ST. GABRIEL'S AND ST. INIGO'S
When Elinor returned from Cecil's bedside, Neville detected traces of
weeping in the flush of her cheek and the heaviness of her eyelids; but
her manner was gracious and marked by a gaiety which would have led one
who did not know her well to believe that she was as light-hearted as
the boy upstairs.
The candles on the supper-table shone on a strangely assorted group.
At the head of the board sat Mistress Brent. She was a demure little
lady, like a sleek white cat, full of domestic impulses, clinging to
her hearthstone and purring away life, content to rub against the feet
of those whom she counted her superiors. Her placid face beamed with
joy at the thought that her roof was found worthy to shelter the holy
Fathers from St. Inigo's. Yet, even as she rejoiced, she remembered
with some misgivings a conversation she had held with her brother Giles
before his setting out. "Mary," he had said, "it is rumored throughout
the province that thy house is headquarters for the Jesuits."
"Brother," she had answered, "my house is open to all who seek its
shelter, and shall I shut its doors to the priests of our Holy Church?"
"There is no arguing with women," her brother had said, with a testy
shrug of his shoulders. "Thou must needs turn every question of policy
into an affair of pious sentiment. Baltimore is as good a Catholic as
thou; but he is first of all an Englishman, and second, the ruler of
this province, wherein he hath promised fair play to men of all creeds;
and he will not have the reins of control wrenched from his hands by
the Jesuits, who hold themselves free of the common law, and answerable
to none but the tribunals of the Church."
"I know naught of questions of policy, Giles, as thou sayst; but while
I have a roof over my head, I will take for the motto of my house the
words of Scripture: 'Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.'"
When this motto is posted over the lintel there will never be a lack of
footmarks on the threshold. Many were the guests who came to try the
hospitality of St. Gabriel's Manor, and no visitors were more frequent
than the Jesuits, those brave men who for the sake of their faith had
crossed the sea, braved the perils of the wilderness, and planted a
mission near St. Mary's which they christened St. Inigo's.
On Mary Brent's right hand this evening sat one of these priests,
Father White, whose shrewd eyes shone with love to God and man, whose
heart yearned over the sinner as it bowed before the saint, and whose
life was at the service of the order of Ignatius Loyola. His features
were delicately cut, and the skin of a transparency which recalled the
alabaster columns at San Marco with the light shining through them. So
translucent to the soul behind seemed his fragile frame.
His mulatto servant, Francisco, stood at the back of his chair and
ministered to his wants with loving care.
Opposite Father White sat Christopher Neville, and one at least of the
company found him good to look upon, despite his square jaw and the
sabre-cut over the left eye. But for the particularity of his dress
he might have conveyed the impression of rude strength, but his black
velvet doublet fitted close and gave elegance to the heavily built
figure, and the shirt that broke out above the waist was adorned with
hand-wrought ruffles of an exquisite fineness.
Notwithstanding his plainness, his personality carried conviction.
The whole man made himself felt in the direct glance and the firm
hand-clasp. His words, too, had a stirring quality. People differed,
disputed, denounced; but they always listened. He often roused
antagonism, but seldom irritation. It is not those who oppose, but
those who fail to comprehend, who exasperate, and Neville had above all
the gift of comprehension. Yet with this intellectual perception was
combined a singular imperviousness to social atmosphere. So that in his
presence one had often the feeling of being a piece of china in a bull
pasture; but, in his wildest assault, the slightest droop of the lip,
the faintest appeal for sympathy reduced him to the gentleness of a
lamb.
"I would he were of our communion," thought Father White, studying him.
Near Neville sat a younger priest, the same who had watched Elinor
Calvert and her son from the shadow of the settle. His aspect was more
humble than that of his superior. He bowed lower as he passed the
crucifix rudely fastened to the chimney breast; his eyes were seldomer
raised, and he mumbled more scraps of Latin over his food; but all this
outward show of holiness failed to convince. It was like the smell of
musk which hints of less desirable scents, to be overpowered rather
than cleansed. His narrow gray eyes, cast down as they were, found
opportunity to scrutinize Elinor Calvert closely as she sat by the side
of Neville. Set a man, a priest, and a woman to watch each other--the
priest will catch the man; but the woman will catch the priest.
"Prithee try this wine, Father!" said Mary Brent to the venerable
priest on her right, holding toward him a cup of sparkling red-brown
wine. "'Tis made in our own press from the wild grapes that grow
hereabout, and Giles has christened it 'St. Gabriel's Blessing.'"
"Tempt me not!" said Father White, smiling but pushing the goblet away.
