observer he barely moved a muscle.
But the look of horror in his confessor's face, in expectation of which he had so resolutely screwed his courage to the sticking post, was entirely absent. There remained the same aspect of benevolence, infinitely patient, wholly serene. For a moment he wondered if he had explained himself clearly enough.
After some considerable measure of silence, Sister Maria spoke. 'Colonel 'Ervey, there is a great deal in what you have told me which calls for remark, not solely that which you suppose is the present cause of your troubled mind. But let us address that which you perceive is the greatest sin. I mean, of course, the adultery with Lady Katherine Greville.'
Hervey shifted slightly, but continued to look his confidante in the eye, as if not to do so were somehow a sign of evasion.
Sister Maria remained perfectly still, her hands clasped. 'Your sin is a matter for reconciliation with God. You are Protestant, and you are therefore minded to speak directly to Him. If you were Catholic you would know that in such circumstances the offices of a priest would be the most efficacious.'
His father had never called himself Protestant, but this was not a thing to be debated now. Hervey nodded to acknowledge the point.
'The teaching of the Church is plain in this regard, following as it does from the unequivocal commandment against adultery, and so you cannot have need of words from me. The question now is what is the right course in the matter of truth.'
He nodded again. It was precisely the question, and that to which the examination of his life for the better part of an hour had been prelude.
'Since you are not Catholic, Colonel 'Ervey, I am – ironically, as you say – at liberty to give what counsel I will.'
Not for the first time in that hour, Hervey marvelled at Sister Maria's command of English. She had once told him that she had learned it from an English governess, but such precision (and indeed elegance) of phrase must have been perfected by much reading – the advantage, perhaps, of an eremitical life?
'I am grateful, Sister.'
'Colonel 'Ervey, in addressing the right course in the matter of truth we leave the realm of moral teaching and enter that of prudence. And since I know you to be a
He nodded again, doubly grateful for the accolade.
'Prudence, Colonel 'Ervey, is one of the cardinal virtues. It does not itself perform any actions, concerned as it is solely with knowledge, yet all other virtues must be regulated by it. As a prud'homme, you will understand perfectly, for example, that to distinguish when an act is courageous, instead of merely reckless, or cowardly, is an act of prudence.'
'Indeed.'
'Prudence is to apply one's mind in affairs of this world to discern what is virtuous and what is not, and how to address the one and avoid the other. Its intention is to perfect not the will but the mind in its practical decisions, seeking where the essence of virtue lies.' She smiled, as if the search for virtue were pleasing in itself. 'But it is not enough simply to will the good which it discerns. Prudence bids us do three things: to take counsel to discover the means of securing the virtuous end, and then to judge soundly the fitness of those means; and, finally, to command their employment.' She laid emphasis on the word 'command', as if knowing it would strike a chord.
He nodded again.
She rose.
Hervey rose too, but in some despair: his own prudence had led him to do its first bidding – to seek counsel – and he trusted he knew how to command; what he wanted now of Sister Maria was to know the means.
She clasped her hands together, and looked grave. 'The end of all moral virtues, Colonel 'Ervey, is human good. I must first ponder on the matter, and pray, before giving such counsel. Are you able to return tomorrow, at this time?'
'I am.'
She smiled again, though with a suggestion of disquiet. 'And now I must say another thing, but briefly for the vespers bell cannot be long away. It distresses me to see such confusion of mind over your opportunity for promotion and command of this new regiment. It is not a matter of prudence in the sense that I have just spoken of, but I believe it to be of the first importance in the proper ordering of your affairs, which itself is at the heart of the virtuous life. You are a soldier, Colonel 'Ervey. I understood that perfectly at Toulouse.'
He smiled by return. 'It is a matter to which I am giving the most particular attention, I assure you, Sister.'
'Then I think that before you return to the Cape of Good Hope we might speak of these – and other matters – too.'
It was a most generous invitation, and one which he had not supposed he might receive. 'I should be ever grateful, Sister.'
She made to lead him from the room, when another thought occurred to her. 'I should like very much to meet your wife, Colonel 'Ervey. Do you think I might call on her?'
He was surprised by the question, not so much alarmed, for they had spoken under what he knew as the seal of the confessional, but rather that Sister Maria imagined meeting with Kezia might in any degree inform their intercourse. 'You may call at your liberty, Sister.'
'Then I will do so tomorrow morning.'
He put on his hat.
Sister Maria sighed, and looked at him in a sort of frowning perplexity. 'Colonel 'Ervey, I full well understand what are your travails, but I am truly saddened that there is no joy in you, as once I recall there was. The gift of a child, even if in unfortunate circumstances, is a matter for rejoicing. Sursum corda: lift up your heart!'
