gnor provided him with the philosophy of the environment,
explained the difficulties, and soothed him with the sympathy of a
generous heart acquainted with his calamities.

"It would have been better to have launched you elsewhere," he said,
"but I knew no other place well enough to get the right people. And then
I have the hope that the necessity for this episode will not continue."

"Death only will end it, Monsignor. Death for one or the other. It
should come soon, for the charm of this life is overpowering me. I shall
never wish to go back if the charm holds me. My uncle, the Senator, is
about to place me in politics."

"I knew he would launch you on that stormy sea," Monsignor answered
reflectively, "but you are not bound to accept the enterprise."

"It will give me distraction, and I need distraction from this
intolerable pain," tapping his breast with a gesture of anguish.

"It will surely counter-irritate. It has entranced men like the Senator,
and your chief; even men like Birmingham. They have the ambition which
runs with great ability. It's a pity that the great prizes are beyond
them."

"Why beyond them?"

"High office is closed to Catholics in this country."

"Here I run up against the mysterious again," he complained.

"Go down into your memory," Monsignor said after a little reflection,
"and recall the first feeling which obscurely stirred your heart when
the ideas of _Irish_ and _Catholic_ were presented to you. See if it was
not distrust, dislike, irritation, or even hate; something different
from the feeling aroused by such ideas as _Turk_ and _atheist_."

"Dislike, irritation, perhaps contempt, with a hint of amusement,"
Arthur replied thoughtfully.

"How came that feeling there touching people of whom you knew next to
nothing?"

"Another mystery."

"Let me tell you. Hatred and contempt of the Irish Catholic has been the
mark of English history for four centuries, and the same feelings have
become a part of English character. It is in the English blood, and
therefore it is in yours. It keeps such men as Sullivan and Birmingham
out of high office, and now it will act against you, strangely enough."

"I understand. Queer things, rum things in this world. I am such a
mystery to myself, however, that I ought not be surprised at outside
mysteries."

"I often regret that I helped you to your present enterprise," said the
priest, "on that very account. Life is harsh enough without adding to