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All day long he had scarcely a free moment, and the thing did not trouble him; but going into his bedroom late at night, he stopped on the threshold with a sudden shock of fear. What if he should see it in a dream? He recovered himself immediately and knelt down before the crucifix to pray. But he lay awake the whole night through. MONTANELLI'S anger did not make him neglectful of his promise.
On the following day the Churchman contained a notice that, at Monsignor Montanelli's publicly expressed desire, "A Son of the Church" would withdraw from the controversy. The last word remained with the Gadfly.
Never mind; I must rewrite the passage. Possibly it has got torn up, and I have kept you all this time for nothing." Montanelli's voice was rather low, but full and resonant, with a silvery purity of tone that gave to his speech a peculiar charm. It was the voice of a born orator, rich in possible modulations. When he spoke to Arthur its note was always that of a caress.
He was aroused from his preoccupation by Montanelli's voice behind him. "I did not expect you to-day," said the Padre, glancing at the title of the book. "I was just going to send and ask if you could come to me this evening." "Is it anything important? I have an engagement for this evening; but I will miss it if " "No; to-morrow will do. I want to see you because I am going away on Tuesday.
"Which do you think the more grievous misfortune for a Christian man; to hear a blasphemous word uttered, or to abandon a fellow-creature in extremity?" The Governor stood erect and stiff, with his official face, like a face of wood. He was deeply offended at Montanelli's treatment of him, and showed it by unusual ceremoniousness.
If I can be any help to you " For the first time the Gadfly looked straight and steadily into Montanelli's eyes; he was already recovering his self-command. "It would be no use," he said; "the thing is hopeless." A police official stepped forward out of the crowd. "Forgive my intruding, Your Eminence. I think the old man is not quite sound in his mind.
He had only been betrayed, like Bolla; He had never been tricked into betraying. Arthur rose, crossing himself from old habit. Approaching the table, he saw lying upon it a letter addressed to him, in Montanelli's handwriting. It was in pencil: "My Dear Boy: It is a great disappointment to me that I cannot see you on the day of your release; but I have been sent for to visit a dying man.
It was growing dark under the branches of the magnolia, and everything seemed dim and indistinct; but there was light enough to show the ghastly paleness of Montanelli's face. He was bending his head down, his right hand tightly clenched upon the edge of the bench. Arthur looked away with a sense of awe-struck wonder. It was as though he had stepped unwittingly on to holy ground.
He issued a little leaflet, in which he declared himself disarmed and converted by Montanelli's Christian meekness and ready to weep tears of reconciliation upon the neck of the first Sanfedist he met.
To this the anonymous defender again replied in the Churchman with an indignant denial. During the rest of Montanelli's stay the controversy raging between the two writers occupied more of the public attention than did even the famous preacher himself.
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