atever."

"And yet, Father, you speak as if you saw some prospect of the
restitution of the property. By what means can the restitution be made?"

"By peaceful and worthy means," Father Benwell answered. "By honorable
restoration of the confiscated property to the Church, on the part of
the person who is now in possession of it."

Penrose was surprised and interested. "Is the person a Catholic?" he
asked, eagerly.

"Not yet." Father Benwell laid a strong emphasis on those two little
words. His fat fingers drummed restlessly on the table; his vigilant
eyes rested expectantly on Penrose. "Surely you understand me, Arthur?"
he added, after an interval.

The color rose slowly in the worn face of Penrose. "I am afraid to
understand you," he said.

"Why?"

"I am not sure that it is my better sense which understands. I am
afraid, Father, it may be my vanity and presumption."

Father Benwell leaned back luxuriously in his chair. "I like that
modesty," he said, with a relishing smack of his lips as if modesty was
as good as a meal to him. "There is power of the right sort, Arthur,
hidden under the diffidence that does you honor. I am more than ever
satisfied that I have been right in reporting you as worthy of this
most serious trust. I believe the conversion of the owner of Vange Abbey
is--in your hands--no more than a matter of time."

"May I ask what his name is?"

"Certainly. His name is Lewis Romayne."

"When do you introduce me to him?"

"Impossible to say. I have not yet been introduced myself."

"You don't know Mr. Romayne?"

"I have never even seen him."

These discouraging replies were made with the perfect composure of a man
who saw his way clearly before him. Sinking from one depth of perplexity
to another, Penrose ventured on putting one last question. "How am I to
approach Mr. Romayne?" he asked.

"I can only answer that, Arthur, by admitting you still further into my
confidence. It is disagreeable to me," said the reverend gentleman, with
the most becoming humility, "to speak of myself. But it must be done.
Shall we have a little coffee to help us through the coming extract from
Father Benwell's autobiography? Don't look so serious, my son! When the
occasion justifies it, let us take life lightly." He rang the bell and
ordered the coffee, as if he was the master of the house. The servant
treated him with the most scrupulous respect. He hummed a little tune,
and talked at intervals of the weath