Francis Clement Kelley

“ Father Murray's eyes were serious.
"Why, my dear Mark," he answered, "you ought to know that you can't get away. Do you suppose anybody ever got away from God? Do you suppose any man ever could close his eyes to the fact of His existence? Then how is it possible for you to get away from that which first told you of God, and which so long represented to you all that you knew about Him? There is in the Catholic faith a strange something which makes those who have not belonged to it vaguely uneasy, but which makes those who have once had it always unsatisfied without it. ”

“ Father Murray had answered, very simply; "but I am happier to see the crozier in more worthy hands. God has been good to me. I am satisfied."
"You will come to the cathedral as of old?" Though voiced as a request, the words were a command.
"Let me stay here, I beg of you," pleaded the priest. "I am no longer young—"
"Age is not counted by years."
"I love it here and—"
But the Bishop raised his hand, and the priest was silent.
"You may stay for the present. That much I grant you."
But Monsignore's heart was too full for long silence, his fears too great. ”

“ When Mark thought of his love, he thought also of his mother. He seemed to see her smile as if it quite pleased her; and he rejoiced that he could believe she knew, and saw that it was good.
"I love many things in men," said Father Murray one day as he and Mark watched the waves dashing against the bluff. "I love generosity and strength, truthfulness and mercy; but, most of all, I love cleanness. The world is losing it, and the world will die from the loss. The chief aid to my faith is the clean hearts I see in my poor."
"Uncle Mac again?" ventured Mark. ”

“ Few men meet even the one who looks like the ideal, but he had seen the reality—coming out of a tree. He kept on wondering how long she had been there. He himself had been dreaming in front of the tree an hour before he saw her. Had she seen him before she came out? She had given no sign; but if she had seen him, she had trusted him with a secret. Mark looked at the tree. It was half embedded in the wall. Then he understood. The tree masked a secret entrance to Killimaga.
He was still smiling over his discovery when he heard the voices of the agent and constable. ”

“ That is not putting any man or institution between Himself and His creatures. Would you call the hand which drags you over a danger an interference with your liberty? Liberty, my dear Mark, is not the right to be blind, but the privilege of seeing. The light that shows things to your eyes is not an interference between those things and your eyes. The road you take to your destination is not an obstacle to your reaching it."
The priest was silent for a moment, but Mark knew that he had not quite finished. ”

“ The sweet, compelling face of Ruth Atheson rose up before him to plead for herself. Who was she, this girl of mystery? His half-promised wife? A runaway duchess pledged to another man? A priest's—God! that was too much. Mark clenched his hands to stifle a groan. Then he thought of Father Murray. Good and holy and pure he had seemed to be, a man among men, a priest above all. Surely there was an explanation somewhere. And he hesitated no longer to accede to the request of the Bishop who still, Mark felt, believed in his friend, and was hoping against hope for him. ”

“ To have sought the highest goal and failed is better than never to have sought at all. So long as life lasts, no failure is forever; it is always possible to arise and return to the path. And a fall should call forth the charity of the beholder, leading him closer to God. But there is no charity for the Catholic priest who stumbles—no return save in spaces hidden from the world. The most arrant criminals, the most dangerous atheists, the most sincere Protestants, demand of the priest not only literal obedience to his vows, but a sublime observance of their spirit. ”

“ Father Murray almost gasped.
"But, My Lord," he cried, "our meal is prepared. We have been looking forward to your staying. It is customary, is it not? I shall never be able to—" and then his voice broke, for he was pleading, "My dear Bishop, you will surely stay?"
Mark thought that all the misery of the world was in the priest's tones.
"I am sorry, Monsignore," and the Bishop looked it, though he spoke very quickly; "but circumstances compel me to leave at once. No one regrets the necessity more than I do. ”

“ Now, religion demands the same. If it calls for right living, it calls for the sacrifice that right living demands. An athlete gets his muscle and strength, not by coddling his body, but by restraining its passions and curbing its indolence, by working its softness into force and power. A river is bound between banks, and only thus bound is it anything but a menace. If a church claims to have the Truth, she forfeits her first claim to a hearing if she asks for no sacrifice. ”

“ Mark sprang to his side, and caught him as he fell to the ground. There was a heavy crashing through the underbrush, then a voice was raised in an oath and there was the sound of a struggle. Mark looked up as Saunders broke through the bushes dragging after him the body of the murderer. Dropping his unconscious burden, the detective came up to where Mark was bending over the victim and pulled a little electric glow lamp from his pocket.
"Let me look at him, Griffin," he said. He looked long and earnestly at the man's face, then snapped off the light.
"He's the man," he announced. ”

“ You are a detective."
"I am. Does that tell you nothing?"
"Nothing," replied Mark, "except that you make up splendidly as a really decent sort of fellow."
"Perhaps I am a decent sort, decent enough, anyhow; and perhaps I don't particularly like my business, but it is my business. Now, look here, Griffin, I want you to help instead of hindering me. I have to ask this question of you: What do you know about Ruth Atheson? You see her every day."
"So," said Mark, annoyed, "the constable has not been around for nothing." ”

“ Through his worries the wheels of the train kept saying:
"You love her—you love her—" in monotonous cadence. And he knew that, in spite of everything, he would love her to the end.
Then his thoughts went back to the beginning, and began again the terrible circle. Despairing of getting any sleep, and too restless to remain in the berth, Mark determined to get up and have a quiet smoke. He was just arising when there came a most terrific crash. The whole car seemed to rise under him. His head struck sharply against the end of the berth and for an instant he could not think clearly. ”

