Father Benwell got up and walked to the fireplace.Now there are various methods of getting up and walking to a fireplace, and they find their way to outward expression through the customary means of look and manner.We may feel cold, and may only want to warm ourselves.Or we may feel restless, and may need an excuse for changing our position.Or we may feel modestly confused, and may be anxious to hide it.Father Benwell, from head to foot, expressed modest confusion, and polite anxiety to hide it.
"My good friend," he said, "I am afraid of hurting your feelings."Romayne was a sincere convert, but there were instincts still left in him which resented this expression of regard, even when it proceeded from a man whom he respected and admired."You will hurt my feelings," he answered, a little sharply, "if you are not plain with me.""Then I _will_ be plain with you," Father Benwell rejoined."The Church--speaking through me, as her unworthy interpreter--feels a certain delicacy in approaching You on the subject of money.""Why?"
Father Benwell left the fireplace without immediately answering.
He opened a drawer and took out of it a flat mahogany box.His gracious familiarity became transformed, by some mysterious process of congelation, into a dignified formality of manner.The priest took the place of the man.
"The Church, Mr.Romayne, hesitates to receive, as benevolent contributions, money derived from property of its own, arbitrarily taken from it, and placed in a layman's hands.No!"he cried, interrupting Romayne, who instantly understood the allusion to Vange Abbey--"no! I must beg you to hear me out.Istate the case plainly, at your own request.At the same time, Iam bound to admit that the lapse of centuries has, in the eye of the law, sanctioned the deliberate act of robbery perpetrated by Henry the Eighth.You have lawfully inherited Vange Abbey from your ancestors.The Church is not unreasonable enough to assert a merely moral right against the law of the country.It may feel the act of spoliation--but it submits." He unlocked the flat mahogany box, and gently dropped his dignity: the man took the place of the priest."As the master of Vange," he said, you may be interested in looking at a little historical curiosity which we have preserved.The title-deeds, dear Romayne, by which the monks held your present property, in _their_ time.Take another glass of wine."Romayne looked at the title-deeds, and laid them aside unread.
Father Benwell had roused his pride, his sense of justice, his wild and lavish instincts of generosity.He, who had always despised money--except when it assumed its only estimable character, as a means for the attainment of merciful and noble ends--_he_ was in possession of property to which he had no moral right: without even the poor excuse of associations which attached him to the place.
"I hope I have not offended you?" said Father Benwell.
"You have made me ashamed of myself," Romayne answered, warmly.
"On the day when I became a Catholic, I ought to have remembered Vange.Better late than never.I refuse to take shelter under the law--I respect the moral right of the Church.I will at once restore the property which I have usurped."Father Benwell took both Romayne's hands in his, and pressed them fervently.
"I am proud of you!" he said.We shall all be proud of you, when I write word to Rome of what has passed between us.But--no, Romayne!--this must not be.I admire you, feel with you; and Irefuse.On behalf of the Church, I say it--I refuse the gift.""Wait a little, Father Benwell! You don't know the state of my affairs.I don't deserve the admiration which you feel for me.
The loss of the Vange property will be no pecuniary loss, in my case.I have inherited a fortune from my aunt.My income from that source is far larger than my income from the Yorkshire property.""Romayne, it must not be!"
"Pardon me, it must be.I have more money than I can spend--without Vange.And I have painful associations with the house which disincline me ever to enter it again."Even this confession failed to move Father Benwell.He obstinately crossed his arms, obstinately tapped his foot on the floor."No!" he said."Plead as generously as you may, my answer is, No."Romayne only became more resolute on his side."The property is absolutely my own," he persisted."I am without a near relation in the world.I have no children.My wife is already provided for at my death, out of the fortune left me by my aunt.It is downright obstinacy--forgive me for saying so--to persist in your refusal.""It is downright duty, Romayne.If I gave way to you, I should be the means of exposing the priesthood to the vilest misinterpretation.I should be deservedly reprimanded, and your proposal of restitution--if you expressed it in writing--would, without a moment's hesitation, be torn up.If you have any regard for me, drop the subject."Romayne refused to yield, even to this unanswerable appeal.
"Very well," he said, "there is one document you can't tear up.
You can't interfere with my making another will.I shall leave the Vange property to the Church, and I shall appoint you one of the trustees.You can't object to that."Father Benwell smiled sadly.
