I listened, without making any remark.  To tell the truth, I was thinking of Stella.

March 6.—­I have been to Civita Vecchia, to give a little farewell entertainment to the officers and crew before they take the yacht back to England.

In a few words I said at parting, I mentioned that it was my purpose to make an offer for the purchase of the vessel, and that my guests should hear from me again on the subject.  This announcement was received with enthusiasm.  I really like my crew—­and I don’t think it is vain in me to believe that they return the feeling, from the sailing-master to the cabin-boy.  My future life, after all that has passed, is likely to be a roving life, unless—­No!  I may think sometimes of that happier prospect, but I had better not put my thoughts into w ords.  I have a fine vessel; I have plenty of money; and I like the sea.  There are three good reasons for buying the yacht.

Returning to Rome in the evening, I found waiting for me a letter from Stella.

She writes (immediately on the receipt of my telegram) to make a similar request to the request addressed to me by her mother.  Now that I am at Rome, she too wants to hear news of a Jesuit priest.  He is absent on a foreign mission, and his name is Penrose.  “You shall hear what obligations I owe to his kindness,” she writes, “when we meet.  In the meantime, I will only say that he is the exact opposite of Father Benwell, and that I should be the most ungrateful of women if I did not feel the truest interest in his welfare.”

This is strange, and, to my mind, not satisfactory.  Who is Penrose? and what has he done to deserve such strong expressions of gratitude?  If anybody had told me that Stella could make a friend of a Jesuit, I am afraid I should have returned a rude answer.  Well, I must wait for further enlightenment, and apply to the landlord’s nephew once more.

March 7.—­There is small prospect, I fear, of my being able to appreciate the merits of Mr. Penrose by personal experience.  He is thousands of miles away from Europe, and he is in a situation of peril, which makes the chance of his safe return doubtful in the last degree.

The Mission to which he is attached was originally destined to find its field of work in Central America.  Rumors of more fighting to come, in that revolutionary part of the world, reached Rome before the missionaries had sailed from the port of Leghorn.  Under these discouraging circumstances, the priestly authorities changed the destination of the Mission to the territory of Arizona, bordering on New Mexico, and recently purchased by the United States.  Here, in the valley of Santa Cruz, the Jesuits had first attempted the conversion of the Indian tribes two hundred years since, and had failed.  Their mission-house and chapel are now a heap of ruins, and the ferocious Apache Indians keep the fertile valley a solitude by the mere terror of their name.  To this ill-omened place Penrose and his companions have made their daring pilgrimage; and they are now risking their lives in the attempt to open the hearts of these bloodthirsty savages to the influence of Christianity.  Nothing has been yet heard of them.  At the best, no trustworthy news is expected for months to come.