“It is downright duty, Romayne.  If I gave way to you, I should be the means of exposing the priesthood to the vilest misinterpretation.  I should be deservedly reprimanded, and your proposal of restitution—­if you expressed it in writing—­would, without a moment’s hesitation, be torn up.  If you have any regard for me, drop the subject.”

Romayne refused to yield, even to this unanswerable appeal.

“Very well,” he said, “there is one document you can’t tear up.  You can’t interfere with my making another will.  I shall leave the Vange property to the Church, and I shall appoint you one of the trustees.  You can’t object to that.”

Father Benwell smiled sadly.

“The law spares me the ungracious necessity of objecting, in this case,” he answered.  “My friend, you forget the Statutes of Mortmain.  They positively forbid you to carry out the intention which you have just expressed.”

Romayne dismissed this appeal to the law irritably, by waving his hand.  “The Statutes of Mortmain,” he rejoined, “can’t prevent my bequeathing my property to an individual.  I shall leave Vange Abbey to You.  Now, Father Benwell! have I got the better of you at last?”

With Christian humility the Jesuit accepted the defeat, for which he had paved the way from the outset of the interview.  A t the same time, he shuffled all personal responsibility off his own shoulders.  He had gained the victory for the Church—­without (to do him justice) thinking of himself.

“Your generosity has conquered me,” he said.  “But I must be allowed to clear myself of even the suspicion of an interested motive.  On the day when your will is executed, I shall write to the General of our Order at Rome, leaving my inheritance to him.  This proceeding will be followed by a deed, in due form, conveying the property to the Church.  You have no objection to my taking that course?  No?  My dear Romayne, words are useless at such a time as this.  My acts shall speak for me.  I am too agitated to say more.  Let us talk of something else—­let us have some wine.”

He filled the glasses; he offered more biscuits.—­he was really, and even perceptibly, agitated by the victory that he had won.  But one last necessity now confronted him—­the necessity of placing a serious obstacle in the way of any future change of purpose on the part of Romayne.  As to the choice of that obstacle, Father Benwell’s mind had been made up for some time past.

“What was it I had to say to you?” he resumed “Surely, I was speaking on the subject of your future life?”

“You are very kind, Father Benwell.  The subject has little interest for me.  My future life is shaped out—­domestic retirement, ennobled by religious duties.”

Still pacing the room, Father Benwell stopped at that reply, and put his hand kindly on Romayne’s shoulder.