Part 56 (1/2)

”Can't? Well, what are you going to do about it?”

”I am going to drink about it.”

He drained his gla.s.s, laid his pipe aside, and rose, running his hand through his hair until it stood on end.

”Don't be an idiot. You gave all that up long ago.”

Nevins filled his gla.s.s and looked up at the skylight.

”'Indeed, indeed, repentance oft before I swore--but was I sober when I swore?'”

he retorted, with a laugh. Then he lowered his voice. ”Between you and me,” he said, ”drinking is not what it is cracked up to be. To save my life, I can't detect a whiff of that old delicious savor of vice. I detect a twinge of gout instead. Coming conditions cast their claws before.”

Father Algarcife glanced about the room impatiently.

”Come,” he said, ”I am hurried. Let's see the portrait.”

Nevins tossed a silk scarf from a canvas in the corner, and the other regarded the work for a moment in silence.

”Yes, I like it,” he said. ”I like it very much indeed.”

As he turned away, he stumbled against the easel containing the canvas on which Nevins had been working, and he started and drew back, his face paling. It was the portrait of Mariana, her profile drawn against the purple curtain.

Nevins, following him with his eyes, spoke suddenly.

”That also is good, is it not?” he asked.

Father Algarcife stared above the portrait to the row of death-masks on their ebony frame.

”Yes, that also is good,” he repeated.

As he descended the stairs he met Ardly coming up, his eyes bright and his handsome face aglow.

They stopped and shook hands.

”Politics agree with you, I see,” said Father Algarcife. ”I am glad of it.”

Ardly nodded animatedly.

”Yes, yes,” he returned, ”there is nothing like it, and we are going to give you the best government the city has ever seen. There is no doubt of that.”

”All right,” and he pa.s.sed on. When he reached the street he turned westward. It was the brilliant hour of a changeable afternoon, the suns.h.i.+ne slanting across the sidewalks in sharp lights and shadows, and the river wind entering the lungs like the incision of a blade. The people he met wore their collars close about their throats, their faces blue from the cold.

Then, even as he watched the crisp suns.h.i.+ne, a cloud crossed the sky, its shade descending like a gray blotter upon the s.h.i.+vering city.

At first he walked rapidly, but a sudden fatigue seized him, and his pace slackened. He remembered that he had not rested for six hours. In a moment he saw the cross on the steeple of his church emblazoned in fire upon the heavens where the sun had burst forth, and, crossing the street, he pushed the swinging doors and entered softly. It was deserted. With a sensation of relief he pa.s.sed along the right side aisle, and seated himself within the shadow of the little chapel.

Atmospheric waves of green and gold sifted through the windows and suffused the chancel. Beyond the dusk of the nave he saw the gilded vessels upon the altar and the high crucifix above. A crimson flame was burning in the sanctuary lamp, a symbol of the presence of the sacrament reserved. Above the chancel the figure of the Christ in red and purple was illuminated by the light of the world without.

Suddenly the sound of the organ broke the stillness, and he remembered that it was the day of the choir practising. The disturbance irritated him. During all the years of his priesthood he had not lost his old aversion to music. Now he felt that he loathed it--as he loathed the lie that he was living.