A Monk of Cruta Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  "WHO ARE YOU, AND WHAT YOUR MISSION?"

  The winter moon, soft and bright and full, looked down upon theruins of Vaux Abbey. A strange beauty lay upon the bare, rock-strewnhillside and desolate moor. Afar off a grey, brawling stream wastouched by its light, and in its place a band of gold seemed coiledaround the grey, sleeping hill. A black, reed-grown tarn at the footof the Abbey gleamed and quivered like a fair silver shield. The darkpines which crowned their sandy slopes lost their forbidding frown inan unaccustomed softness, and every harsh line and broken pillar ofthe ruined chapel was toned down into a rich, sad softness. A humanface, too, uplifted to the sky, so silent and motionless that itseemed almost set into the side of one of those groined arches, hadlost all its harshness and worldliness in the glow of that fallinglight. It might have been the face of a saint, save for the vagueunhappiness which shone in the clear, dark eyes; for at that moment,spirituality, wistfulness, and reverence seemed carved into the white,still features. But there was disquiet, too; and, after a while, asthough some cloud had passed across the moon, a dark shade stole intothe white face. The brows were contracted into a frown, and the eyesfilled with restless doubt. Father Adrian moved away from the shadowof the pillar, and stood, tall and motionless, on the ruined chapelfloor, with his eyes fixed upon the distant landscape. After a momentor two, his lips began to move and he commenced to speak aloud in alow, deep tone.

  "Six nights has my voice gone up to God from amongst these silentruins, six nights I have prayed in rain. These fair, still eveningsmock me! Whose is their beauty, if it be not God's; and, if there be aGod, and if the Blessed Virgin, our Holy Mother, indeed dwells amongstthe stars, why are their faces turned from me? Oh! that man knew alittle more or a little less--enough to pierce the mystery of yonstar-crowned heavens, or so little as to gaze on them unmoved andunfeeling! What is our little knowledge? A mockery, a dreary, hopelessmockery! I had better have rotted in that miserable monastery, asoulless, lifeless being, than have stepped out to struggle with aworld which is only a terrible riddle to me. I cannot reason with it;I cannot laugh or weep with it; I am in it, but not of it! Why was Isent? Oh I why was I sent?"

  The snapping of a twig caused him to turn suddenly round. Paul de Vauxwas advancing through the ruins, with a loose cloak thrown over hisevening clothes.

  Father Adrian turned round to meet him. The two men stood for a momentface to face without speaking. Both recognised that this interviewwas to be no ordinary one; and in a certain sense, each seemed to bemeasuring the other's strength. It was Paul who spoke first.

  "We have met before, Father Adrian."

  "Yes."

  "You will scarcely wonder that I am surprised to see you here inEngland. Have you left the monastery at Cruta?"

  "I left it a month after you did."

  "But your vows,--were they not for life?" Paul asked.

  Father Adrian smiled scornfully. "I was not bound to Cruta," heanswered. "There had been complaints, and I was there to investigatethem. The monastery was poverty and disease-stricken. It is closed nowforever."

  "Then you are no monk?"

  Father Adrian shook his head. "I am, and I am not. In my youth Iserved my novitiate, but I never took the oaths. The cloisters are forholier men than I."

  "Then who are you?"

  "I am--Father Adrian, priest of the Roman Catholic Church, I can tellyou no more."

  The moonlight was falling full upon his dark, striking face. Paul,with bent brows, scanned every feature of it intently. Father Adrianbore the scrutiny without flinching and without discomposure. Onlyonce the colour mounted a little into his cheeks as the eyes of thetwo men met.

  "What brings you to Vaux Abbey, Father Adrian?" Paul asked at length.

  "To see your home," was the quiet reply.

  "What do you want with me? It must be something more than curiositywhich has brought you all this way. What is it?"

  Father Adrian was silent. Yet his silence was not one of confusion.He was looking down through the gaps in the ruined chapel walls at thedark Gothic front of the old Abbey. Paul waited for an answer, and itcame at last.

  "I wished to see the home of Martin de Vaux, the Englishman who diedin my arms at the monastery of Cruta. For six nights I have prayedfor his soul in Purgatory, amongst the ruins here. He died in grievoussin!"

  "Have you come to remind me of it?" Paul asked bitterly. "Perhapsyou have repented of your silence, and have come to break the widow'sheart by telling her the story of his last moments. Perhaps--perhapsin those dark hours he told you his secret--told you why he had cometo Cruta!"

  "He did," said the priest gravely.

  "My God!"

  It was a great shock to Paul. Hitherto he had feared only one thing:that the story of his father's tragical death might come to light, andbreak his mother's heart. Now there was more to fear,--far more. Helooked into Father Adrian's face with a new and keener interest. Herecognised at once that everything dear to him in life might be atthis man's mercy.

  "You were intrusted with this secret by a dying man," Paul said, witha little hoarseness in his tone. "It is to you as the secrets of theconfessional!"

  The priest shook his head gently. "He refused to confess. He told medistinctly that it was as man to man he spoke to me."

  Paul looked away into the night with white, stricken face, and cursedhis father's weakness. Supposing that this priest had discoveredthat his conscience would not allow him to keep the secret! Whatmore likely! Why else was he here,--why else did he disclaim theconfessional? There was only one other alternative! Perhaps he desiredto trade upon his secret. Yet how was that possible? Of what use couldmoney be to him? What could he gain by it? Besides, his was not theface of an adventurer.

  "I do not understand," Paul said at last. "Once more let me ask you,Father Adrian, why are you here?"

  Father Adrian looked thoughtfully away. "You ask more than I cantell you," he said gravely. "The time has not yet come. We shall meetagain. Farewell!"

  The priest turned away, but Paul laid his hand on his shoulder.

  "If there is anything which you ought or mean to tell me, tell menow," he demanded hoarsely. "I can bear everything but suspense. Iknow only--that there was a secret. No more. Proceed! Tell me more!"

  The priest shook his robe free from Paul's restraining hand, andturned away.

  "Not yet! Not yet! My mind is not yet clear. We shall meet again.Farewell!"

  "But----"

  "Farewell!"

  The priest had passed from the ruins, and was already out of sight inthe gathering darkness.

  "Come back, Father Adrian! One word more!"

  "Farewell!"

  The priest did not turn his head. Paul was left alone, gazing afterhim with stern, troubled face and anxious heart. It was a danger whichhe had always foreseen, always dreaded. Henceforth he must live likea man who paces, day by day, the brink of a volcano. At any moment theblow might fall.