"Arthur, my dear boy," he began slowly; "I have something to tell you."

"He must have had bad news," flashed through Arthur's mind, as he looked anxiously at the haggard face. There was a long pause.

"How do you like the new Director?" Montanelli asked suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that, for a moment, Arthur was at a loss how to reply to it.

"I--I like him very much, I think--at least--no, I am not quite sure that I do. But it is difficult to say, after seeing a person once."

Montanelli sat beating his hand gently on the arm of his chair; a habit with him when anxious or perplexed.

"About this journey to Rome," he began again; "if you think there is any--well--if you wish it, Arthur, I will write and say I cannot go."

"Padre! But the Vatican------"

"The Vatican will find someone else. I can send apologies."

"But why? I can't understand."

Montanelli drew one hand across his forehead.

"I am anxious about you. Things keep coming into my head--and after all, there is no need for me to go------"

"But the bishopric----"

"Oh, Arthur! what shall it profit me if I gain a bishopric and lose----"

He broke off. Arthur had never seen him like this before, and was greatly troubled.

"I can't understand," he said. "Padre, if you could explain to me more--more definitely, what it is you think------"

"I think nothing; I am haunted with a horrible fear. Tell me, is there any special danger?"

"He has heard something," Arthur thought, remembering the whispers of a projected revolt. But the secret was not his to tell; and he merely answered: "What special danger should there be?"

"Don't question me--answer me!" Montanelli's voice was almost harsh in its eagerness. "Are you in danger? I don't want to know your secrets; only tell me that!"

"We are all in G.o.d's hands, Padre; anything may always happen. But I know of no reason why I should not be here alive and safe when you come back."

"When I come back----Listen, carino; I will leave it in your hands. You need give me no reason; only say to me, 'Stay,' and I will give up this journey. There will be no injury to anyone, and I shall feel you are safer if I have you beside me."

This kind of morbid fancifulness was so foreign to Montanelli's character that Arthur looked at him with grave anxiety.

"Padre, I am sure you are not well. Of course you must go to Rome, and try to have a thorough rest and get rid of your sleeplessness and headaches."

"Very well," Montanelli interrupted, as if tired of the subject; "I will start by the early coach to-morrow morning."

Arthur looked at him, wondering.

"You had something to tell me?" he said.

"No, no; nothing more--nothing of any consequence." There was a startled, almost terrified look in his face.

A few days after Montanelli's departure Arthur went to fetch a book from the seminary library, and met Father Cardi on the stairs.

"Ah, Mr. Burton!" exclaimed the Director; "the very person I wanted.

Please come in and help me out of a difficulty."

He opened the study door, and Arthur followed him into the room with a foolish, secret sense of resentment. It seemed hard to see this dear study, the Padre's own private sanctum, invaded by a stranger.

"I am a terrible book-worm," said the Director; "and my first act when I got here was to examine the library. It seems very interesting, but I do not understand the system by which it is catalogued."

"The catalogue is imperfect; many of the best books have been added to the collection lately."

"Can you spare half an hour to explain the arrangement to me?"

They went into the library, and Arthur carefully explained the catalogue. When he rose to take his hat, the Director interfered, laughing.

"No, no! I can't have you rushing off in that way. It is Sat.u.r.day, and quite time for you to leave off work till Monday morning. Stop and have supper with me, now I have kept you so late. I am quite alone, and shall be glad of company."

His manner was so bright and pleasant that Arthur felt at ease with him at once. After some desultory conversation, the Director inquired how long he had known Montanelli.

"For about seven years. He came back from China when I was twelve years old."

"Ah, yes! It was there that he gained his reputation as a missionary preacher. Have you been his pupil ever since?"

"He began teaching me a year later, about the time when I first confessed to him. Since I have been at the Sapienza he has still gone on helping me with anything I wanted to study that was not in the regular course. He has been very kind to me--you can hardly imagine how kind."

"I can well believe it; he is a man whom no one can fail to admire--a most n.o.ble and beautiful nature. I have met priests who were out in China with him; and they had no words high enough to praise his energy and courage under all hardships, and his unfailing devotion. You are fortunate to have had in your youth the help and guidance of such a man.

I understood from him that you have lost both parents."

"Yes; my father died when I was a child, and my mother a year ago."

"Have you brothers and sisters?"

"No; I have step-brothers; but they were business men when I was in the nursery."

"You must have had a lonely childhood; perhaps you value Canon Montanelli's kindness the more for that. By the way, have you chosen a confessor for the time of his absence?"

"I thought of going to one of the fathers of Santa Caterina, if they have not too many penitents."

"Will you confess to me?"

Arthur opened his eyes in wonder.

"Reverend Father, of course I--should be glad; only----"

"Only the Director of a theological seminary does not usually receive lay penitents? That is quite true. But I know Canon Montanelli takes a great interest in you, and I fancy he is a little anxious on your behalf--just as I should be if I were leaving a favourite pupil--and would like to know you were under the spiritual guidance of his colleague. And, to be quite frank with you, my son, I like you, and should be glad to give you any help I can."