"I have not spent my life studying the _Spiritual Experiences_ of Saint
Ignatius without profiting by that holy man's injunction to regard the
mouth as the portal of the soul. The wine industry is important, but I
fear the effect of drinking on the natives. I have seen a chief take
blasphemous swigs of the consecrated wine at the sacrament, and at a
wedding half the tribe are drunken."
"Prithee, tell me more of these missions among the natives," Elinor
said to Father Mohl, bending the full splendor of her glance upon him;
"are they not fraught with deadly peril?"
"To the body, doubtless."
"'Twould be to the soul too if I were engaged in them, for I have such
hatred of hardship that I should spend my time bewailing the task I had
undertaken."
"Nay, daughter, for ere thou wert called to the trial thou wouldst
have faced the tests that do lead up to it as the _via dolorosa_ to
Calvary. Before we take the final vows we undergo three probations,
the first devoted to the mind, and the last a year of penance and
privation, that we may test our strength and learn to forego all that
hampers our spiritual progress; this is called _the school of the
heart_."
"Would there were such for a woman!"
"There is," said Neville from the other side; "but it is where she
rules instead of being ruled."
Elinor turned and looked at him with that lack of comprehension which
a woman knows how to assume when she understands everything. "He loves
her," thought the priest; "but she only loves his love."
Yet, knowing how many matches have been brought about by this state of
things, Father Mohl set himself to study Neville. He found him reserved
in general, with the suavity and self-command of a man of the world,
but outspoken under irritation.
"We must make him angry," thought the priest.
Seeing that Neville was a Protestant, he began relating the deeds
wrought by priests.
"Do you recall, Father White," he said, "how the natives brought their
chief to die in the mission house, and how Father Copley laid on him a
sacred bone, and how the sick man recovered, and went about praising
God and the fathers?"
"I do remember it well," Father White answered.
"Yes," continued the younger priest, "and I recall how Brother
Fisher found a native woman sick unto death. He instructed her in
the catechism, laid a cross on her breast, and behold, the third day
after, the woman rose entirely cured, and throwing a heavy bag over her
shoulder walked a distance of four leagues."
"Wonderful! wonderful!" murmured Mary Brent.
Neville was irritated, and thought to turn Father Mohl's tales to
ridicule. Whom the gods would destroy they first make droll.
"Did you ever hear of the miracle of the buttered whetstone?" he asked.
"Pray you tell it," said Father Mohl, with his ominous smile.
"Why, there was a friar once in London who did use to go often to the
house of an old woman; but ever when he came she hid all the food in
the house, having heard that friars and chickens never get enough."
If only Neville had looked at Elinor! but he steered as straight for
destruction as any rudderless bark in a storm on a rocky coast.
"This day," he went on, "the friar asked the goodwife had she any meat."
"'Devil a taste!' she said.
"'Well,' quoth the friar, 'have you a whetstone?'
"'Yes.'
"'Marry, I'll eat that.'
"So when she had brought the whetstone, he bade her fetch a frying-pan,
and when he had it, he set it on the fire and laid the whetstone in it.
"'Cock's body!' said the poor wife, 'you'll burn the pan!'
"'No! no!' quoth the friar; 'you shall see a miracle. It shall not
burn at all if you bring me some eggs.'
"So she brought the eggs and he dropped them in the pan.
"'Quick!' cried he, 'some butter and milk, or pan and egg will both
burn.'
"So she ran for the butter, and the friar took salt from the table and
threw it into the pan with butter and eggs and milk, and when all was
done he set the pan on the table, whetstone and all, and calling the
woman, he bade her tell her friends how she had witnessed a miracle,
and how a holy friar had made a good meal of a fried whetstone."
Father Mohl was now angered in his turn. Priests, having surrendered
the love of women, cling with double tenacity to their reverence.
"A merry tale, sir," said he, smoothly, "though better suited to the
ale-house than the lady's table, and more meet for the ears of scoffers
than of believers--Daughter," turning to Mary Brent, "you were amazed a
moment since at the wonders God hath wrought through the hands of His
chosen ones; but the judgments of the Lord are no less marvellous than
His mercies. There was a Calvinist settled at Kent Fort who made sport
over our holy observances."
Elinor Calvert colored and looked from under her eyelids at Neville.
But he went on plying his knife and fork. "If he were angry," she said
to herself, "he would not eat." But in this she mistook the nature of
man, judging it by her own.
