He struck his hand-bell at last.

“Bring me Father Blackmore’s Last report,” he said, as his secretary appeared.

II

Percy’s intuitive faculties were keen by nature and had been vastly increased by cultivation.  He had never forgotten Father Blackmore’s shrewd remarks of a year ago; and one of his first acts as Cardinal-Protector had been to appoint that priest on the list of English correspondents.  Hitherto he had received some dozen letters, and not one of them had been without its grain of gold.  Especially he had noticed that one warning ran through them all, namely, that sooner or later there would be some overt act of provocation on the part of English Catholics; and it was the memory of this that had inspired his vehement entreaties to the Pope this morning.  As in the Roman and African persecutions of the first three centuries, so now, the greatest danger to the Catholic community lay not in the unjust measures of the Government but in the indiscreet zeal of the faithful themselves.  The world desired nothing better than a handle to its blade.  The scabbard was already cast away.

When the young man had brought the four closely written sheets, dated from Westminster, the previous evening, Percy turned at once to the last paragraph before the usual Recommendations.

“Mr. Brand’s late secretary, Mr. Phillips, whom your Eminence commended to me, has been to see me two or three times.  He is in a curious state.  He has no faith; yet, intellectually, he sees no hope anywhere but in the Catholic Church.  He has even begged for admission to the Order of Christ Crucified, which of course is impossible.  But there is no doubt he is sincere; otherwise he would have professed Catholicism.  I have introduced him to many Catholics in the hope that they may help him.  I should much wish your Eminence to see him.”

Before leaving England, Percy had followed up the acquaintance he had made so strangely over Mrs. Brand’s reconciliation to God, and, scarcely knowing why, had commended him to the priest.  He had not been particularly impressed by Mr. Phillips; he had thought him a timid, undecided creature, yet he had been struck by the extremely unselfish action by which the man had forfeited his position.  There must surely be a good deal behind.

And now the impulse had come to send for him.  Perhaps the spiritual atmosphere of Rome would precipitate faith.  In any case, the conversation of Mr. Brand’s late secretary might be instructive.

He struck the bell again.

“Mr. Brent,” he said, “in your next letter to Father Blackmore, tell him that I wish to see the man whom he proposed to send—­Mr. Phillips.”

“Yes, Eminence.”

“There is no hurry.  He can send him at his leisure.”

“Yes, Eminence.”

“But he must not come till January.  That will be time enough, unless there is urgent reason.”