Chapter X

Down here in this side-street of Kensington, one might almost think oneself in some country town except for the low steady murmur, as of a rolling sea, that heat in ceaselessly from the High Street a hundred yards away. Here, strangely enough, the principal traffic was on Sundays, when Father Hilary preached; the roadway seethed with vehicles: but on this Friday evening in June it was empty enough.

A rather shabby figure in a ready-made suit and soft hat came briskly down the turn from the High Street, swinging a stick. He pulled out his watch as he came, and pursed his lips to look at it. Then he put it back and came on.

The church was nearly empty as he turned into it. There were scarcely half a dozen people there — dark motionless figures — motionless as Catholics usually are in the presence of their God; and content, it seemed, to sit there in the half -dark church, without book or beads, regarding the* pale sanctuary and the little leaping light in the red glass.

Except for the curious sounds echoing from the gallery near the high-altar — sounds of many male voices alternating with one, on a rapid monotone, the whole place had an air of being out of the world altogether, in some strange parenthesis, outside of which considerations of time and place clamoured in vain. And even the rapid chanting from the gallery, and the single bright loophole in it that slashed the darkness, seemed, after a while, elc-

Digitized by Google ments in this air of apartness. For these sounds too, as the friars recited their office, appeared as if on a different plane altogether from ordinary voices and ordinary music: they had nothing whatever in common, for example, (except their physical laws), with such compositions as Dr. Gadsby's Service in C. •..

The shabby.figure turned into a seat by a pillar and presently, as the church darkened yet more, faded into its background.

It seemed to Mr. Main, as he sat here, that God was being extraordinarily good to him after all; and it was this thought that was chiefly projected by him in thanksgiving against the remote background of this place.

Two particular points stood out as supreme instances of the Divine Mercy — the first that his money was not yet wholly exhausted, so that he had not been obliged, up to the present, to use any of his wife's; and the second that the letter had come from the cocoa-firm in the City, that very afternoon, bidding him present himself on Monday morning as an accepted aspirant to the post of Commercial Traveller.

It seemed to Mr. Main very nearly miraculous that these two things had so fitted one into the other. He had made more than one Novena for this very intention, and now, actually upon the ninth day of his last Novena it had been accomplished. He need fear nothing further now: the one supreme dread that he would be forced to throw himself, not merely upon his wife's mercy (for that might very well be a humiliation demanded of him), but upon the money gained by the publication of a book of which he did not approve — this dread was for ever removed.

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Henceforth he would earn his own living, and would be able, even, if he were at all successful, to lay a little by in case of illness or unemployment.

So he had come here to tell Father Hilary of God's marvellous mercy to him.

Meanwhile the time and the place and the strange chanting and Mr. Main's own soul conspired together in a stream of thought that ran through Mr. Main's mind.

He saw now, he thought, as never before, how " all things work together for good " if one will but trust God. Here was he, who had flung himself and his wife upon the world six months ago, with no provision but the very smallest, rescued now and set upon the rock. His education had been useless to him: a grounding at a grammar-school in Latin grammar, arithmetic, a little history, and a little geography, followed by two years in a provincial University, followed again by one year's instruction in the History of the Prayer Book, Waterland on the Eucharist, the first three hundred and fifty years of Church history, with some commentaries on the Bible and the Thirty-Nine Articles — this course of erudition was not calculated to lay the foundations of a fortune. Neither does a little experience as a curate in suburban parishes very considerably brighten the prospect

It was with these weapons then that he had faced the world six months ago. Yet here he was now, secured at least for the present against starvation, and in the employment of a thoroughly sound and reputable firm.... Mr. Main's cup seemed overflowing....

After a while he began to regard other figures of his world: and these seemed to him scarcely real. It was perfectly true that his late Vicar and Mrs. Bennett were

Digitized by Google persons on whom another kind of prosperity had fallen in floods of blessing; but this bleak-faced man's mood was such that, at present, at any rate, envy no more presented itself to him in their regard, than with regard to the King of England: they were as creatures of another world than this: they had principles, and possessed talents, which, as the country was constituted just now, were almost certain to win such success as they enjoyed. It seemed to him, in a strange sort of way, entirely right and proper that these strenuous and sincere people should live in a Rectory and have a well-warmed church and strong patrons and a more or less submissive congregation of tenants and dependents. It was part of their life. And, in the same kind of manner too, it had begun to seem to him that a converted curate who happened to have no particular gifts — (and Mr. Main was getting quite clear on this point) — should almost necessarily receive snubs and live in dingy lodgings; it almost seemed natural to him that he should have such a wife as Marion. These things were part of his bargain, as Mr. Bennett's Rectory was part of his.

