This suspense will kill me!"

The old valet hurried away, and in two or three minutes, during which time both Prince Sovrani and the Cardinal knocked and called again outside the door quite uselessly, he returned with a strong iron chisel which he forced against the lock. For some time it resisted all efforts--then with appalling suddenness gave way and flew back, the door bursting wide open with the shock. For one instant the falling shadows of evening made the interior of the room too dim to see distinctly--there was a confused blur of objects,--the carved summit of a great easel,--a gold picture-frame shining round a wonderful ma.s.s of colouring on canvas--then gradually they discerned the outline of a small figure lying p.r.o.ne at the foot of the easel, stiff and motionless. With a dreadful cry of despair Sovrani dashed into the room.

"Angela! Angela!"

Falling on his knees he raised the delicate figure in his arms,--the little head drooped inanimate on his shoulder, and with the movement a coil of golden hair became unbound, and fell in soft waves over his trembling hands--the fair face was calm and tranquil--the eyes were closed,--but as the distracted man clasped that inert, beloved form closer, he saw what caused him to spring erect with a terrible oath, and cry for vengeance.

"Murdered!" he exclaimed hoa.r.s.ely--"Murdered! Brother, come close!--see here! Will you talk to me of G.o.d NOW! My last comfort in life--the last gift of my Gita, murdered!"

The affrighted Cardinal tottered forward, and looking, saw that a deep stain of blood oozed over the soft white garments of the lifeless girl, and he wrung his hands in despair.

"My G.o.d! My G.o.d!" he moaned, "In what have we offended Thee that Thou shouldst visit us with such heavy affliction? Angela, my child!--my little girl!--Angela!"

The servants had by this time cl.u.s.tered round, a pale and terrified group, sobbing and crying loudly,--only the old valet retained sufficient presence of mind to light two or three of the lamps in the studio. As this was done, and the sudden luminance dispersed some of the darker shadows in the room, the grand picture on the easel was thrown into full prominence,--and the magnificent Christ, descending in clouds of glory, seemed to start from the painted canvas and move towards them all. And even while he wrung his hands and wept, the Cardinal's glance was suddenly caught and transfixed by this splendour,--he staggered back amazed, and murmured feebly--"Angela!

THIS is her work!--this her great picture, and she--she is dead!"

Sovrani suddenly clutched him by the arm, and drew him close to the couch where he had just laid the body of his daughter down.

"Now, where was this G.o.d you serve, think you, when this happened?" he demanded, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, while his aged eyes glittered feverishly, and his stern dark face under the tossed white hair was as a frowning mask of vengeance,--"Is the world so rich in sweet women that SHE should be slain?"

Half paralysed with grief, the unhappy Cardinal sank on his knees beside the murdered girl,--taking the pa.s.sive hand he kissed it, the tears flowing down his furrowed cheeks. Her magnificent picture shone forth, a living presence in the room, but the thoughts of all were for the dead only, and the distracted Sovrani saw nothing but his child's pale, set face, closed eyes, and delicate figure, lying still with the red stain of blood spreading through the whiteness of her garments.

None of them thought of Manuel--and it was with a shock of surprise that the Cardinal became aware of him, and saw him approaching the couch, raising his hand as he came, warningly.

"Hush, hush!" he said, very gently, "It may be that she is not dead!

She will be frightened when she wakes if she sees you weeping!"

Prince Sovrani caught the words.

"When she wakes!" he cried, "Poor boy, you do not know what you say!

She will never wake! She is dead!"

But Manuel was bending closely over the couch, and looking earnestly into Angela's quiet face. Cardinal Bonpre watched him wonderingly. And the old Prince stood, arrested as it were in the very midst of his wrath and sorrow by some force more potent than even the spirit of vengeance. The sobbing servants held their breath--and all stared as if fascinated at the young boy, as after a pause, he took Angela's hand that hung so inertly down, in one of his own, and with the other felt her heart. Then he spoke.

"She is not dead!" he said simply,--"She has only swooned. Let someone fetch a physician to attend her--see!--she breathes!"

With a wild, half-smothered cry Prince Sovrani sprang forward to see for himself if this blessed news was true. He and the Cardinal both, seized with a pa.s.sionate anxiety, gazed and gazed at the fair beloved face in hope, in fear and longing,--and still Manuel stood beside the couch, stroking the small hand he held with thoughtful care and tenderness. All at once a faint sigh parted the sweet lips,--the bosom heaved with a struggle for breath. Her father fell on his knees, overcome, and hiding his face in his hands sobbed aloud in the intensity of his relief and joy, while the Cardinal murmured a devout 'Thank G.o.d!' A few minutes pa.s.sed, and still the fluttering uncertain breathings came and went, and still Manuel stood by the couch, quietly watchful. Presently the closed eyelids quivered and lifted,--and the beautiful true eyes shone star-like out upon the world again! She stirred, and tried to raise herself, but sank back exhausted in the effort. Then seeing the Cardinal, she smiled,--and her gaze wandered slowly to the bent, white-haired figure crouching beside her, whose whole frame was shaken by sobs.

"Father!" she murmured--"Dearest father! What is it?"

He lifted his tear-stained, agonised face, and seeing that the tender eyes regarding him were full of fear and wonder as well as love, he instantly controlled himself, and rising from his knees, kissed her gently.

"I thought you were dead, my darling!" he said softly--"Hush now--do not speak! Lie quite still! You are hurt a little,--you must rest!--you will be better,--much better presently!"

But Angela's looks had again wandered, and now they were fixed on Manuel. Over her whole face there came a sudden life and radiance.