The Black Robe

Chapter 5

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THE group before the picture which had been the subject of dispute

was broken up. In one part of the gallery, Lady Loring and Stella were

whispering together on a sofa. In another part, Lord Loring was speaking

privately to Romayne.

Romayne answered with evident reluctance. "I don't know why," he

said--"but the dread of hearing it again has oppressed me all this

morning. To tell you the truth, I came here in the hope that the change

might relieve me."

"A very striking face; full of expression and character. Leonardo would

have painted a noble portrait of her. But there is something in her

manner--" He stopped, unwilling or unable to finish the sentence.

"No; something I don't quite understand. One doesn't expect to find any

embarrassment in the manner of a well-bred woman. And yet she seemed to

be embarrassed when she spoke to me. Perhaps I produced an unfortunate

impression on her."

Lord Loring looked unfeignedly surprised. "My dear fellow, do you really

think you are the sort of man who impresses a woman unfavorably at first

sight? For once in your life, indulge in the amiable weakness of

doing yourself justice--and find a better reason for Miss Eyrecourt's

embarrassment."

For the first time since he and his friend had been talking together,

Romayne turned toward Stella. He innocently caught her in the act of

looking at him. A younger woman, or a woman of weaker character, would

have looked away again. Stella's noble head drooped; her eyes sank

slowly, until they rested on her long white hands crossed upon her lap.

For a moment more Romayne looked at her with steady attention.

"She is my wife's oldest and dearest friend. I think, Romayne, you would

feel interested in Stella, if you saw more of her."

As he moved down the gallery, the two priests met him. Father

Benwell saw his opportunity of helping Penrose to produce a favorable

impression.

"Forgive the curiosity of an old student, Mr. Romayne," he said in

his pleasant, cheerful way. "Lord Loring tells me you have sent to the

country for your books. Do you find a London hotel favorable to study?"

"It is a very quiet hotel," Romayne answered, "and the people know my

ways." He turned to Arthur. "I have my own set of rooms, Mr. Penrose,"

he continued--"with a room at your disposal. I used to enjoy

the solitude of my house in the country. My tastes have lately

changed--there are times now when I want to see the life in the streets,

as a relief. Though we are in a hotel, I can promise that you will not

be troubled by interruptions, when you kindly lend me the use of your

pen."

Father Benwell answered before Penrose could speak. "You may perhaps

find my young friend's memory of some use to you, Mr. Romayne, as well

as his pen. Penrose has studied in the Vatican Library. If your

reading leads you that way, he knows more than most men of the rare old

manuscripts which treat of the early history of Christianity."

"I should like very much, Mr. Penrose, to speak to you about those

manuscripts," Romayne said. "Copies of some of them may perhaps be

in the British Museum. Is it asking too much to inquire if you are

disengaged this morning?"

"If you will kindly call at my hotel in an hour's time, I shall have

looked over my notes, and shall be ready for you with a list of titles

and dates. There is the address."

Father Benwell was a man possessed of extraordinary power of

foresight--but he was not infallible. Seeing that Romayne was on the

point of leaving the house, and feeling that he had paved the way

successfully for Romayne's amanuensis, he too readily assumed that there

was nothing further to be gained by remaining in the gallery. Moreover,

the interval before Penrose called at the hotel might be usefully filled

up by some wise words of advice, relating to the religious uses to which

he might turn his intercourse with his employer. Making one of his

ready and plausible excuses, he accordingly returned with Penrose to the

library--and so committed (as he himself discovered at a later time) one

of the few mistakes in the long record of his life.

In the meanwhile, Romayne was not permitted to bring his visit to a

conclusion without hospitable remonstrance on the part of Lady Loring.

She felt for Stella, with a woman's enthusiastic devotion to the

interests of true love; and she had firmly resolved that a matter so

trifling as the cultivation of Romayne's mind should not be allowed to

stand in the way of the far more important enterprise of opening his

heart to the influence of the s*x.

"Well, then, come and dine with us--no party; only ourselves. Tomorrow,

and next day, we are disengaged. Which day shall it be?"

Romayne still resisted. "You are very kind. In my state of health, I am

unwilling to make engagements which I may not be able to keep."

Lady Loring was just as resolute on her side. She appealed to Stella.

"Mr. Romayne persists, my dear, in putting me off with excuses. Try if

you can persuade him."

The tone in which she replied struck Romayne. He looked at her. Her

eyes, gravely meeting his eyes, held him with a strange fascination. She

was not herself conscious how openly all that was noble and true in

her nature, all that was most deeply and sensitively felt in her

aspirations, spoke at that moment in her look. Romayne's face changed:

he turned pale under the new emotion that she had roused in him. Lady

Loring observed him attentively.