“ Never once had she lectured him on religious matters, yet she was splendidly sincere, and her faith of the greatest. And she had been praying for him all the time! Yet what need of speech? Her very self, her every action, her nice sense of right, were greater than any sermon he had ever heard from mortal lips. She was a woman whom any man might well love—and honor.
Reluctantly Mark at last sought the rectory, where the Bishop and Monsignore awaited him. And almost desperately he sought to evade Ann, whose dinner had been kept waiting. ”

“ It was some little while before he spoke, and then very slowly, as if carefully weighing his words.
"There is nothing," said the priest, "between the trees and the flowers and their God—but they are only trees and flowers; they live, but they neither think nor feel. There is nothing between the lower animals and their God; but, though they live and feel, they have none of the higher power of thought. If God had wanted man thus, why should he have given him something more than the lower animals? Man cannot live and feel only and still be a man. ”

“ The anomaly of my position increased my bitterness toward priests until I came almost to welcome a scandal among them, even though I knew that every scandal reacted on my own kind. But each rare scandal served to throw into clearer relief the high honor and stern purity of the great mass of those men who had forsaken all to follow Christ. And my vague feeling of satisfaction was tempered by an insistent sense of my own injustice which would not be denied, for I knew that I was demanding of the Catholic priest greater things than I demanded of any other men. ”

“ But facts are facts. What could I do? Look here, Mr. Griffin. Whatever there is in this that excuses him I ought to know. And he ought to know the cause of my actions in his regard. I shall have to tell him and then— If there is an explanation, how can I forgive myself? But he cannot be blind. Soon all Sihasset will notice and talk. I shall have to remove him again, and then.... My God! I cannot think that my saint could ever merit such an end. Do you know what it means to be an unfrocked priest?"
"Yes." Mark had no other answer. ”

“ With all the ardor of a strong nature that has found the hidden spring of human love, Mark Griffin loved Ruth Atheson. She had come into his life as the realization of an ideal which since boyhood, so he thought, had been forming in his heart. In one instant she had given that ideal a reality. ”

“ And it is a strange feeling for a priest to have—that he has someone looking up to him and loving him in that way. Though a priest is constituted the same as other men, long training and experience have made his life and mental attitude different from those of men of more worldly aspirations. A priest is bound to his work more closely than is any other person in the world. Duty is almost an instinct with him. That is why he seldom shines in any other line, no matter how talented he may be. ”

“ Griffin, I pay. I am alone, and I pay always. Yet I am glad to pay. I am glad to pay—even here—in Sihasset."
Mark was moved in spite of himself. "I wonder," he said softly, "if you are glad, Monsignore, to pay so much? Pardon me if I touch upon something raw; but I know that you were, even as a Catholic, higher than you are now. Doesn't that make it hard to pay?" ”

“ Both the priest and his visitor stood up. Mark reached for his hat and gloves.
"Pardon me," said the lady, "for disturbing you, Monsignore."
Father Murray laughed and put up his hand. "Now, then—please, please."
"Well, Father, then. I like it better, anyway. I heard that poor man is dead. Can I do anything?"
"I think you can," said Father Murray. "Will you step in?"
"No, Father; let me sit here." She looked at Mark, who stood waiting to make his adieux. There was no mistaking the look, and the priest understood at once. Plainly astonished, he introduced Mark. ”

“ A man who offers a supreme sacrifice, and is eternally willing to live it, must be supremely free. In theory, all clergymen must be prepared to sacrifice themselves for their people, for 'the Good Shepherd gives up his life for his sheep.' In practice, no one expects that except of the priest; but from him everyone expects it."
"Do you really think," asked Mark, "that those outside the Church expect such a sacrifice?"
Father Murray did not hesitate about his answer.
"Expect it? They demand it. Why, my dear Mark, even as a Presbyterian minister I expected it of the men I almost hated. ”

“ Mark was rising.
Saunders put out his hand. "Easy now, Griffin, easy now. Just wait. I am going to tell you something. I see that you really know nothing, and it's up to me to enlighten you. As I said, Ruth Atheson is not Ruth Atheson. She's the daughter of a grand duke. I can't tell you the name of the Grand Duchy, but I'll say this: it isn't very far from a certain Big Kingdom we hear a great deal about now—in fact the Duchy is a dependency of the Big Kingdom—more than that, the so-called Ruth Atheson is heiress presumptive to the throne. She'll some day be the Grand Duchess." ”

“ You have to be inside in order to understand it. The Church takes you, smiling. She gives to you generously, and then, with a smile, she breaks you; and, hating to be broken, you break, knowing that it is best for you. She pets you, and then she whips you; and the whips sting, but they leave no mark on the soul, except a good mark, if you have learned. But pardon me, here's a parishioner—" A woman, old and bent, was coming up the steps. "Come on, Mrs. O'Leary. How is the good man?"
The priest arose to meet the woman, whose sad face aroused in Mark a keen thrill of sympathy. ”

“ Where she gets the money is beyond me."
"You Americans are all rich," said Mark. "You English think we are, but you only see the gang that goes over to the other side every summer. There's one Atheson family in America worth millions, but I know that crowd; she doesn't belong to it. I don't know what Atheson family she does belong to. She's a mystery, with her Killimaga and her money and her veil."
"Why," said Mark, "every woman wears a veil—the sun, you know."
"Yes; the sun, and the rain, and the shade, and every kind of weather!"
The detective's face was betraying him again. ”

“ I merely am indifferent to danger under the present circumstances. It's no use running away from it, and we can't help it now. Let's go to bed."
"Well, those English-Irish nerves get me," Saunders answered, as he arose and walked toward the door. "I suppose they're a good thing to have; but, Griffin, take it from me, you're the worst lump of ice I ever saw. Aren't you even just a little afraid?"
"Oh, yes," answered Mark, "I'm afraid all right, old man; I really am afraid. But there is somebody I am more afraid for than myself. I am worried about the lady." ”