"Yes," continued Father Mohl, "although, thanks to our prayers, the
wretch was rescued from drowning on the blessed day of Pentecost,
yet he showed thanks neither to God nor to us. Coming upon a company
offering their vows to the saints, he began impudently to jeer at these
religious men, and flung back ribald jests as he pushed his boat from
shore. The next morning his boat was found overturned in the Bay, and
he was never heard of more."
Neville looked up. "I am glad," he said, "to be able to supply a
happier ending to your story. The man, as it happens, was picked up by
an outward-bound ship, and is alive and well in England to-day."
"You knew the blasphemer, then?"
"I know the man of whom you speak--a fine fellow he is, and the foe of
all liars and hypocrites."
"Ah, I forgot," answered Father Mohl, smoothly, "you are not one of us."
"Not I," cried Neville, hotly; "I have cast in my lot with honest men."
"Say no more," said Mohl, satisfied, "lest thou too blaspheme and die!
_Misereatur tui, Omnipotens Deus!_" Having thus achieved the difficult
task of giving offence and granting forgiveness at the same time,
Father Mohl smiled and leaned back content.
Neville, on his side, was smiling too, thinking, poor fool, that the
victory lay with him; but looking round he saw Elinor raise her wine
cup to her lips, and looking closer he saw two tears rise in her eyes,
swell over the lids, and slip into the wine cup. Instantly he cursed
himself for a stupid brute. "Madam," he said, speaking low in Elinor's
ear, so that she alone could hear him, "thou art wasteful. Cleopatra
cast only one pearl into her wine-cup, and thou hast dropped two."
At the same moment a little white figure appeared in the doorway.
"May I come in for nutth?" asked a small voice.
"Cecil, for shame! Go back to bed this instant!" cried his mother; but
Neville drew a stool between him and Mary Brent, and silently motioned
to Cecil to come and occupy it.
"The child should be taught obedience through discipline," said Father
Mohl, looking with raised eyebrows toward Elinor. Cecil cowered against
the wall; but kept his eyes upon the coveted seat.
Neville crossed glances with the priest as men cross swords. "Or
confidence through love--
"Cecil," he continued, "beg thy mother to heed the petition of a guest
and let thee sit here by me for ten little minutes; I will bid thee eat
nuts,--so shalt thou practise Father Mohl's precepts of obedience."
Elinor smiled, Neville put out his hand, a strong, nervous hand, and
Cecil knew his cause was won.
"Lonely upstairs," he confided to Neville as he helped himself to nuts;
"makes me think of bears."
"Bears come not into houses."
"They say not, but the dark looks like a big black one, big enough to
swallow house and all. I do not like the dark, do you?"
"I did not when I was your age,--that's sure; but I have seen so many
worse things since then--"
"What?"
"Myself, for instance."
"That's silly."
"I think it is."
"Do not say silly things! Mother sends me to bed when I do."
"Is it not silly to fear the dark?"
"Mayhap, but I lie still all of a tremble, and then I seem to hear
a growl at the door, and then blood and flesh cannot stand it and I
scream for Mother. Three or two timeth I scream, and she comes running."
"Wouldst have the bear eat thy mother?"
"Nay, but sure 'nuff he would not. The Dark Bear eateth only little
boys."
"Oh, only little boys?"
"Ay, and he beginneth with their toes. Therefore I dare not kneel alone
to say my Hail Maries. The Dark Bear is not like God, for God careth
only for the heart. Thir Chrithtopher, why doth God care more for the
heart than for the head and legs?"
"Come, Cecil," said Elinor's warning voice, "thou art chattering as
loud as a tree-toad, and the ten minutes are more than passed. Run up
and hide those cold toes of thine under the counterpane!"
"If I go, wilt thou come up after supper to see me?"
"If I can be spared."
"Nay, no _ifs_--ay or no?"
Father Mohl smiled, and his smile was not good to see.
"Is this the flower of that confidence through love which you so much
admire, Sir Christopher?"
"No," answered Neville, "only the thorns on its stem; the blossoms are
not yet out."
"Ay or no?" repeated the child, oblivious of the discussion going on
around him.
"Oh, _ay_, and get thee gone!" cried his mother, thoroughly out of
patience with the child and herself and every one else.
Cecil ran round to her seat, hugged her in a stifling embrace, and then
pattered out of the room and up the stair, reassuring his timid little
heart by saying aloud as he went, "Bearth come not into houtheth!
Bearth come not into houtheth!"
Father Mohl sat with bent head, the enigmatic smile still playing round
his lips. At length, making the sign of the cross, he spoke aside to
Father White,--
"Have I leave to depart?"
"Go--and _pax tibi_!"
The company rose.