So, too, when he looked generally back upon Hanstead, with its mayor and its pump and Mr. Barnes the undertaker and its parish personages — these figures appeared to him as if seen through a telescope: they moved in their appointed courses, and enjoyed the prosperity proper to their case. But he could no more, just now, regret or envy that life than he could regret his childhood. The thing was passed, for him, inevitably.

For his astonishing good-fortune intoxicated him (if Mr. Main's exalted moods could ever be called by that name). After all, was he not a Commercial Traveller, with all travelling expenses paid, a minimum of thirty shillings a week, and possibilities in the way of Commissions?.. • And he was a Catholic, too....

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He bowed his head again upon his hands presently: and a fragment of an old psalm came to his lips.

M We went through fire and water: and Thou hast brought us out into a wealthy place."

Ill

"Well!" said Father Hilary, ten minutes later in the parlour, smiling as usual, " what news now, Mr. Main? "

Mr. Main put his hat and stick carefully down on the little table. He too was smiling as hard as he could, which meant that his solemn mouth widened like a gash in his face, while his kind short-sighted eyes looked as usual.

" My dear father," he said as he too sat down, " the best of news. I am successful at last."

"Well? In what way?"

"You remember I told you I had been to young Mr. Brandreth-Smith — and how kind he was, not only in writing for me, but actually in getting his father to write? "

Father Hilary nodded. He knew now that Mr. Main must not be hurried; he must be allowed to lay down all the preliminaries and circumstances as if he were to preach a sermon — say on the life and character of Ahab.

"Well!" continued the other, now solemn and judicial, " I went to the firm in question — the firm of Martenson and Cabell — and saw one of the partners — Mr. Cabell, in fact. He was very kind, though a little impatient, I thought, once or twice. Well; he asked me a number of questions: in fact I had to fill up a paper...."

So it proceeded. Every detail must be related; the arrival of further papers, a request for guarantors; and then the silence that followed. It must have been nearly five minutes before the crucial fact was announced; and the letter that proclaimed it spread before the priest.

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" That, father," said the other, " arrived this afternoon. And I am to enter upon my duties on Monday/'

The priest read it through, returned it, and held out his hand.

" I congratulate you, Mr. Main, with all my heart."

And he saw the tears in the convert's eyes, and the broad gashlike smile upon his lips. Mr. Main was very deeply moved indeed.

The priest had learned by now an extraordinary respect for this man. He had found him a trifle slow, at first, and had even been guilty of what he would have called interior impatience: the proselyte had been so excessively conscientious, so very exact and so very deferential. And then, little by little, the priest, accustomed to deal with men, had begun to understand.. • •

First he had perceived the almost startling absence of nthat are usually called Gifts; and had understood one set of reasons, at any rate, for the singular failure that Mr. Main appeared to have made of his life. Never once had the proselyte appealed for pity; in fact the other had seen that pity would have been thought almost an insult, and certainly uncalled for. And next he had perceived that the amazing insuccess of Mr. Main as a clergyman really and truly had nothing whatever to do with his change of faith. He did not wish to become a Catholic in order to make a better job of his earthly life; in fact he seemed with astonishing complacency to take his ignominies in clerical life as the normal and usual accompaniment of such a life. Nothing whatever had influenced Mr. Main's movement except the conviction, built perhaps originally on somewhat incoherent grounds, that the Church of Rome was right and the Church of England wrong.

And then respect had grown into admiration. Not only had this elder man submitted to the teaching of the younger,

Digitized by Google as a child to bis father; but he had submitted too with the same unquestioning acceptance to the circumstances of his life. He had not complained; he had just related these circumstances so far as was necessary.... The peculiarly disagreeable attributes of the wife to whom he was bound; the poky lodgings; the snubs and the disappointments — these had been discerned by the priest as shadows moving among Mr. Main's careful little sentences.

The man appeared to him with at least some of the characteristics of the saint. He was very slow, quite stupid, utterly conscientious and unquestioningly patient. And it was necessary therefore to be very careful in talking to him.

"And there's another thing," said Mr. Main when the proper congratulations had been given and received — " another thing just a little on my conscience. I... I daresay it's not my business at all; and in any case, father" — (he lifted solemn eyes to the priest's face) — " in any case I do not wish even to appear to pry into what I should not. If I should seem to do so, kindly do not answer me at all; and I will promise to draw no conclusions. Or, better still, just tell me to mind my own business."

