The Gadfly Ethel Voynich (e reader manga TXT) 📖

be safer than ours for that work? Nobody would suspect a rich shipping family like yours; and you know everyone at the docks⁠—”

“Hush! not so loud, dear! So it was in your house the books from Marseilles were hidden?”

“Only for one day. Oh! perhaps I oughtn’t to have told you.”

“Why not? You know I belong to the society. Gemma, dear, there is nothing in all the world that would make me so happy as for you to join us⁠—you and the Padre.”

“Your Padre! Surely he⁠—”

“No; he thinks differently. But I have sometimes fancied⁠—that is⁠—hoped⁠—I don’t know⁠—”

“But, Arthur! he’s a priest.”

“What of that? There are priests in the society⁠—two of them write in the paper. And why not? It is the mission of the priesthood to lead the world to higher ideals and aims, and what else does the society try to do? It is, after all, more a religious and moral question than a political one. If people are fit to be free and responsible citizens, no one can keep them enslaved.”

Gemma knit her brows. “It seems to me, Arthur,” she said, “that there’s a muddle somewhere in your logic. A priest teaches religious doctrine. I don’t see what that has to do with getting rid of the Austrians.”

“A priest is a teacher of Christianity, and the greatest of all revolutionists was Christ.”

“Do you know, I was talking about priests to father the other day, and he said⁠—”

“Gemma, your father is a Protestant.”

After a little pause she looked round at him frankly.

“Look here, we had better leave this subject alone. You are always intolerant when you talk about Protestants.”

“I didn’t mean to be intolerant. But I think Protestants are generally intolerant when they talk about priests.”

“I dare say. Anyhow, we have so often quarreled over this subject that it is not worth while to begin again. What did you think of the lecture?”

“I liked it very much⁠—especially the last part. I was glad he spoke so strongly about the need of living the Republic, not dreaming of it. It is as Christ said: ‘The Kingdom of Heaven is within you.’ ”

“It was just that part that I didn’t like. He talked so much of the wonderful things we ought to think and feel and be, but he never told us practically what we ought to do.”

“When the time of crisis comes there will be plenty for us to do; but we must be patient; these great changes are not made in a day.”

“The longer a thing is to take doing, the more reason to begin at once. You talk about being fit for freedom⁠—did you ever know anyone so fit for it as your mother? Wasn’t she the most perfectly angelic woman you ever saw? And what use was all her goodness? She was a slave till the day she died⁠—bullied and worried and insulted by your brother James and his wife. It would have been much better for her if she had not been so sweet and patient; they would never have treated her so. That’s just the way with Italy; it’s not patience that’s wanted⁠—it’s for somebody to get up and defend themselves⁠—”

“Jim, dear, if anger and passion could have saved Italy she would have been free long ago; it is not hatred that she needs, it is love.”

As he said the word a sudden flush went up to his forehead and died out again. Gemma did not see it; she was looking straight before her with knitted brows and set mouth.

“You think I am wrong, Arthur,” she said after a pause; “but I am right, and you will grow to see it some day. This is the house. Will you come in?”

“No; it’s late. Good night, dear!”

He was standing on the doorstep, clasping her hand in both of his.

“For God and the people⁠—”

Slowly and gravely she completed the unfinished motto:

“Now and forever.”

Then she pulled away her hand and ran into the house. When the door had closed behind her he stooped and picked up the spray of cypress which had fallen from her breast.

IV

Arthur went back to his lodgings feeling as though he had wings. He was absolutely, cloudlessly happy. At the meeting there had been hints of preparations for armed insurrection; and now Gemma was a comrade, and he loved her. They could work together, possibly even die together, for the Republic that was to be. The blossoming time of their hope was come, and the Padre would see it and believe.

The next morning, however, he awoke in a soberer mood and remembered that Gemma was going to Leghorn and the Padre to Rome. January, February, March⁠—three long months to Easter! And if Gemma should fall under “Protestant” influences at home (in Arthur’s vocabulary “Protestant” stood for “Philistine”)⁠—No, Gemma would never learn to flirt and simper and captivate tourists and bald-headed shipowners, like the other English girls in Leghorn; she was made of different stuff. But she might be very miserable; she was so young, so friendless, so utterly alone among all those wooden people. If only mother had lived⁠—

In the evening he went to the seminary, where he found Montanelli entertaining the new Director and looking both tired and bored. Instead of lighting up, as usual, at the sight of Arthur, the Padre’s face grew darker.

“This is the student I spoke to you about,” he said, introducing Arthur stiffly. “I shall be much obliged if you will allow him to continue using the library.”

Father Cardi, a benevolent-looking elderly priest, at once began talking to Arthur about the Sapienza, with an ease and familiarity which showed him to be well acquainted with college life. The conversation soon drifted into a discussion of university regulations, a burning question of that day. To Arthur’s great delight, the new Director spoke strongly against the custom adopted by the university authorities of constantly worrying the students by senseless and vexatious restrictions.

“I have had a good deal of experience in guiding young people,” he said; “and I make