“He fished out
a pencil, took the card his nephew proffered and,
having written
down name and address, handed it to Badcock.
“’The door of
grace, my friend, stands ever open to him who
knocks. . . .
Shall we say at ten-thirty to-morrow morning?
Yes, yes, a very
convenient hour for me, if you have no
objection?
Farewell, then, until to-morrow!’ With a
benedictory wave
of the hand he linked arms with Lord Algernon
and strolled away
down the walk.
“‘Badcock,’
said I, stepping forward and clapping a hand on his
shoulder.
‘Hark to the gong calling you to the masque!’
“But the creature stood as in a trance. ‘His signature!’ he answered in an awed whisper. ’The Archdeacon of Wells’s own signature, and upon Lord Algernon’s card!’—and I declare to you that he fell to kissing the pasteboard ecstatically.
“Well, he was
past all reason. Luckily, having written it,
I
had his part by
rote; and so, snatching his Menelaus’ wig and
beard, I ran towards
the theatre.
“That, sir, is all my tale. The man is lost to me. He left Venice yesterday in the Archdeacon’s carriage, but in what precise capacity—whether as valet, secretary, or courier—he would not impart. He told me, however, that his salary was sufficient, if not ample, and that he had undertaken as a repentant sinner to make himself generally useful. The Archdeacon, it appears, is collecting evidence in particular of the horrors of a Continental Sabbath.
“Addio, sir! For me, I have now parted with the last of my comrades, yet my resolution remains unshaken. On this sacred soil, where so many before me have cultivated the Arts, I will do more. I will make them pay. Meanwhile I beg you to accept my sincere regards, and to believe me
“Your obliged, obedient servant,
“Phineas Fett.”
William Priske has espoused Mrs. Nance, our good housekeeper; I believe upon her own advice.
The Trappists (sixteen in number) yet dwell with us, and the left wing of Constantine has been reserved for their use. They have deserved our gratitude, though, out of respect for their rules, I could never convey it to them in words. Indeed, it is but seldom that I get speech even with Dom Basilio. Sometimes when his walk leads him by the river-bank where I stand a-fishing he will seat himself for a while and watch; and then I find a comfort in his presence, as though we conversed together without help of speech. Then also, though my reason disapprove of our guest’s rigour, an inward voice tells me that there is good in their religion, as perchance there is good wherever men have found anchorage for their souls.