The Gadfly Ethel Voynich (e reader manga TXT) 📖

it a rule never to prohibit anything without a good reason. There are very few young men who will give much trouble if proper consideration and respect for their personality are shown to them. But, of course, the most docile horse will kick if you are always jerking at the rein.”

Arthur opened his eyes wide; he had not expected to hear the students’ cause pleaded by the new Director. Montanelli took no part in the discussion; its subject, apparently, did not interest him. The expression of his face was so unutterably hopeless and weary that Father Cardi broke off suddenly.

“I am afraid I have overtired you, Canon. You must forgive my talkativeness; I am hot upon this subject and forget that others may grow weary of it.”

“On the contrary, I was much interested.” Montanelli was not given to stereotyped politeness, and his tone jarred uncomfortably upon Arthur.

When Father Cardi went to his own room Montanelli turned to Arthur with the intent and brooding look that his face had worn all the evening.

“Arthur, my dear boy,” he began slowly; “I have something to tell you.”

“He must have had bad news,” flashed through Arthur’s mind, as he looked anxiously at the haggard face. There was a long pause.

“How do you like the new Director?” Montanelli asked suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that, for a moment, Arthur was at a loss how to reply to it.

“I⁠—I like him very much, I think⁠—at least⁠—no, I am not quite sure that I do. But it is difficult to say, after seeing a person once.”

Montanelli sat beating his hand gently on the arm of his chair; a habit with him when anxious or perplexed.

“About this journey to Rome,” he began again; “if you think there is any⁠—well⁠—if you wish it, Arthur, I will write and say I cannot go.”

“Padre! But the Vatican⁠—”

“The Vatican will find someone else. I can send apologies.”

“But why? I can’t understand.”

Montanelli drew one hand across his forehead.

“I am anxious about you. Things keep coming into my head⁠—and after all, there is no need for me to go⁠—”

“But the bishopric⁠—”

“Oh, Arthur! what shall it profit me if I gain a bishopric and lose⁠—”

He broke off. Arthur had never seen him like this before, and was greatly troubled.

“I can’t understand,” he said. “Padre, if you could explain to me more⁠—more definitely, what it is you think⁠—”

“I think nothing; I am haunted with a horrible fear. Tell me, is there any special danger?”

“He has heard something,” Arthur thought, remembering the whispers of a projected revolt. But the secret was not his to tell; and he merely answered: “What special danger should there be?”

“Don’t question me⁠—answer me!” Montanelli’s voice was almost harsh in its eagerness. “Are you in danger? I don’t want to know your secrets; only tell me that!”

“We are all in God’s hands, Padre; anything may always happen. But I know of no reason why I should not be here alive and safe when you come back.”

“When I come back⁠—Listen, carino; I will leave it in your hands. You need give me no reason; only say to me, ‘Stay,’ and I will give up this journey. There will be no injury to anyone, and I shall feel you are safer if I have you beside me.”

This kind of morbid fancifulness was so foreign to Montanelli’s character that Arthur looked at him with grave anxiety.

“Padre, I am sure you are not well. Of course you must go to Rome, and try to have a thorough rest and get rid of your sleeplessness and headaches.”

“Very well,” Montanelli interrupted, as if tired of the subject; “I will start by the early coach tomorrow morning.”

Arthur looked at him, wondering.

“You had something to tell me?” he said.

“No, no; nothing more⁠—nothing of any consequence.” There was a startled, almost terrified look in his face.

A few days after Montanelli’s departure Arthur went to fetch a book from the seminary library, and met Father Cardi on the stairs.

“Ah, Mr. Burton!” exclaimed the Director; “the very person I wanted. Please come in and help me out of a difficulty.”

He opened the study door, and Arthur followed him into the room with a foolish, secret sense of resentment. It seemed hard to see this dear study, the Padre’s own private sanctum, invaded by a stranger.

“I am a terrible bookworm,” said the Director; “and my first act when I got here was to examine the library. It seems very interesting, but I do not understand the system by which it is catalogued.”

“The catalogue is imperfect; many of the best books have been added to the collection lately.”

“Can you spare half an hour to explain the arrangement to me?”

They went into the library, and Arthur carefully explained the catalogue. When he rose to take his hat, the Director interfered, laughing.

“No, no! I can’t have you rushing off in that way. It is Saturday, and quite time for you to leave off work till Monday morning. Stop and have supper with me, now I have kept you so late. I am quite alone, and shall be glad of company.”

His manner was so bright and pleasant that Arthur felt at ease with him at once. After some desultory conversation, the Director inquired how long he had known Montanelli.

“For about seven years. He came back from China when I was twelve years old.”

“Ah, yes! It was there that he gained his reputation as a missionary preacher. Have you been his pupil ever since?”

“He began teaching me a year later, about the time when I first confessed to him. Since I have been at the Sapienza he has still gone on helping me with anything I wanted to study that was not in the regular course. He has been very kind to me⁠—you can hardly imagine how kind.”

“I can well believe it; he is a man whom no one can fail to admire⁠—a most noble and beautiful nature. I have met priests who were out in China with him; and they had no words high enough to praise his