'Swear not at all. Oaths in your mouth are apt to be but vain repet.i.tions. What have you not sworn within the last five years? How much more would you have sworn if I had sanctioned it?' The Englishman was still. 'My son, I ask myself if you are an unconscious hypocrite.

Men say that hypocrisy is, in a peculiar sense, your national vice.

When I consider you, I wonder. I believe--I will give you so much credit--I believe that you mean what you say; although I know, if you don't, that you mean something altogether different.'

'I swear at least this much, that within a week of my reaching England fifty thousand pounds shall be paid to your credit.'

'Fifty thousand pounds? It is a large sum of money. I know that your family has riches, and that you are a great man in your own land. Your country should be proud of you.'

'My father!'

'My son, you are so poor a creature that I know not how to speak to you. You are like a sponge, quickly sodden, easily squeezed. These five years I have been hoping against hope that I might pluck you as a brand from the burning; at the least little flame, back you fall again.'

'I am not what I was when I came.'

'No. Your physical health is better.'

'My father!'

'My son, is it not true? What guarantee have I that you will endow Holy Church, and this her house, with the sum of which you speak?'

'I will give you my written bond.'

'Will that be a legal instrument in England?'

'Certainly. But do you think that in such a matter my word may not be trusted?--that it will be necessary for you to invoke the law? If so, I must indeed stand low in your eyes.'

'I have heard you vow, with tears of blood, using all the protestations of which you were master, that you would never forsake the shelter of this holy house. Do I understand that you propose that your withdrawal shall be final.'

'I cannot say.'

'Nor I. I think it possible that you may return, when the devil has fast hold of you again.' The Englishman put his hands up to his face and shuddered. 'He always has his finger-tips upon your shoulder; you only have to turn your head to see his face. I admit that in a sense--your sense--you are free. Had you vowed a hundred vows, in your sense you would still be free. It was because I knew it I desired to save your soul from blasphemy. If you will suffer me I will make you a suggestion, to which I beg that you will give serious consideration.'

'I am in your hands, my father.'

'Words, my son; words--words! I desire that you shall have as travelling companion a discreet priest, whom I will recommend, and who will attend to your spiritual welfare.' The other's silence sufficiently hinted that the proposition did not commend itself to him. 'In quitting these precincts your offence is grave. I presume you do not wish to make it greater.'

'I will give you the fifty thousand pounds.'

'Is that so? You are indeed good. If you English crucified Christ afresh, I imagine you would consider the Holy Father sufficiently appeased by a pecuniary compensation. In your country you are the Marquis of Twickenham?'

'I am.'

'You have been guilty of offences so rank, and so notorious, that you fled your father's anger, and hid your face from your kith and kin.'

'I have suffered for my sin.'

'You have suffered? Wait for the wrath to come.

'My father!'

'Your family is Protestant?'

'Alas!'

'You are ent.i.tled, from your spiritual elevation, to pity heretics, especially those of your own flesh and blood. Here are pens, ink, and paper. Sit down and write the bond of which you have spoken.' His lordship did as he was told. 'So far, so good. But do not imagine that this is a quittance for the debt which you owe Holy Church. As you are entrusted with this world's goods, so the Church demands from you her t.i.thes. On your property you will provide a sufficient religious establishment. You will build churches and endow them. And in all your affairs you will be advised by Holy Church. As you are seated, write that also.'

'My father!'

'Obey. Or I will summon the fraternity, and in their presence I will call down on you the curse of the Church and of the Holy Ghost, and will chase you from the fold out into the darkness of the night, that night which for you shall be unending. Do not think that because you leave us, we leave you. The arm of the Church is long, and, as you have learned from experience, the fires of h.e.l.l burn from afar. Write as I have said.' His lordship wrote. 'Do not imagine that this bond which you have given me is but an empty form, any more than is your promise to pay the fifty thousand pounds. You are of the Church, if you are not in it, a leaf, if not a branch; and she will demand from you exact and prompt payment of every jot and t.i.ttle which is her due.

Above all, do not neglect your religious duties, not for a single hour of a single day.'

'But, my father, I cannot be a monk out in the world.'

'You will neglect them at your proper peril. Do not suppose I shall not know. You will be in error.'

'Do you intend to have me spied upon?'

'We intend to have you kept in sight. You had better do as I advised, and have a discreet priest as your companion.'

'But I am ent.i.tled to my freedom!'

'And is the presence of such an one incompatible with your ideas of freedom? My son, you'll be on your knees calling for me within a week.'

'At least--at least wait until I call.'

'In that case, take care lest you call in vain. Remember five years ago. If you become again what you were then, it will be for ever, and ever, and ever! You'll be but a voice perpetually calling out of h.e.l.l.'

'My father, I--I am stronger than I was then.'

'We will hope it. Though I seem to hear the devil laughing. Now, my son, go!'

'Bless me, my father, before I go.'

'Yes, I will bless you. But be careful, O my son, lest, as Aaron's rod was transformed into a serpent, by your own action my blessing becomes a curse.'

His lordship knelt. The Prior blessed him. Then his lordship went to bed, though the straw pallet on which he cast himself could hardly, on that occasion at any rate, be described as a bed of rest.

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE ONE MAN--AND THE OTHER

There were peas in his lordship's shoes: unboiled.

For some time he had been arriving at the conclusion that he had no so whole-hearted a leaning towards the religious life as he had once imagined. The sc.r.a.p of paper was the top brick; it crowned the edifice of his discontent. More, it supplied him with the necessary courage to confess his backsliding to his superior; that keen-sighted religious being perhaps better prepared for the confession than the penitent imagined. It is even possible that some expectation of the kind had always been part and parcel of the Prior's plans. The Marquis of Twickenham, who is at once a millionaire and a backboneless scamp, is not the kind of bird which often drops into the monastic draw-net, whether at home or abroad. When caught, he may be even more useful at the end of a piece of string than in a cell.

Which explains the ease with which his lordship regained what he fondly hoped would be his liberty. The truth being that persons of his type are never free; owing to their habit of mistaking licence for liberty placing them in continual bondage to some one or something.