Stella remained impenetrable to persuasion. "I have only been introduced

to Mr. Romayne half an hour since," she said. "I am not vain enough to

suppose that I can produce a favorable impression on any one in so short

a time."

She had expressed, in other words, Romayne's own idea of himself, in

speaking of her to Lord Loring. He was struck by the coincidence.

"Perhaps we have begun, Miss Eyrecourt, by misinterpreting one another,"

he said. "We may arrive at a better understanding when I have the honor

of meeting you again."

He hesitated and looked at Lady Loring. She was not the woman to let

a fair opportunity escape her. "We will say to-morrow evening," she

resumed, "at seven o'clock."

Thus far, the conspiracy to marry him promised even more hopefully than

the conspiracy to convert him. And Father Benwell, carefully instructing

Penrose in the next room, was not aware of it!

But the hours, in their progress, mark the march of events as surely as

they mark the march of time. The day passed, the evening came--and, with

its coming, the prospects of the conversion brightened in their turn.

"... I had arranged with Penrose that he should call at my lodgings,

and tell me how he had prospered at the first performance of his duties

as secretary to Romayne.

"The moment he entered the room the signs of disturbance in his face

told me that something serious had happened. I asked directly if there

had been any disagreement between Romayne and himself.

"He repeated the word with every appearance of surprise. 'Disagreement?'

he said. 'No words can tell how sincerely I feel for Mr. Romayne. I

cannot express to you, Father, how eager I am to be of service to him!'

"'I have innocently surprised a secret,' he said, 'on which I had no

right to intrude. All that I can honorably tell you, shall be told. Add

one more to your many kindnesses--don't command me to speak, when it is

my duty toward a sorely-tried man to be silent, even to you.'

"It is needless to say that I abstained from directly answering this

strange appeal. 'Let me hear what you can tell,' I replied, 'and then we

shall see.'

"Upon this, he spoke. I need hardly recall to your memory how careful

we were, in first planning the attempt to recover the Vange property, to

assure ourselves of the promise of success which the peculiar character

of the present owner held out to us. In reporting what Penrose said, I

communicate a discovery, which I venture to think will be as welcome to

you, as it was to me.

"He began by reminding me of what I had myself told him in speaking of

Romayne. 'You mentioned having heard from Lord Loring of a great sorrow

or remorse from which he was suffering,' Penrose said. 'I know what he

suffers and why he suffers, and with what noble resignation he submits

to his affliction. We were sitting together at the table, looking over

his notes and memoranda, when he suddenly dropped the manuscript from

which he was reading to me. A ghastly paleness overspread his face. He

started up, and put both his hands to his ears as if he heard something

dreadful, and was trying to deafen himself to it. I ran to the door

to call for help. He stopped me; he spoke in faint, gasping tones,

forbidding me to call any one in to witness what he suffered. It was not

the first time, he said; it would soon be over. If I had not courage to

remain with him I could go, and return when he was himself again. I so

pitied him that I found the courage to remain. When it was over he took

me by the hand, and thanked me. I had stayed by him like a friend, he

said, and like a friend he would treat me. Sooner or later (those were

his exact words) I must be taken into his confidence--and it should be

now. He told me his melancholy story. I implore you, Father, don't ask

me to repeat it! Be content if I tell you the effect of it on myself.

The one hope, the one consolation for him, is in our holy religion. With

all my heart I devote myself to his conversion--and, in my inmost soul,

I feel the conviction that I shall succeed!'

"To this effect, and in this tone, Penrose spoke. I abstained from

pressing him to reveal Romayne's confession. The confession is of no

consequence to us. You know how the moral force of Arthur's earnestness

and enthusiasm fortifies his otherwise weak character. I, too, believe

he will succeed.

"To turn for a moment to another subject. You are already informed that

there is a woman in our way. I have my own idea of the right method of

dealing with this obstacle when it shows itself more plainly. For the

present, I need only assure you that neither this woman nor any woman

shall succeed in her designs on Romayne, if I can prevent it."

Having completed his report in these terms, Father Benwell reverted to

the consideration of his proposed inquiries into the past history of

Stella's life.

Reflection convinced him that it would be unwise to attempt, no matter

how guardedly, to obtain the necessary information from Lord Loring

or his wife. If he assumed, at his age, to take a strong interest in

a Protestant young lady, who had notoriously avoided him, they

would certainly feel surprise--and surprise might, in due course of

development, turn to suspicion.

There was but one other person under Lord Loring's roof to whom he could

address himself--and that person was the housekeeper. As an old servant,

possessing Lady Loring's confidence, she might prove a source of

information on the subject of Lady Loring's fair friend; and, as a

good Catholic, she would feel flattered by the notice of the spiritual

director of the household.

In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.