Father Hilary bowed as solemnly in return.

" But I do not think there is any likelihood " he began.

Mr. Main lifted a lean hand with a clerical gravity. " Wait till you have heard me, father," he said. " It concerns young Mr. Brandreth-Smith."

" Yes? " said the priest, without a movement.

" J have heard very unhappy rumours about that young

Digitized by Google man — that... that he has given up all idea of becoming a Catholic. Well; I had better say outright that it was my wife that informed me. She also informs me that... that he has engaged himself to be married to a young lady* of his neighbourhood."

The priest made a quick movement. But again the long hand checked him.

"Wait till you have heard me out, father; and then say what you think proper. Now I do not ask with any motive but this. I have known him for a considerable time: I think I may say that I had a little influence with him; and... and I think he regards me with feelings of kindness. If those things are true, father; and I may say that they have worried me more than a little, I have been wondering whether you would think it my duty to write to him, or even to go and see him."

Father Hilary drew a sudden breath. To put it gently, — he did not think it likely that Mr. Main was quite the man to be of service. But he did not say so: he waited.

" I will abide by your decision entirely, father, I need hardly say. If you tell me No, I will take that simply to mean that I need do nothing. I shall not draw any conclusions at all as to whether or no the reports are true. I shall simply put them out of my mind — that is unless you wish me to know the facts so far as you may happen to know them yourself."

He had finished. That was clear. There was an air in his tone as of a peroration concluded. He now waited for orders.

The priest sighed and sat back.

" I think you have been most discreet, Mr. Main," he said, "in the way you have put things. Nothing could be more delicate." (It was necessary to say things to Mr. Main, he had learnt, which with other people might

Digitized by Google be taken for granted.) "And I will tell you all that I know — all, that is " (he corrected himself), " that I am at liberty to tell. I tell you," he proceeded carefully to explain, " first that you may know what you ought to know, when these stories are referred to; and next that you may give him the benefit of your prayers. I am sure that attempting to write to him or see him, would be useless."

He paused; and Mr. Main gravely assented with a movement of his head.

" Let me see — it is June now. Then it was over four months ago that I had a letter from Mr. Smith which, I thought at the time, did him a good deal of credit." (He paused: then he went on briskly.) "Yes, I think I am bound to say that we must take that letter to have been to his credit. It appeared to show that he was willing to make a great sacrifice for his faith. I mustn't say any more about that. The contents of the letter were very private. But I feel it's only just to him to tell you so much.

"Well, then; oddly enough, ever since that time I have never once seen him. I wrote to him twice, reminding him of his instructions; but it seemed that he always was too much engaged. That made me uncomfortable. I wrote to the priest in whose district Marston stands; but I found from him that Mr. Smith had never once been to see him, and that he — the priest — scarcely liked to call under those circumstances. (I am bound to say that he lives six miles away, so perhaps it was natural that they hadn't met)

"Well; I wrote to the young man once more — a week later; and last week only I had an answer. I am sorry to say that it corroborated the first part of the rumour

Digitized by Google you speak of. In it, he tells me that he does not propose to continue his instructions: and that he finds — let me see — that he finds it was only emotionalism that brought him to me in the first instance."

Mr. Main was motionless. Then he spoke, still without moving.

" You think that was true, father? "

44 1 am quite certain it is not true," said the friar quietly. "And I do not think that he thinks it true either. But of course I may be wronging him."

" Thank you, father. I... I will do as you say."

" There's one thing more," said the priest. " I don't know whether you know young Ballard, who was a great friend of his last year? Well; I asked after him from young Ballard, who is an acolyte here; and I find that he has heard nothing whatever from his friend. He went with him to the theatre once; and since then has heard nothing. I think he is a little hurt, you know. They were great friends. But I hear that Mr. Smith is with his family in London, now. As regards the engagement you speak of, I have heard nothing of it. But I should not be likely to, you see, under the circumstances."

Mr. Main gravely inclined his head. His face was very grave and judicial, and his lips a little pursed.

" Thank you for your confidence, father. I shall now know what to think."

In this manner, then, sat and talked these two persons of no importance; — the young friar of no birth or position at all — a popular preacher, indeed, just for the present, but that would not last long; and this failure of an Anglican curate, an uncomfortably angular man, who was proud and pleased to be a traveller in cocoa. So they sat and discussed, without any sense of proportion, a young

Digitized by Google man of wealth and position, about whom the world had ranged itself very happily indeed. But people in ignoble circumstances never do have any sense of proportion, or of their own impertinence*

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