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"This is perfectly stunning!" said Romayne, glancing round the little clearing and up at the trees waving overhead, through the interstices of whose leafy canopy showed patches of blue sky. "Gorgeous, by Jove! Words are futile things for really great moments." "Ripping," said Nora, smiling impudently into his face. "Awfully jolly! Top hole!
"You are not one of the authors who perform the process of correction mentally you revise and improve with the pen in your hand." Romayne looked at him in surprise. "I suspect, Mr. Winterfield, you have used your pen for other purposes than writing letters." "No, indeed; you pay me an undeserved compliment.
"I think I could say the same of you, Mr. Romayne." "What? Has Kathleen been talking about me?" "No, I have not seen Kathleen since I came, but there are others, you know." "Are there?" asked Jack. "I hadn't noticed. But I know all about you." It was a hasty introduction for Jane. Kathleen was easily a subject for a day's conversation. How long she discoursed upon Kathleen neither of them knew.
"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." Father Benwell unlocked his desk and placed two papers before Romayne. He did his duty with a grave indifference to all minor considerations. The time had not yet come for expressions of sympathy and regret.
He paused for a moment, and continued with the abruptness of a man struck by a new idea. "Yes! I have perhaps one small aim of my own the claim of being allowed to do my duty." "In what respect, dear Romayne?" "Surely you can guess? And, while I am speaking of this, I must own that I am a little surprised at your having said nothing to me on the subject.
Romayne was in perfect possession of his faculties." The baffled Jesuit turned furiously on the dying man. They looked at each other. For one awful moment Romayne's eyes brightened, Romayne's voice rallied its power, as if life was returning to him. Frowning darkly, the priest put his question. "What did you do it for?" Quietly and firmly the answer came: "Wife and child."
"Here she is." Out from the woods, striding into the clearing, came a young girl dressed in workmanlike garb in short skirt, leggings and jersey, with a soft black hat on the black tumbled locks. "Hello, Kathleen, dinner ready? I'm famished. Oh, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, glad to see you." "And my brother, Nora, Mr. Jack Romayne, just come from England, and hungry as a bear." "Just from England?
In a moment more, his voice softened again, and his kind blue eyes rested on her sadly and devotedly. "You may trust me to do more than you ask," he resumed. "You have made a mistake." "What mistake?" "When Mr. Romayne introduced us, you met me like a stranger and you left me no choice but to do as you did." "I wish you to be a stranger." Her sharpest replies made no change in his manner.
That morning she had received Penrose with the outward cordialities of welcome which are offered to an old and dear friend. And now, in the safe solitude of her room, she had fallen to a lower depth still. She was deliberately considering the safest means of acquainting herself with the confidential conversation which Romayne and Penrose would certainly hold when she left them together.
My poor heart is full of your brotherly kindness at this last moment when I may be saying good-by forever. And what is my one consolation? What helps me to bear my hard lot? The Faith that I hold! Remember that, Romayne. If there comes a time of sorrow in the future, remember that." Romayne was more than surprised, he was shocked. "Why must you leave me?" he asked.
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