Father Benwell went on.
"Bear in mind what I have just said," he resumed; "and you will
understand why I feel it my duty to press the question which you
have not answered yet. You have found in the Catholic Faith the
peace of mind which you have failed to
obtain by other means. If
I had been
dealing with an ordinary man, I should have expected
from the change no happier result than this. But I ask You, has
that
blessed influence taken no deeper and nobler hold on your
heart? Can you truly say to me, 'I am content with what I have
gained; I wish for no more'?"
"I cannot truly say it," Romayne answered.
The time had now come for
speakingplainly. Father Benwell no
longer
advanced to his end under cover of a cloud of words.
"A little while since," he said, "you spoke of Penrose as of a
man whose lot in life you longed to share. The
career which has
associated him with an Indian
mission is, as I told you, only
adapted to a man of his special
character and special gifts. But
the
career which has carried him into the
sacred ranks of the
priesthood is open to every man who feels the sense of divine
vocation, which has made Penrose one of Us."
"No, Father Benwell! Not open to every man."
"I say, Yes!"
"It is not open to Me!"
"I say it is open to You. And more--I
enjoin, I command, you to
dismiss from your mind all merely human
obstacles and
discouragements. They are beneath the notice of a man who feels
himself called to the
priesthood. Give me your hand, Romayne!
Does your
conscience tell you that you are that man?"
Romayne started to his feet,
shaken to the soul by the solemnity
of the
appeal.
"I can't
dismiss the
obstacles that surround me!" he cried,
passionately. "To a man in my position, your advice is absolutely
useless. The ties that bind me are beyond the limit of a
priest's
sympathies."
"Nothing is beyond the limit of a
priest's sympathies."
"Father Benwell, I am married!"
Father Benwell folded his arms over his breast--looked with
immovable
resolution straight in Romayne's face--and struck the
blow which he had been meditating for months past.
"Rouse your courage," he said
sternly. "You are no more married
than I am."
CHAPTER IV.
ON THE ROAD TO ROME.
THERE was not a sound in the room. Romayne stood, looking at the
priest"Did you hear what I said?" Father Benwell asked.
"Yes."
"Do you understand that I really mean what I said?"
He made no reply--he waited, like a man expecting to hear more.
Father Benwell was alive to the vast importance, at such a
moment, of not shrinking from the
responsibility which he had
assumed. "I see how I
distress you," he said; "but, for your
sake, I am bound to speak out. Romayne! the woman whom you have
married is the wife of another man. Don't ask me how I know it--I
do know it. You shall have
positive proof, as soon as you have
recovered. Come! rest a little in the easy-chair."
He took Romayne's arm, and led him to the chair, and made him
drink some wine. They waited a while. Romayne lifted his head,
with a heavy sigh.
"The woman whom I have married is the wife of another man." He
slowly
repeated the words to himself--and then looked at Father
Benwell.
"Who is the man?" he asked.
"I introduced you to him, when I was as
ignorant of the
circumstances as you are," the
priest answered. "The man is Mr.
Bernard Winterfield."
Romayne half raised himself from the chair. A
momentary anger
glittered in his eyes, and faded out again, extinguished by the
nobler emotions of grief and shame. He remembered Winterfield's
introduction to Stella.
"Her husband!" he said,
speaking again to himself. "And she let
me introduce him to her. And she received him like a stranger."
He paused, and thought of it. "The proofs, if you please, sir,"
he resumed, with sudden
humility. "I don't want to hear any
particulars. It will be enough for me if I know beyond all doubt
that I have been deceived and disgraced."