“I must go to Strawyers.  The Bishop gave me a letter for your father, and I think it will break it a little for your mother.  Would you wait for me at Rood House?  You could go into the chapel, and if they wish for you, I could return and fetch you.”

Herbert caught at this as a relief, and orders were given accordingly.  It seemed a cruel moment to tell him of young Hornblower’s evasion and robbery, but the police wanted the description of the articles; and, in fact, nothing would have so brought home to him that, though Compton might not appreciate minutiae of Greek criticism, yet the habit of diligence, of which it was the test, might make a difference there.  The lingering self-justification was swept away by the sense of the harm his pleasure-seeking had done to the lad whom he had once influenced.  He had been fond and proud of his trophies, but he scarcely wasted a thought on them, so absorbed was he in the thought of how he had lorded it over the youth with that late rebuke.  The blame he had refused to take on himself then came full upon him now, and he reproached himself too much to be angered at the treachery and ingratitude.

“I can’t prosecute,” he said, when Julius asked for the description he had promised to procure.

“We must judge whether it would be true kindness to refrain, if he is captured,” said Julius.  “I had not time to see his mother, but Rosamond will do what she can for her, poor woman.”

“How shall I meet her?” sighed Herbert; and so they arrived at the tranquil little hospital and passed under the deep archway into the gray quadrangle, bright with autumn flowers, and so to the chapel.  As they advanced up the solemn and beautiful aisle Herbert dropped on his knees with his hands over his face.  Julius knelt beside him for a moment, laid his hand on the curly brown hair, whispered a prayer and a blessing, and then left him; but ere reaching the door, the low choked sobs of anguish of heart could be heard.

A few steps more, and in the broad walk along the quadrangle, Julius met the frail bowed figure with his saintly face, that seemed to have come out of some sacred bygone age.

Julius told his errand.  “If you could have seen him just now,” he said, “you would see how much more hope there is of him than of many who never technically fail, but have not the same tender, generous heart, and free humility.”

“Yes, many a priest might now be thankful if some check had come on him.”

“And if he had met it with this freedom from bitterness.  And it would be a great kindness to keep him here a day or two.  Apart from being with you, the showing himself at Compton or at Strawyers on Sunday would be hard on him.”

“I will ask him.  I will gladly have him here as long as the quiet may be good for him.  My nephew, William, will be here till the end of the Long Vacation, but I must go to St. Faith’s on Monday to conduct the retreat.”