FATHER HEALY'S MISSION.
It was a warm night, and Father Healy was entertaining his friends in
the garden of the Presbytery. They sat together on the green lawn that
faces the town and the distant ocean. In a quiet and secluded place,
just within earshot of their conversation, Molly Healy sat on the lawn,
her back supported by a big pine tree. Near her a kitten was playing
with Mollie's collie dog. Father Healy had returned from Goldenvale, and
his cronies had gathered together to greet him, and hear from his lips
the account of his travels. Dr. Marsh asked, abruptly, almost
impatiently:
"Your mission was a failure, Father Healy?"
"Not entirely a failure," answered the priest. "I have brought back no
evidence to prove Denis Quirk innocent, but I am convinced that he is."
"You went away with a bias in his favour," suggested Clark.
"I did, and I come home still more biassed. I saw the priest who wrote
to me, a good man, but to my mind a poor student of human nature. He
received me kindly, and made me welcome. In the evening we talked of
Denis Quirk. He told me what a great man Denis had been before the
divorce case. There never was such a scandal in Goldenvale. I asked him
what sort of a woman was Mrs. Quirk. 'A splendid lady,' said he, 'clever
and talented. She was under instruction for the Church at the time, but,
naturally, she did not go on after divorcing her husband.' 'And how do
you reconcile a good man, going to his duties regularly, doing the
things Denis was accused of?' said I, quoting the old Latin proverb, 'No
one becomes suddenly altogether base.' 'That was where the scandal was,'
he answered me. 'Did he leave Goldenvale in disgrace?' I asked him. 'No,
he stayed on, and went and talked the Bishop over. The Bishop wrote to
me; I have his letter, and you may see it,' said this good priest."
"And what did the Bishop say?" asked Mr. Green, who had listened
attentively.
"He just told Father Richardson that Denis had seen him, and that there
was no valid reason to prevent him from the Sacraments."
"Did you meet Gerard there by any chance?" Dr. Marsh asked.
"I did, and never were two men more surprised than when we ran into each
other's arms round a corner. Gerard began to explain why he was there.
You see, he had a maiden aunt in the town," said Father Healy, smiling
all over his face, "and I had a cousin, which was true, for I discovered
him soon after my arrival there. The next day Gerard called on me, and
began to tell me about Denis Quirk. He was grieved over it, the poor
man! It was as bad as if his great grandmother had just died." At this
sally the company laughed.
"I told him," continued Father Healy, "it did not surprise me. It is a
wicked world, and it would not astonish me to hear that you yourself
were not quite perfect, said I."
"Not quite perfect," growled Dr. Marsh. "If ever there was a thief,
Gerard is the man."
"How do you prove that, Doctor?" asked Clark.
"From the company he keeps. To be hand in glove with Ebenezer Brown is
certain proof of a man's criminality."
"Merely presumptive evidence," replied Clark.
"Did you make further enquiries?" asked Mr. Green of Father Healy.
"I saw Mrs. Quirk--that used to be--and Mrs. Clarence that is now."
Dr. Marsh grunted, as was his way when anyone of whom he disapproved was
mentioned.
"And what did you think of her?" he asked.
"That divorce is a failure. If ever there was an unhappy woman, Mrs.
Clarence is that one. I sent up my card to her; presently she sent down
a message: 'Would Father Healy come up?' I went up three stories in a
lift to the prettiest little flat you can imagine. A nice, tidy maid
showed me into a charming little room, and there I found the lady. She
is an artist, and a clever one, they tell me; a pretty woman, and
agreeable; but unhappy, if I am any judge of happiness. I told her where
I had come from, and what do you think she asked me, 'Did I know Denis
Quirk?' 'Know him,' said I, 'of course I do; a fine man, and honest.'
Then she began to praise him, until at last I asked her: 'Did you know
him?' The lady was lost in confusion, but at last she answered: 'We were
married.' 'And what are you now?' I asked her."
"That was not like your customary caution," said Mr. Green.
"It was a mistake, but I was hot with indignation at her asking for
Denis. She shut up at once like the blade of a knife. But before I left
her she said to me, 'Will you give Denis Quirk a message?' 'Certainly I
will,' I answered her. 'Tell him I shall never forget his nobility,' she
said. What do you make of that?"
"It was not the message of a deeply-wronged woman," said Mr. Green.
"Precisely my opinion, but I wasted no more words on her, merely, 'Good
day, Madam.' As I was leaving the flat I met a man at the door, short,
stout, with bloodshot eyes, and baggy eyelids. 'What are you doing
here?' said he. 'Paying a morning call,' I answered. Thereupon he began
to call me unpleasant names, but I brushed him on one side, and went
home to wash my hands. I pity that poor lady, that has leaped from the
frying pan into the fire."
"And there your enquiries ended?" suggested Clark.
"I paid my respects to his Lordship, a kindly old man, with plenty of
common sense. 'I know nothing of Denis Quirk,' said he, because, as I
understood, his lips were closed by the seal of Confession. 'But,' he
asked me, 'what do you think of him?' 'I believe he is innocent,' I
answered. 'Speaking as a man who has carefully reviewed the case, I
believe you are right,' said he. What do you think of my mission, Mr.
Green?"
"With you, I consider it not altogether a failure," the clergyman
answered; then, as an afterthought, "If all Roman Catholics were like
you, we would all be Roman Catholics."
"There are many better than I, and a few worse. You must make allowances
for the weaknesses of human nature," the priest answered. "Come inside
now and play bridge."
"Did you see Desmond O'Connor on your way home?" asked Dr. Marsh.
Molly Healy, from her secluded place, strained her ears to catch her
brother's answer.
"Naturally I did," he said. "Desmond is a great man now, a partner in
the firm of Jackson and Company, and coining money, they tell me."
With this he intended to content them, but Dr. Marsh asked,
inquisitively:
"Did you bring him back to your Church?"
"I did not try. There are seasons to speak and seasons to say nothing.
It was not the time to argue with him."
"Why not the time? You could have put him on the broad of his back,"
said Dr. Marsh.
"To what purpose? I was not there to quarrel with him. The boy will come
round.... Let us get to bridge!"
Molly Healy, in the quiet of the garden, turned her eyes towards the
dark, limitless ocean. She could not see it, but its droning was in her
ears. To it she often turned in her moments of depression, when she
walked in those lower depths of melancholy that are occasional with
natures which mount to the heights of happiness and merriment. It seemed
to her that the ocean was responsive to her moods, that it answered back
her mirth, and whispered sadly when she was depressed. Looking towards
it now, she whispered:
"Desmond O'Connor will win through. Sure, I will start Bridget Malone
praying for him. They say she never failed to get what she asked for."
Therewith she followed the men inside, to find them playing their game
in the silence of strict bridge.