“EXCEPTING my employment here in the library,” Father Benwell began, “and some interesting conversation with Lord Loring, to which I shall presently allude, I am almost as great a stranger in this house, Arthur, as yourself.  When the object which we now have in view was first taken seriously into consideration, I had the honor of being personally acquainted with Lord Loring.  I was also aware that he was an intimate and trusted friend of Romayne.  Under these circumstances, his lordship presented himself to our point of view as a means of approaching the owner of Vange Abbey without exciting distrust.  I was charged accordingly with the duty of establishing myself on terms of intimacy in this house.  By way of making room for me, the spiritual director of Lord and Lady Loring was removed to a cure of souls in Ireland.  And here I am in his place!  By-the-way, don’t treat me (when we are in the presence of visitors) with any special marks of respect.  I am not Provincial of our Order in Lord Loring’s house—­I am one of the inferior clergy.”

Penrose looked at him with admiration.  “It is a great sacrifice to make, Father, in your position and at your age.”

“Not at all, Arthur.  A position of authority involves certain temptations to pride.  I feel this change as a lesson in humility which is good for me.  For example, Lady Loring (as I can plainly see) dislikes and distrusts me.  Then, again, a young lady has recently arrived here on a visit.  She is a Protestant, with all the prejudices incident to that way of thinking—­avoids me so carefully, poor soul, that I have never seen her yet.  These rebuffs are wholesome reminders of his fallible human nature, to a man who has occupied a place of high trust and command.  Besides, there have been obstacles in my way which have had an excellent effect in rousing my energies.  How do you feel, Arthur, when you encounter obstacles?”

“I do my best to remove them, Father.  But I am sometimes conscious of a sense of discouragement.”

“Curious,” said Father Benwell.  “I am only conscious, myself, of a sense of impatience.  What right has an obstacle to get in my way?—­that is how I look at it.  For example, the first thing I heard, when I came here, was that Romayne had left England.  My introduction to him was indefinitely delayed; I had to look to Lord Loring for all the information I wanted relating to the man and his habits.  There was another obstacle!  Not living in the house, I was obliged to find an excuse for being constantly on the spot, ready to take advantage of his lordship’s leisure moments for conversation.  I sat down in this room, and I said to myself, ’Before I get up again, I mean to brush these impertinent obstacles out of my way!’ The state of the books suggested the idea of which I was in search.  Before I left the house, I was charged with the rearrangement of the library.  From that moment I came and went as often as I liked.  Whenever Lord Loring was disposed for a little talk, there I was, to lead the talk in the right direction.  And what is the result?  On the first occasion when Romayne presents himself I can place you in a position to become his daily companion.  All due, Arthur, in the first instance, to my impatience of obstacles.  Amusing, isn’t it?”