“I am afraid I may fail to justify your belief in me,” he said, “unless I can really feel that I am converting Mr. Romayne for his own soul’s sake.  However righteous the cause may be, I cannot find, in the restitution of the Church property, a sufficient motive for persuading him to change his religious faith.  There is something so serious in the responsibility which you lay on me, that I shall sink under the burden unless my whole heart is in the work.  If I feel attracted toward Mr. Romayne when I first see him; if he wins upon me, little by little, until I love him like a brother—­then, indeed, I can promise that his conversion shall be the dearest object of my life.  But if there is not this intimate sympathy between us—­forgive me if I say it plainly—­I implore you to pass me over, and to commit the task to the hands of another man.”

His voice trembled; his eyes moistened.  Father Benwell handled his young friend’s rising emotion with the dexterity of a skilled angler humoring the struggles of a lively fish.

“Good Arthur!” he said.  “I see much—­too much, dear boy—­of self-seeking people.  It is as refreshing to me to hear you, as a draught of water to a thirsty man.  At the same time, let me suggest that you are innocently raising difficulties, where no difficulties exist.  I have already mentioned as one of the necessities of the case that you and Romayne should be friends.  How can that be, un less there is precisely that sympathy between you which you have so well described?  I am a sanguine man, and I believe you will like each other.  Wait till you see him.”

As the words passed his lips, the door that led to the picture gallery was opened.  Lord Loring entered the library.

He looked quickly round him—­apparently in search of some person who might, perhaps, be found in the room.  A shade of annoyance showed itself in his face, and disappeared again, as he bowed to the two Jesuits.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” he said, looking at Penrose.  “Is this the gentleman who is to assist Mr. Romayne?”

Father Benwell presented his young friend.  “Arthur Penrose, my lord.  I ventured to suggest that he should call here to-day, in case you wished to put any questions to him.”

“Quite needless, after your recommendation,” Lord Loring answered, graciously.  “Mr. Penrose could not have come here at a more appropriate time.  As it happens, Mr. Romayne has paid us a visit today—­he is now in the picture gallery.”

The priests looked at each other.  Lord Loring left them as he spoke.  He walked to the opposite door of the library—­opened it—­glanced round the hall, and at the stairs—­and returned again, with the passing expression of annoyance visible once more.  “Come with me to the gallery, gentlemen,” he said; “I shall be happy to introduce you to Mr. Romayne.”

Penrose accepted the proposal.  Father Benwell pointed with a smile to the books scattered about him.  “With permission, I will follow your lordship,” he said.