r, have you thought what you are saying?"

Arthur turned round and looked straight into Montanelli's eyes.

"Padre, you asked me if I could trust you. Can you not trust me, too?
Indeed, if there were anything to tell, I would tell it to you; but
there is no use in talking about these things. I have not forgotten what
you said to me that night; I shall never forget it. But I must go my way
and follow the light that I see."

Montanelli picked a rose from the bush, pulled off the petals one by
one, and tossed them into the water.

"You are right, carino. Yes, we will say no more about these things;
it seems there is indeed no help in many words----Well, well, let us go
in."

CHAPTER III.

THE autumn and winter passed uneventfully. Arthur was reading hard and
had little spare time. He contrived to get a glimpse of Montanelli once
or oftener in every week, if only for a few minutes. From time to time
he would come in to ask for help with some difficult book; but on these
occasions the subject of study was strictly adhered to. Montanelli,
feeling, rather than observing, the slight, impalpable barrier that
had come between them, shrank from everything which might seem like an
attempt to retain the old close relationship. Arthur's visits now caused
him more distress than pleasure, so trying was the constant effort to
appear at ease and to behave as if nothing were altered. Arthur, for his
part, noticed, hardly understanding it, the subtle change in the Padre's
manner; and, vaguely feeling that it had some connection with the vexed
question of the "new ideas," avoided all mention of the subject with
which his thoughts were constantly filled. Yet he had never
loved Montanelli so deeply as now. The dim, persistent sense of
dissatisfaction, of spiritual emptiness, which he had tried so hard to
stifle under a load of theology and ritual, had vanished into nothing at
the touch of Young Italy. All the unhealthy fancies born of loneliness
and sick-room watching had passed away, and the doubts against which he
used to pray had gone without the need of exorcism. With the awakening
of a new enthusiasm, a clearer, fresher religious ideal (for it was more
in this light than in that of a political development that the
students' movement had appeared to him), had come a sense of rest and
completeness, of peace on earth and good will towards men; and in this
mood of solemn and tender exaltation all the world seemed to him full of
li