The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1881-06-24
CHAPTER VI.-THE sADDEsT OF ALL
WORDS

On the tenth morning, dating from
the dispatch of Father Benwell's last
letter to Rome, Penrose was writing in
inc study at Ten Acres Lodge-while
komaync sat at the other end of the
room looking listlessly at blank sheet
OF paper, with the pen lying idly beside
1t. On sudden he rose, and snatching
, up paper and pen threw them irritably
into the fire.
"Don't trouble yourself to write any
longer" he said TO Penrose. "My
dream is over. Throw my manuscripts
into the waste-paper basket, and never
speak to me of literary work again.
"Every man devoted TO literature has
these fits of dependency" Peurosc
added. "Don't think of your work.
send for your horse, and trust to fresh
air and exercise to relieve your mind. p
Romayne barely listened. He turned
round at the fireplace and studied the
reflection of his face in the glass.
81 look worse and WORSE" he said,
thoughtfully, 10 himself.
1t was true. His flesh had fallen
away; his face had withcred and whit
ened; he stopped like an old man.
The change for the worst had been
steadily proceeding from the time when
he left Vange Abbey.
"Ics useless to conceal it from mel"
he burst out, turning toward Penrose.
81 am in some way answe werable-though
you all deny it-for the French boys
death, Why not2 His voice is still in
my ears-and the stain of his brothers
blood is on me. | am under spell |!
Do you believe in the witches-the
merciless old woman who made wax i'm
ages and stuck pins i'm their mock like
nesses, to register the slow wasting
away of their victims day after day?
People disbelieve it in these times; but
it has never been disproved." He stop
ped, looked at Penrose, and suddenly
changed his tone. "Arthur! what is
the matter with you? Have you had a
bad night? Has anything happened?"
For the first time in Romayne's ex-
perience of him Penrose answered
evasively:
Is there nothing to make me anx-
ious," he said, "when 1 hear you talk
as you are talking now? The poor
French boy died of fever. Must
remind you again that he owed the hap.
piest days of his life to you and your
good wife,"
Romayne still looked at him without
attending to what he said.
"Surely you don't think am de-
ceiving you?" Penrose demonstrated.
"No; L am thinking of something
else. l was wondering whether really
know You as well as thought did.
Am mistaken in supposing you are
not an ambitious man?"
"My only ambition is TO lead worthy
life, and to be useful to my fellow
creatures as can. Does that satisfy
youw
iomaync hesitatcd.
"What seems strange" began.
"What seems strange~
al don't say ii seems strange that
you should be priest" Romayne ex-
planned. 81 am only surprised that o
man of your simple way of thinking
should have attached himself to the
Order of the Jesuits.
al can quite understand that" said
Penrosc. "But you should re member
that circumstances often influence q
mansin his choice of vocation. 1t has
been so with me. am member of
family whose place of abode was near
college, of which near relative of
mme-since dead-was one of the
resident priests" He paused, and ad-
dcd in lower tone: "Whcn l was
little more than lad suffered dis
appointment which altered my charac-
ter for life. took refuge in the col
lege, and have found patience and
peace of mind since that time. Oh, my
friend, you might have been q more
contented man" He stopped again.
His interest in the husband had all but
deceived him into forgetting his prom
ise to his wife.
l.omaync held out his hand.
al hope have not thoughtlessly hurt
yOu," he said.
Penrose took the proflcred hand, and
pressed 1t fervently. He tried to speak,
and suddenly shuddered like man in
pain.
81 am not very well this morning."
he stammercd; "a turn in tho garden
will do me good"
Romayne's doubts were confirmed
by the manner in which Penrose left
him. Something had unquestionably
happened, which his friend shrank
from communicating TO him. He sat
down again to his desk and tried to
read. The time passed, and he was still
left alone. When the door at last OPEN
ed, it was only Stella who entered the
room.
"Have you seen Penrose?" he asked.
| The estrangement between them had
been steadily widening of late. Ro-
mayne had expressed his resentment at
his wifc's interference between Penrose
and himself. by that air of contemptu-
ous endurance which is the hardest
penalty that man can inflict on tho
woman who loves him. Stella had sub
mitted with proud and silent reslgna-
ton the most unfortunate form of pro-
test that she could have adopted toward
a man of Romayne's temper. When
she now appeared, however, I'm her hus-
bands study, there was change in her
expression which he instantly noticed.
She looked at him with eyes softened
by sorrow. Before she could answer
his first question he hurriedly added
another. "Is Penrose really ill?"
ono, Lewis. lie is distressed"
"About what?"
"About you and about himself"
as he going to leave us9"
"But he will come back again?"
Stella took chair by her husbands
side. 81 am truly sorry for you,
Lewis" she said. at is even sad
parting for me. If you will let me say
it, I have sincere regard for dear Mr..
Penrose."
| Under other circumstances this con-
fession of feeling for man who had
sacrificed his dearest aspiration to the
one consideration of her happiness
might have provoked sharp reply.
But by this time Romayne had really
, become alarmed. "Yoa speak as II
} Arthur was going to leave England, he
: said.
"IIe leaves England this afternoon"
oha anoxya.ad tgfn. Do,,a -