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The Black Robe-Part26_WILKIE COLLINS (1824-1899)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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acknowledgments.

"And Mrs. Romayne?" pursued Father Benwell. "This is a sad trial



for her. She is in attendance on her mother, I suppose?"

"In constant attendance; I am quite alone now. To change the



subject, may I ask you to look at the reply which I have received

from Penrose? It is my excuse for troubling you with this visit."



Father Benwell read the letter with the closest attention. In

spite of his habitualself-control, his vigilant eyes brightened



as he handed it back.

Thus far, the priest's well-planned scheme, (like Mr. Bitrake's



clever inquiries) had failed. He had not even entrapped Mrs.

Eyrecourt into revealing the marriage engagement. Her



unconquerable small-talk had foiled him at every point. Even when

he had deliberately kept his seat after the other guests at the



tea-table had taken their departure, she rose with the most

imperturbable coolness, and left him. "I have a dinner and two



parties to-night, and this is just the time when I take my little

restorative nap. Forgive me--and do come again!" When he sent the



fatal announcement of the marriage to Rome, he had been obliged

to confess that he was indebted for the discovery to the



newspaper. He had accepted the humiliation; he had accepted the

defeat--but he was not beaten yet. "I counted on Romayne's



weakness; and Miss Eyrecourt counted on Romayne's weakness; and

Miss Eyrecourt has won. So let it be. My turn will come." In that



manner he had reconciled himself to his position. And now--he

knew it when he handed back the letter to Romayne--his turn _had_



come!

"You can hardly go to Paris to consult the book," he said, "in



the present state of Mrs. Eyrecourt's health?"

"Certainly not!"



"Perhaps you will send somebody to search the catalogue at the

British Museum?"



"I should have done that already, Father Benwell, but for the

very kind allusion in your note to your friend in the country.



Even if the book is in the Museum Library, I shall be obliged to

go to the Reading Room to get my information. It would be far



more convenient to me to have the volume at home to consult, if

you think your friend will trust me with it."



"I am certain he will trust you with it. My friend is Mr.

Winterfield, of Beaupark House, North Devon. Perhaps you may have



heard of him?"

"No; the name is quite new to me."



"Then come and see the man himself. He is now in London--and I am

entirely at your service."



In half an hour more, Romayne was presented to a well-bred,

amiable gentleman in the prime of life, smoking, and reading the



newspaper. The bowl of his long pipe rested on the floor, on one

side of him, and a handsome red and white spaniel reposed on the



other. Before his visitors had been two minutes in the room, he

understood the motive which had brought them to consult him, and



sent for a telegraphic form.

"My steward will find the book and forward it to your address by



passenger train this afternoon," he said. "I will tell him to put

my printed catalogue of the library into the parcel, in case I



have any other books which may be of use to you."

With those words, he dispatched the telegram to the office.



Romayne attempted to make his acknowledgments. Mr. Winterfield

would hear no acknowledgments.



"My dear sir," he said, with a smile that brightened his whole

face, "you are engaged in writing a great historical work; and I



am an obscure country gentleman, who is lucky enough to associate

himself with the production of a new book. How do you know that I



am not looking forward to a complimentary line in the preface? I

am the obliged person, not you. Pray consider me as a handy



little boy who runs on errands for the Muse of History. Do you

smoke?"



Not even tobacco would soothe Romayne's wasted and irritable

nerves. Father Benwell--"all things to all men"--cheerfully



accepted a cigar from the box on the table.

"Father Benwell possesses all the social virtues," Mr.



Winterfield ran on. "He shall have his coffee, and the largest




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