Part 22 (1/2)
They proceeded quite as far as a hundred yards before Courtlandt volunteered: ”That must be interesting.”
”She is a good Catholic.”
”Ah, yes; I recollect now.”
”And you?”
”Oh, I haven't any religion such as requires my presence in churches.
Don't misunderstand me! As a boy I was bred in the Episcopal Church; but I have traveled so much that I have drifted out of the circle. I find that when I am out in the open, in the heart of some great waste, such as a desert, a sea, the top of a mountain, I can see the greatness of the Omnipotent far more clearly and humbly than within the walls of a cathedral.”
”But G.o.d imposes obligations upon mankind. We have ceased to look upon the hermit as a holy man, but rather as one devoid of courage. It is not the stone and the stained windows; it is the text of our daily work, that the physical being of the Church represents.”
”I have not avoided any of my obligations.” Courtlandt s.h.i.+fted his stick behind his back. ”I was speaking of the church and the open field, as they impressed me.”
”You believe in the tenets of Christianity?”
”Surely! A man must pin his faith and hope to something more stable than humanity.”
”I should like to convert you to my way of thinking,” simply.
”Nothing is impossible. Who knows?”
The padre, as they continued onward, offered many openings, but the young man at his side refused to be drawn into any confidence. So the padre gave up, for the futility of his efforts became irksome. His own lips were sealed, so he could not ask point-blank the question that clamored at the tip of his tongue.
”So you are Miss Harrigan's confessor?”
”Does it strike you strangely?”
”Merely the coincidence.”
”If I were not her confessor I should take the liberty of asking you some questions.”
”It is quite possible that I should decline to answer them.”
The padre shrugged. ”It is patent to me that you will go about this affair in your own way. I wish you well.”
”Thank you. As Miss Harrigan's confessor you doubtless know everything but the truth.”
The padre laughed this time. The shops were closed. The open restaurants by the water-front held but few idlers. The padre admired the young man's independence. Most men would have hesitated not a second to pour the tale into his ears in hope of material a.s.sistance. The padre's admiration was equally proportioned with respect.
”I leave you here,” he said. ”You will see me frequently at the villa.”
”I certainly shall be there frequently. Good night.”
Courtlandt quickened his pace which soon brought him alongside the others.
They stopped in front of Abbott's pension, and he tried to persuade them to come up for a nightcap.
”Nothing to it, my boy,” said Harrigan. ”I need no nightcap on top of cognac forty-eight years old. For me that's a whole suit of pajamas.”
”You come, Ted.”