"Father, must thou be gone so soon?" Mary Brent asked, with hospitable
entreaty in her tones.
"I must, my daughter."
"This very night?"
"This very night."
"But the road to St. Mary's is dark and rough."
"Ay, but our feet are used to treading rough roads, and the moon will
show the blazed path as clearly as the sun itself."
"Farewell," said Father White. "Bear my greetings to my brothers at St.
Inigo's, and charge them that they cease not from their labors till I
come."
When Father Mohl passed Neville, Sir Christopher, moved by a sudden
compunction, held out his hand. "Hey for St. Mary's!" he exclaimed,
with a note of cordiality which if a trifle forced was at least civil.
Father Mohl ignored the outstretched hand, and with his own grasped the
crucifix at his breast. The sneer in his smile deepened, and one heard
the breath of scorn in his nostrils as he answered, with a meaning
glance at Elinor, "The latter part of the Marylanders' battle-cry were
perchance honester. Why not make it 'Wives for us all'?"
This passed the bounds of patience, and Neville cast overboard that
self-control which is the ballast of the soul. His outstretched hand
clenched itself into a fist.
"Sir!" he cried, very white about the lips, "if you wore a sword
instead of a scapular, we might easily settle our affairs. But since
your garb cries 'Sanctuary!' while your tongue doth cut and thrust
rapier-like, I'll e'en grant you the victory in the war of words.
Good-night, Sir Priest!"
For answer the father only folded his cloak about him and slipped out
of the door as quietly as though he were to re-enter in an hour.
Father White followed Mistress Brent to the hall, from the window of
which she strove to watch the retreating figure of Father Mohl. Neville
thus found himself alone with Elinor Calvert once more. He regarded her
with some anxiety, an anxiety justified by her bearing. The full round
chin was held an inch higher than its wont, the nostrils were dilated
and the eyelids half closed. A wise man would have been careful how
he offered a vent for her scorn; but to her lover it seemed that any
utterance would be better than this contemptuous silence.
"You are very angry--" ventured Neville, timidly.
"I have cause."
"--and ashamed of me."
"I have a right to be."
"Thank Heaven for that!"
"If you thank Heaven for the shame you cause you are like enough to
spend your life on your knees."
"I deprecate your scorn, madam. Yet I cannot take back the saying."
"Make it good, then!"
"Why, so I will. None feel shame save when they feel responsibility.
None feel responsibility for those who are neither kith nor kin save
where they--"
"Where they what?" flashed Elinor, turning her great angry eyes full
upon him.
"Save where they _love_, Mistress Calvert."
It was out now and Neville felt better. Elinor clenched her hands and
began an angry retort, and then all of a sudden broke down, and bending
her head over the back of the high oak chair, stood sobbing silently.
"I pray you be angry," pleaded Neville; "your wrath was hard to bear;
but 'twas naught to this."
"Oh, yes," answered Elinor between her sobs, "it is much you care
either for my anger or your grief, that the first proof you give of
your boasted love is to offend those whom I hold in affection and
reverence."
"'Twas he provoked me to it," answered Neville, sullenly, "with his
tales of my friend yonder, as honest a fellow as walks the earth. Is a
man to sit still and listen in silence to a pack of lies told about his
friend?"
"Say no more!" commanded Elinor. "I see a man is bound to bear all
things for the man to whom he has professed friendship--nothing for the
woman to whom he has professed love."
There was little logic in the argument, but it made its mark, for it
was addressed not to the mind but to the heart.
"Forgive me!" cried Neville--which was by far the best thing he could
have said.
If a woman has anything to forgive, the granting of pardon is a
necessity. If she has nothing to forgive, it is a luxury.
"I do," she murmured.
"Perhaps I was rougher of manner than need was."
"Yet 'twas but nature."
"Yes, but nature must be held in check."
Thus did these inconsistent beings oppose each other, each taking the
ground occupied a few minutes since by the other, and as hot for the
defence as they had been but now for the attack.
Neville seized Elinor's hand and kissed it passionately; then snatching
up his hat and cloak he exclaimed, "I will go after Mohl and make my
peace. Henceforth I swear what is dear to you shall be held at least
beyond reproach by me."
Elinor turned upon him such a glance that he scarcely dared look upon
her lest he be struck blind by the ecstasy of his own soul.
"At last!" he whispered as he passed out into the night.
Was it luck or fate that guided him? Who shall say? Luck is the pebble
on which the traveller trips and slides into quicksands or sands of
gold. Fate is the cliff against which he leans, or dashes himself to
death. Yet the pebble was once part of the cliff.