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The Black Robe-Part32_WILKIE COLLINS (1824-1899)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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failed to find your name in a London Directory, I am now about to

search our free library here for a county history of Devon, on



the chance that it may assist me. Let me add, for your own

satisfaction, that no eyes but mine will see these papers. For



security's sake, I shall seal them at once, and write your name

on the envelope.



_Added by Father Benwell._

How the boy contrived to possess himself of the sealed packet we



shall probably never discover. Anyhow, we know that he must have

escaped from the rectory, with the papers in his possession, and



that he did certainly get back to his mother and sister in

London.



With such complete information as I now have at my disposal, the

prospect is as clear again as we can desire. The separation of



Romayne from his wife, and the alteration of his will in favor of

the Church, seem to be now merely questions of time.



BOOK THE FOURTH.

CHAPTER I.



THE BREACH IS WIDENED.

A FORTNIGHT after Father Benwell's discovery, Stella followed her



husband one morning into his study. "Have you heard from Mr.

Penrose?" she inquired.



"Yes. He will be here to-morrow."

"To make a long visit?"



"I hope so. The longer the better."

She looked at him with a mingled expression of surprise and



reproach. "Why do you say that?" she asked. "Why do you want him

so much--when you have got Me?"



Thus far, he had been sitting at his desk, resting his head on

his hand, with his downcast eyes fixed on an open book. When she



put her last question to him he suddenly looked up. Through the

large window at his side the morning light fell on his face. The



haggard look of suffering, which Stella remembered on the day

when they met on the deck of the steamboat, was again



visible--not softened and chastened now by the touching

resignation of the bygone time, but intensified by the dogged and



despairing endurance of a man weary of himself and his life. Her

heart ached for him. She said, softly: "I don't mean to reproach



you."

"Are you jealous of Penrose?" he asked, with a bitter smile.



She desperately told him the truth. "I am afraid of Penrose," she

answered.



He eyed her with a strange expression of suspicious surprise.

"Why are you afraid of Penrose?"



It was no time to run the risk of irritating him. The torment of

the Voice had returned in the past night. The old gnawing remorse



of the fatal day of the duel had betrayed itself in the wild

words that had escaped him, when he sank into a broken slumber as



the morning dawned. Feeling the truest pity for him, she was

still resolute to assert herself against the coming interference



of Penrose. She tried her ground by a dangerous means--the means

of an indirect reply.



"I think you might have told me," she said, "that Mr. Penrose was

a Catholic priest."



He looked down again at his book. "How did you know Penrose was a

Catholic priest?"



"I had only to look at the direction on your letters to him."

"Well, and what is there to frighten you in his being a priest?



You told me at the Loring's ball that you took an interest in

Penrose because I liked him."



"I didn't know then, Lewis, that he had concealed his profession

from us. I can't help distrusting a man who does that."



He laughed--not very kindly. "You might as well say you distrust

a man who conceals that he is an author, by writing an anonymous



book. What Penrose did, he did under orders from his

superior--and, moreover, he frankly owned to me that he was a



priest. If you blame anybody, you had better blame me for

respecting his confidence."



She drew back from him, hurt by the tone in which he spoke to




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