Part 31 (1/2)

MISS RUTH ATHESON TO WED BARON GRIFFIN Former Vicar-General Announces the Engagement of His Niece.

And, in the next column:

GRAND d.u.c.h.eSS CARLOTTA VICTIM OF WRECK Ruler of Ecknor Killed While on Her Way to Was.h.i.+ngton.

The story was skillfully written. No one had ”remembered,” or at least influence had been able to suppress unpleasant comment. But for the Bishop the mere juxtaposition of words was enough. In fancy he was back in the Seminary at Rome where he had first met Donald Murray. He saw the tall young Englishman at his desk, in front of him the portrait of a charming child.

”My niece,” he had said. ”She's a winsome little thing. I miss her sorely.”

He recalled, too, how someone had related the romance of Edgar Atheson, who had later become Grand Duke of Ecknor. Donald Murray had been strangely silent, he remembered. And--yes, it was just after that that the picture had disappeared from his desk. ”It is best,” had been Donald Murray's only comment.

The Bishop remembered now. And he knew why Monsignore had looked so surprised and reproachful when asked to give his ”full” confidence regarding Ruth Atheson. He understood, now, the meaning of the quiet, ”My Lord, there are some things I cannot discuss even with you.”

The Bishop bowed his head. ”Blind, blind,” he murmured, ”to have known so much, to have understood so little. Can you ever forgive me, my friend?”

CHAPTER XXI

THE BECKONING HAND

The autumn tints were full on the trees in Siha.s.set, but the air was still balmy enough to make the veranda of Father Murray's residence far more pleasant than indoors. The Pastor had returned. Pipe in hand, wearing his comfortable old ca.s.sock, and with a smile of ineffable peace on his face, he sat chatting with Saunders. The detective was evidently as pleased as Father Murray. He was leaning on ”Old Hickory”

and puffing at a cigar, with contentment in every line of his countenance.

”No job I ever did, Father, gave me more satisfaction than this one,”

he was saying. ”It was well worth while, even though I'll have to go out now and look for another one.”

”I do not believe, Mr. Saunders,” said Father Murray, ”that you will have to look for another position. In fact, I do not believe you would care for the same kind of position you had before--would you? I suppose I shall have to let you into a little secret. Mark is not going to stay all the time on his Irish estate. He has bought Killimaga and expects to be here for at least part of each year. I heard him say that he would try to influence you to become his intendent.”

”Well, that sounds pretty big, Father. But what does an intendent intend to do? It's a new one on me.”

”An intendent, my dear Mr. Saunders,” said Father Murray, ”is quite a personage on the other side. He is the man who runs the business affairs of a castle. He has charge of all the property. It is quite a good position; better, in fact, than that of a private detective.

Then, you see, his care of the servants and continued watchfulness over the property makes detective experience somewhat valuable. If the salary suits you, by all means I would advise you to accept the offer.

Besides, you know, Mr. Saunders, we have all gotten to like you very much. Apart from the fact that you are what Mrs. O'Leary would call 'a black Protestant,' I look upon you as one of my own.”

Saunders laughed. ”'A black Protestant' indeed! A lot of difference that makes with you. Why, you were 'a black Protestant' yourself, Father Murray, and in some ways I believe they only whitewashed you.”

”Now, Mr. Saunders,” reproved Father Murray, ”that is not very complimentary. There is no whitewash or veneer about my Catholicity.”

Despite the quizzical good-humor of the priest, there was a touch of seriousness in his voice, and Saunders hastened to explain.

”I didn't mean it quite that way, Father--only it strikes me that there is always a difference between what I call the 'simon-pure Catholic'

and the one that wasn't born a Catholic.”

”Well, Mr. Wise Man,” said the priest, ”perhaps you'll explain the difference.”

Saunders looked puzzled. ”It is a hard thing to explain, Father,” he said, and then hesitated; ”but I'll try to do it. In the first place--but this doesn't go for you--I think that the convert is more bigoted than the other kind. Now, honestly, don't you?”

Father Murray was amused. ”I am glad, Mr. Saunders,” he replied, ”that you leave me out of it. That is a _real_ compliment. Now, let us put it this way: If you had been the possessor of a million dollars from the time of your birth, it would be a matter of course with you, would it not?”