The Pines of Lory Part 5

"I have been reflecting on your discourse. If ironical, it was unkind.

If sincere, it was--not impertinent perhaps, but certainly not justified by our short acquaintance."

"True: and I beg your pardon. But was it correct?"

"I hope not."

Something in her manner invited a discontinuance of that particular topic. He drew an attenuated hand across his mouth, changed his position, as if on the point of saying more; but he held his peace.

Some minutes later, when Miss Marshall's maid approached this silent couple, her progress, owing to the movement of the deck, consisted of rapid little runs followed by sudden pauses, during which she hung with one hand to the rail and with the other clutched her hat. She had come up to ask if her mistress needed anything. Was she warm enough? Would she have another wrap? Miss Marshall needed nothing herself, but asked for news of Mr. Appleton Marshall, and if Father Burke was feeling better. Louise had seen nothing of Mr. Marshall since dinner, but she had left Father Burke reclining in the main saloon, not very sick, nor very well, but lower in his mind. As her maid departed, the lady expressed sympathy for the suffering uncle. "And poor Father Burke! He is terribly uncomfortable, I am sure."

"Yes," said Pats. "I saw in his face a look of uncertainty: the wavering faith that comes from meals with an upward tendency."

Pats thought this want of sympathy was resented.

"He is a most lovable man," she said, "of fine character, and with a splendid mind. You would like him if you knew him better."

Here was his opportunity; his chance for a rescue. He would s.n.a.t.c.h her from the clutches of the Romish Brute. A few stabs in the monster's vitals might accomplish wonders. So he answered, sadly, in a tone of brotherly affection:

"I like him now. That is why I regret that he should devote himself to such a questionable enterprise."

"What enterprise?"

"His Church."

With a forced calmness she replied, "This is the only time I ever heard the first religion of Christendom called a 'questionable enterprise.'"

"Leo X. spoke of it as a 'profitable fable.' Perhaps that was better."

"Did Leo X. say that of the Catholic Church?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe it."

"Because you have too high an opinion of Leo?"

"No; but he was a Pope of Rome, and I simply cannot believe it."

"Some popes of Rome have been awful examples for the young."

"So have men in all positions."

He smiled and shook his head. "Yes, but when they set up as Christ's apostles, they really should not indulge too freely in a.s.sa.s.sination and torture: at least, not out of business hours."

Then in a reflective, somewhat sorrowful manner, he continued, "But the Roman Enterprise has two enemies that are thorns in the flesh, the bath-tub and the printing-press. Wherever they march in, she marches out. The three can't live together."

Of this statement there was no recognition, except a straightening up in the steamer-chair.

He continued pleasantly, "In England, Germany, and America, for instance, where these adversaries are in vogue, Catholicism quits. As the devil shrinks from the sign of the Cross, so does the Holy Enterprise gather up its b.l.o.o.d.y skirts and decamp."

"Perhaps you forget that in the United States alone there are more than seven million Catholics."

"But they are not victims of the bath-tub habit."

"That is not true! There are thousands of exceptions!"

He laughed--an amiable, jolly, yet triumphant laugh--as he retorted, "You admit the truth of it when you call them exceptions."

In the dim light which had gathered over everything, he could see the delicate eyebrows drawing together in a frown. But he went on, cheerfully, as if giving offence had not occurred to him, "Now Spain is enthusiastically Catholic. And for ignorance,--solid, comprehensive, reliable ignorance,--there is nothing like it in the solar system. You can't hurt it with a hammer. It defies compet.i.tion. If a Spaniard were to meet a bath-tub on a lonely highway, he would cross himself and run."

"Their ignorance is their own fault. Education and progress have always been encouraged by the Catholic Church."

"Encouraged? Oh!"

"Certainly."

"You mean by the stake and boiling lead?"

"I do not."

"When, for example, she notified Galileo that she would roast him alive, as she had already roasted Bruno, if he persisted in his heresy that the earth was round instead of flat?"

"If you are happy in that belief, I will not destroy it."

"It is a historic fact, but I am no happier for believing it. However, too much education is a nuisance, and very likely Mamma Church was wise in toasting an astronomer now and then."

"Your conclusions are rather entertaining. I am a Catholic myself, and my own reading has brought opinions that are quite different."

She spoke calmly, but he detected a less friendly tone. In a joking, incredulous manner he replied, "Well, then, I am a Catholic, too."

"I am serious. My faith to me is a sacred thing. It has brought me a more tranquil spirit, a deeper knowledge, and a fuller conception of what I owe to others--and to myself."

She was very much in earnest.

"Then I beg your pardon," he said, "for speaking as I did."

She tried to smile. "It is more my fault than yours. Religious discussions never do any good."

Then she arose from her chair, and he knew from the exceeding dignity of her manner that his offence was serious. But this dignity met with cruel reverses. As she stood up, their side of the steamer was just starting on a downward lurch,--one of those long, deep, quivering plunges, apparently for the bottom of the sea, slow at first, but gaining in rapidity. And Elinor Marshall, instead of turning away with frigid ceremony, as she intended, first stood irresolute, as if taken unawares,--yet suspecting danger,--then tiptoed forward and rushed impetuously into the gentleman's arms. These arms were forced to encircle the sudden arrival, otherwise both man and woman would have tumbled to the deck. Then, she pushed him hard against the rail. But even that was not the end. For there she held him, to her shame, pressing against him with the whole weight of her body. And this lasted, it seemed to her, an hour--a year--a lifetime of mortification and of helpless rage; the wind all the time screaming louder and louder with a brutish glee.

Her choking exclamations of chagrin were close to his ears, and he felt her hair against his face. But he was powerless to aid in her struggles to regain the lost equilibrium. However good his wishes, he could do nothing but stand as a cushion--poorly upholstered at that--between herself and the rail.

Finally, at the end of time, when the deck came up again, she backed away with flaming cheeks. Pats apologized; so did she. He wished to a.s.sist her to the cabin stairs, but the offer was ignored, and she left him.

[Ill.u.s.tration]