“He cannot trust himself to speak of it to you.  He begged me to prepare you—­”

Her courage failed her.  She paused.  Romayne beat his hand impatiently on the desk before him.  “Speak out!” he cried.  “If Rome is not the end of the journey—­what is?”

Stella hesitated no longer.

“He goes to Rome,” she said “to receive his instructions, and to become personally acquainted with the missionaries who are associated with him.  They will leave Leghorn in the next vessel which sets sail for a port in Central America.  And the dangerous duty intrusted to them is to re-establish one of the Jesuit Missions destroyed by the savages years since.  They will find their church a ruin, and not a vestige left of the house once inhabited by the murdered priests.  It is not concealed from them that they may be martyred, too.  They are soldiers of the Cross; and they go—­willingly go—­to save the souls of the Indians, at the peril of their lives.”

Romayne rose, and advanced to the door.  There, he turned, and spoke to Stella.  “Where is Arthur?” he said.

Stella gently detained him.

“There was one word more he entreated me to say—­pray wait and hear it,” she pleaded.  “His one grief is at leaving You.  Apart from that, he devotes himself gladly to the dreadful service which claims him.  He has long looked forward to it, and has long prepared himself for it.  Those, Lewis, are his own words.”

There was a knock at the door.  The servant appeared, to announce that the carriage was waiting.

Penrose entered the room as the man left it.

“Have you spoken for me?” he said to Stella.  She could only answer him by a gesture.  He turned to Romayne with a faint smile.

“The saddest of all words must be spoken,” he said.  “Farewell!”

Pale and trembling, Romayne took his hand.  “Is this Father Benwell’s doing?” he asked.

“No!” Penrose answered firmly.  “In Father Benwell’s position it might have been his doing, but for his goodness to me.  For the first time since I have known him he has shrunk from a responsibility.  For my sake he has left it to Rome.  And Rome has spoken.  Oh, my more than friend—­my brother in love—!”

His voice failed him.  With a resolution which was nothing less than heroic in a man of his affectionate nature, he recovered his composure.

“Let us make it as little miserable as it can be,” he said.  “At every opportunity we will write to each other.  And, who knows—­I may yet come back to you?  God has preserved his servants in dangers as great as any that I shall encounter.  May that merciful God bless and protect you!  Oh, Romayne, what happy days we have had together!” His last powers of resistance were worn out.  Tears of noble sorrow dimmed the friendly eyes which had never once looked unkindly on the brother of his love.  He kissed Romayne.  “Help me out!” he said, turning blindly toward the hall, in which the servant was waiting.  That last act of mercy was not left to a servant.  With sisterly tenderness, Stella took his hand and led him away.  “I shall remember you gratefully as long as I live,” she said to him when the carriage door was closed.  He waved his hand at the window, and she saw him no more.