Part 39 (1/2)
”Phil, old man,” he said joyously, ”I believe I shall get Aunt Hannah's money after all. I always felt that it belonged to me.”
”Yes,” Ashe replied, so dully that Maurice turned to him quickly.
”Come, Phil, don't answer me like that. What are you moping about?”
There was no answer for a moment. Maurice, full of a fresh vigor born of the discovery of the afternoon, was yet rebuked by the silence of his friend.
”Of course, Phil,” he went on, ”you know I don't mean anything unkind.
I am no end obliged to you for taking me there this afternoon. When we go tomorrow”--
”I shall never go there again,” Ashe interrupted.
”Nonsense! Why not?”
”I went to-day to say good-by to my sinful folly. I shall not go again.”
A p.r.i.c.kling irritation began to make itself felt in the mind of Maurice. Even so slight a contact with the material realities of life as this interest in the will had put him completely out of tune with the monkish mood.
”Oh, stuff, Phil!” he exclaimed. ”For heaven's sake don't be so morbid.
You talk like a mediaeval anchorite.”
Ashe regarded him with a look of pain.
”It doesn't seem possible that this is you, Maurice.”
”It is I,” was the st.u.r.dy answer; ”and it is I in a sane frame of mind, old fellow. Come, it's no sin to be human; and as far as I can see that's the only fault you've committed.”
”Maurice,” Ashe retorted in a voice of intense feeling, ”have you thrown away everything that we believe? Aren't you with us any more?”
The p.r.o.noun which seemed to separate him from the company to which his friend belonged struck harshly on Maurice's ear. He felt himself being forced to define for Philip thoughts which he had thus far declined to define for himself.
”Phil,” he said determinedly, ”I insist that your way of looking at this whole matter is morbid; and I won't get into a discussion with you. I'm in too good spirits to let you upset them. To think I shall get my property after all.”
”But our lives are devoted to poverty.”
Maurice turned upon his friend, more exasperated than he had ever been with him before in the whole course of their lives.
”Look here, Phil,” he declared, ”if you want to be as mopish as a mildewed owl yourself, that is no reason why you should try to make me so too.”
There was no response to this, and in silence they went toward the Clergy House. Just as they reached the door, Maurice turned quickly and held out his hand to his friend. Ashe grasped it so hard that it ached; and Maurice went to his room with a sigh on his lips, while in his heart he said to himself, ”Poor Philip!”
Maurice went next day to see Mrs. Murphy, and for a number of days thereafter. Norah was sinking, and clung to him with pathetic tenderness. He learned not much more about the will. She was sure that it had been concealed under the false bottom of a little traveling-desk which he remembered, but beyond that she knew nothing. Maurice wrote to Mr. Burnham, the family lawyer, and the question now was, what had become of the desk? The effects of the testator had been sold at auction, but as they had been largely bought by relatives, Maurice believed that it would not be difficult to trace the missing doc.u.ment.
The interest and excitement of this new business so occupied the thoughts of Maurice that he almost ceased to think of religious matters. Perhaps there was more danger to his monastic profession in this indifference than in the most poignant doubt. He went through his duties at the Clergy House cheerfully because he thought little about them. They were part of the routine of life, and when the hour for recreation came he laid all that aside. He even on one occasion wrote a hurried note to Mr. Burnham in the hour for meditation, and it amazed him when he thought of it that his conscience did not protest. He reflected with a certain naive pleasure that it was possible after all to modify the strict rules of the house without suffering undue contrition afterward. The discovery might have seemed to Father Frontford a dangerous one.
XXIII
THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME Measure for Measure, iv. 4.