“Nonsense. Think about it; and be done with it. John, when We are dead, if you have a place like that, and means to work it, means to move about and use yourself—will you use yourself? And will you take Macleod and be a brother—not a real but the Ideal Brother to him?”
“Oh of course I would: but—”
“Will you promise?”
“Oh yes, I promise You most faithfully. But I hope to God I’ll never have the chance—”
“Well, no one knows when you will have the chance: but you shall have it. Bring the pen here, and the writing-board.” Hadrian pulled down His sleeve, and stroked the cat for a minute or two, thoughtfully looking-out of the window. Then He wrote, putting what He wrote into an envelope which He gave to the shaking sprig of virtue who stood before Him. “You will take this to Plowden, after you have been to Ragna. You will obtain his formal acknowledgment. See that it is made out in your name; and keep it secretly till the time comes for using it. On Our death you will present it; and Plowden will pay you five thousand pounds, and take your receipt for it. With that sum, you will buy, and stock, such a place as We have described. As long as you and Macleod live, Plowden will pay you a regular income, so that you never can come to want, and always can have something to give away. Every quarter-day he will pay a hundred pounds to you, and fifty to Macleod; and you can make as much more as you like out of your farm. That, remember, is yours; and you may do what you please with it. When you both die, the capital which provides your incomes will return to the pontifical treasury: so if you want to marry, and beget a family, and leave something more than real property—the farm—behind you, you must earn it. We give you a chance, and perfect freedom. Do you follow?”
“Oh I never shall forget a single word. Holy Father, I can’t take it. What have I done to deserve it? What could I ever do to deserve it?”
“Boy, you have done this to deserve it. You have wished to bear or to share another’s burden. You shall have your wish; and you shall have a little reward here and a very great reward—There—if you carry out your wish. That’s what you have done and what you can do. You are good, and you are trusted. And that’s all. Now go away at once because We have a lot of writing yet to do.”
“John,” cried Hadrian, just before the door closed. “By the by, you had better tell Macleod of his appointment; and see about his uniforms at once: but keep the other matter to yourself till—you know when. Oh—and please make him understand that We shall call him ‘James.’ That Gaelic ‘Hamish’ is a little too much. And he had better be Mr. James to the others.”
Outside the closed door, Sir John struck his own hands together. “And the maddening thing is that there is nothing in the whole world that I can do for Him. If I were to give Him a little present, like a baccy-pouch, ten to one it wouldn’t be precisely to His taste—anyhow it ’ld only be like giving Him a calf of His Own cow. Oh damn! It’s like a wax match offering a light to the sun.” He suddenly faced to the door again; and his words came in the form of a solemn pledge. “Lord, I promise.” He remained entranced for several moments: and anon went on his way with steadfast brow.
XXI
The Cardinal-deacon of St. Cosmas and St. Damian did it. The acts of the consistory, in so far as they related to the calumny against the Pope, duly appeared in the Times and the Globe and the New York Times as news which was fit to print. Innumerable other papers lifted them with acknowledgments. No comment was made. The collared-puppy-in-the-Tube, and the spectacled-person-in-the-motorcar, and the female-with-the-loaf-coloured-hat-at-the-bargain-sale, forgot all about George Arthur Rose: paid no attention whatever to the Pope; and violently sat up on their hind-legs regarding the Supreme Arbitrator. France and Russia emitted caricatures and howls; and prepared to invade Belgium and Sweden, with the intention of descending on Germany from three sides.
Mrs. Crowe became conscious that she had lost rather than had gained by her connection with Jerry Sant. The English Catholics treated her as they are wont to treat converts after the first three months; and showed her the cold shoulder. The refutation of her latest calumny had made her look foolish—and something dirtier than foolish. She was mortified: she was angry with herself; and she naturally yearned to tear and mangle everybody else. She thought that the best thing which she could do would be to pose as a much deceived woman, to break that disastrous connection with the Liblabs, and to return (if possible) to the status quo ante. So she went and fell upon Jerry, vituperating him for the accented failure of his schemes—for leading an innocent lady astray with his nastiness, and his pigheaded stupidity, and all that. She frankly told him that he had gone too far. The precious pair “had words”; and finally separated. Jerry remained at his hotel, dumb and dangerous, brooding. As for the lady, respectable mediocrity allured her by the prospect which it offered of a not unfamiliar obscurity, where she might try to piece-together the shreds and tatters of her reputation. She had a little money left—and with economy—She would stay just a little longer. Who knew what might happen?
One by one, cardinals received summons to the secret chamber. Their brains were picked and their opinions heard. Nefski of the ashen pallor and the haunted eyes admitted that Poland might be happier as a constitutional monarchy and a
