I must be
at home, for my mother's sake, if for nothing else. And, as I told you,
I think I shall be able to do something for priests. But if my mother
died--"
"Yes?" he said, as she stopped again.
She glanced up at his serious, deep-eyed face, half in shadow and half
in light, so familiar, and yet so utterly apart from the boy she had
known.
"Well," she said, "I think of you as a priest already, and I can speak
to you freely.... Well, I am not sure whether I, too, shall not go
overseas, to serve God better."
"You mean--"
"Yes. A dozen or more are gone from Derbyshire, whose names I know. Some
are gone to Bruges; two or three to Rome; two or three more to Spain. We
women cannot do what priests can, but, at least, we can serve God in
Religion."
She looked at him again, expecting an answer. She saw him move his head,
as if to answer. Then he smiled suddenly.
"Well, however you look at me, I am not a priest.... You had best speak
to one--Father Campion or another."
"But--"
"And I will pray for you," he said with an air of finality.
Then Mistress Alice came back.
* * * * *
She never forgot, all her life long, the little scene that took place
when Captain Fortescue came in with Mr. Babington, to fetch Robin away.
Yet the whole of its vividness rose from its interior significance.
Externally here was a quiet parlour; two ladies--for the girl afterwards
seemed to see herself in the picture--stood by the fireplace; Mistress
Alice still held her needlework gathered up in one hand, and her spools
of thread and a pin-cushion lay on the polished table.
Pages:
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201