“And the amount of your debts, and a solatium for the sufferings—”
“You no more can solace me for my sufferings than you can revest me with ability to love my neighbour. The paltry amount of my debts concerns me and my creditors, and no one else. If I had been paid for my work I should have had no debts. When I am paid, I shall pay.”
“The five thousand pounds are yours, Mr. Rose.”
“But who is being robbed—”
“My dear child!” from the cardinal; and “George!” from the bishop.
“Robbed, Eminency. Don’t we all know the Catholic manner of robbing Peter to pay Paul? I repeat, who is being robbed that I may be paid? For I refuse to touch a farthing diverted from religious funds, or extracted from the innocuous devout.”
“You need not be alarmed on that score. Your history is well-known to many of us, as you know: latterly it has deeply concerned some of us, as perhaps you do not know. And one who used to call himself your friend, who—ha—promised never to let you sink—and let you sink—one who acquiesced when others wronged you, has now been moved to place ten thousand pounds at my disposal, in retribution, as a sort of sin-offering. I intend to use it for your rehabilitation, Mr. Rose—well then for your enfranchisement. Now that we understand each other, I shall open an account—have you a banking account though?—very good: I will open an account in your name at Coutts’s on my way back to Pimlico.”
“I must know the name of that penitent sinner: for quite a score have said as much as Your Eminency has quoted.”
“Edward Lancaster.”
“I might have guessed it. Well, he never will miss it—it’s just a drop of his ocean—I think I can do as much with it as he can.—Eminency, give him my love and say that I will take five thousand pounds: not more. The rest—oh, I know: I hand it to Your Eminency to give to converted clergymen who are harassed with wives, or to a sensible secular home for working boys, or to the Bishop of Caerleon for his dreadful diocese. Yes, divide it between them.”
The prelates stood up to go. George kneeled; and received benedictions.
“We shall see you at Archbishop’s House, Mr. Rose,” said the cardinal on the doorstep.
“If Your Eminency will telegraph to Agneda at once, you will be able to get my dimissorials to your archdiocese by tomorrow morning’s post. I will be at Archbishop’s House at half-past seven to confess to the Bishop of Caerleon. Your Eminency says Mass at eight, and will admit me to Holy Communion. At half-past eight the post will be in; and you will give me the four minor orders. Then—well, then, Eminency” (with a dear smile.) “You see I am not anxious for delay now. And, meanwhile, I will go and have a Turkish Bath, and buy a Roman collar, and think myself back into my new—no—my old life.”
“What does Yrmnts make of him?” the bishop inquired as the shabby brougham moved away.
“God knows! God only knows!” the cardinal responded. “I hope—Well we’ve done what we set out to do: haven’t we? What a most extraordinary, what a most incomprehensible creature to be sure! I don’t of course like his paganism, nor his flippancy, nor his slang, nor his readiness to dictate; and he is certainly sadly lacking in humility. He treated both of us with scant respect, you must admit, Frank. What was it he called us—ha—‘bishop-johnnies’—now you can’t defend that. And ‘owl-like hierarchs’ too!”
“Indeed no. I believe he hasn’t a scrap of reverence for any of us. After all I don’t exactly see that we can expect it. But it may come in time.”
“Do you really think so?” said the cardinal; and the four eyes in the carriage turned together, met, and struck the spark of a recondite and mutual smile.
“For my part,” the younger prelate continued, “I’m going to try to make amends for the immense wrong I did him by neglecting him. I can’t get over the feeling of distrust I have of him yet. But I confess I’m strangely drawn to him. It is such a treat to come across a man who’s not above treating a bishop as his equal.”
“Did it strike you that he was acting a part?”
“Indeed yes: I think he was acting a part nearly all the time. But I’m sure he wasn’t conscious of it. He’s as transparent and guileless as a child, whatever.”
“It seemed to me that he had all these pungent little speeches cut and dried. He said them like a lesson.”
“Well, poor fellow, he’s thought of nothing else for years; and I find, Yrmnts, that mental concentration, carried to anything like that extreme, gives a sort of power of prevision. I really believe that he had foreseen something, and was quite prepared for us.”
“Strange,” said the cardinal, whose supercilious oblique regard indicated dearth of interest in ideas that were out of his depth.
“He behaved very well about the money though?”
“Very well indeed. But, what a fool! Well, Frank, we can only pray that he may turn out well. I think he will. I really think he will. I hope and trust that we shall find the material of sanctity there. An unpleasant kind of sanctity perhaps. He will be difficult. That singular character, and the force which all those self-concentrated years have given him:—oh, he’ll never submit to management, depend upon it. Frank, I’ve seen just that type of face among academic anarchists. It will be our business to watch him, for he will go his own way; and his way will have to be our way. It won’t be the wrong way: but—oh yes, he will be very difficult. Well:—God only knows! Will you be on the lookout for a
