Charred Wood Part 12

Father Murray put his hand on the shoulder of the justice. "Thank you kindly, Mr. Sturgis," he said. "I would like to save the lady from annoyance, and will see Mr. Brinn at once; but I must begin by apologizing for my recent attack on his beauty."

"No need to do that, Father," a.s.sured the justice. "He printed the joke himself in to-day's _Herald_."

When the priest left the office of the editor, he walked toward the rectory in deep thought, quite evidently worried, but the suppressed story was safely in his pocket.

CHAPTER IX

THE BISHOP'S CONFESSION

"How do you do, Mr. Griffin. I am delighted to see you again, and so soon after our first meeting."

Two days had elapsed since the unpleasant incident at the rectory, and Mark, engrossed in thoughts by no means in harmony with the peaceful country through which he wandered, was taken unawares. He turned sharply. A big automobile had stopped near him and from it leaned the young Bishop, hand outstretched.

Mark hurried forward. "I am glad to see Your Lords.h.i.+p again. You are still traveling?" He had retained no pleasant recollections of the dignitary, and, as he shook the extended hand, was rather surprised to realize that he felt not a little pleased by the unexpected encounter.

"I am still traveling--Confirmation tours all this season. Are you going far, Mr. Griffin?"

"I am merely walking, without goal."

"Then come in with me. I am on my way to a little parish ten miles farther on. I want to chat. My secretary went on ahead by train, to 'prepare the way,' as it were. I will send the car back with you.

Won't you come?" The tone of the Bishop's voice indicated an earnest desire that the invitation be accepted.

Mark hesitated but a moment. "I thank Your Lords.h.i.+p. I will gladly go with you on such pleasant terms." He entered the car and, sinking into its soft cus.h.i.+ons, suddenly awakened to the fact that he had tramped far, and was tired.

The Bishop took up the conversation.

"You are thoroughly British, Mr. Griffin, or you would not have said 'Your Lords.h.i.+p.' The bishops in England are all addressed in that way, are they not?"

"Of course, and here also. Did I not hear Father Murray--"

"Oh, Father Murray is quite different. He is a convert, and rather inclined to be punctilious. Then, too, he is from England. In America the best we get as a rule is just plain 'Bishop.' One of your own kind of Bishops--an Episcopalian--I knew him well and a charming man he was--told me that in England he was 'My Lorded' and 'Your Lords.h.i.+ped'

everywhere, until he had gotten quite used to the dignity of it. But when he stepped on the dock at New York, one of his lay intimates took all the pomposity out of him by a sound slap on the back and the greeting, 'h.e.l.lo, Bish, home again?'"

"It was very American, that," said Mark. "We wouldn't understand it."

"But _we_ do. I wouldn't want anyone to go quite that far, of course.

I have nerves. But I confess I rather like the possibility of it--so long as it stays a possibility only. We Yankees are a friendly lot, but not at all irreverent. A bishop has to be 'right' on the manhood side as well as on the side of his office. That's the way we look at it."

A wicked thought went through Mark's head. He let it slide out in words before he weighed the words or the thought. An instant after, he could have bitten his tongue with chagrin.

"But don't you take the manhood into account in dealing with your clergy?"

To Mark's surprise the Bishop was not offended by the plain reference to the unpleasant scene in the rectory at Siha.s.set.

"Thank you; thank you kindly, Mr. Griffin, for giving me such an excellent opening. I really wanted you to say something like that. If you hadn't, I should certainly have been nonplussed about finding the opening for what I desire to say to you. You are now referring to my seemingly unchristian treatment of Monsignore Murray? Eh, what?" It seemed to please the Bishop to lay emphasis on the English "Eh, what?"

He said it with a comic intonation that relieved Mark's chagrin.

"Your Lords.h.i.+p is a diplomat. I was wrong to ask the question. The affair is simply none of my business."

"But it is, Mr. Griffin. I would not want you, a stranger--perhaps not even a Catholic--to keep in your mind the idea that a Catholic bishop is cold and heartless in his dealings with his flock, and particularly with his under-shepherds."

Mark did not know what to answer, but he wanted to help the Bishop understand his own feelings.

"I like Father Murray very much, my dear Lord--or rather my dear Bishop."

It was the Bishop's turn to smile. "You are getting our ways fast, Mr.

Griffin. When we part, I suppose you'll slap me on the back and say 'Bish.'"

"The Lord forbid."

"For my back's sake," the Bishop was looking at Mark's strong shoulders, "for my back's sake I hope the Lord does forbid. But to your question. I must get at the answer in a round-about way. Father Murray, or Monsignore Murray, for he is a prelate, was one of my dearest friends. For no man had I a greater regard. He was the soul of generosity, earnest, zealous, kind, and--I believed then--a saint."

"_Then_?"

"_Then_. I am going to confide in you, and for a good purpose. You like him. His people in Siha.s.set adore him, as did his curates and his people at the Cathedral. I expected, as did others, that he would be in the place I occupy to-day." The Bishop broke off to look fixedly at Mark for a moment. "Mr. Griffin, may I trust you to do your friend a service?"

"Yes, Bishop, you may."

"Then I will. I have no other way to do this thing. I cannot do it through another priest. They are all of one mind except a few of the younger ones who might make matters worse. You can help Monsignore Murray, if you will. Now, listen well. You heard the conversation between my secretary and myself at the rectory, did you not? You were in the next room, I know."

"Yes; I could not help hearing it, and there was no way of escape."

"I know there was no escape. You heard it all?"

"All."

"That decides me to tell you more. It may be providential that you heard. A woman's name was mentioned?"

"No name, only a reference to a woman, but I think I know who was meant."

"Exactly." The Bishop's voice took on even a graver tone. "What I am going to say to you is given into your confidence for a stronger reason than to have you think more charitably of a bishop in his dealings with his priests. I am taking you into my confidence chiefly for Monsignore Murray's sake. He is a _different_ sort of man from the ordinary type.

He has few intimate friends because his charity is very wide. You seem to be one of the rare beings he regards with special favor. You like him in return. The combination is excellent for my purpose. I do not know when this woman first came into Monsignore Murray's life, but he has seen her quite frequently during the last few years. No one knows where she came from or who she is, except that she calls herself 'Miss Atheson.'"

"That is her name, if you are thinking of the lady I have in mind--Ruth Atheson."

"Exactly. The old Bishop, my predecessor, seemed oblivious to the situation. I soon learned, after my appointment, that Monsignore Murray and Miss Atheson were together almost daily, either at the rectory or at her hotel. But I said nothing to Monsignore and had every confidence in him until--well, until one day a member of the Cathedral clergy, unexpectedly entering the rectory library, saw Miss Atheson sitting on the arm of the priest's chair, with her head close to his and her arm across his shoulders. They were reading from a letter, and did not see the visitor, who withdrew silently. His visit was never known to Monsignore Murray. You understand?"

Mark was too much surprised to answer.

"Don't look so horror-struck, Mr. Griffin. The thing might have an explanation, but no one asked it. It looked too unexplainable of course. The story leaked out, and after that Monsignore Murray was avoided. Never once did I give in to the full belief that my dear old saint was wrong, so I gently suggested one day that I should like his fullest confidence about Miss Atheson. He avoided the subject. Still I was loath to believe. I made up my mind to save him by a transfer, but he forestalled me and asked a change; so I sent him to Siha.s.set."

Mark found his voice.

"That was the reason? And he never knew?"

"That was the reason. I thought he would ask for it, and that I would then have a chance to tell him; but he asked for nothing. The scene when he left his work at the cathedral was so distressing to me that I would willingly lay down my office to-morrow rather than go through with it again."