He who had passed in judgment the works of the great sages of old had now to bend to instruction in the simple truths which every Christian child knows; and he who had never acknowledged any other judge over his actions save his own proud will, had now to unfold even his erring heart's most secret thoughts to the apparently human tribunal at which he had so often scoffed.
Nevertheless he quailed not before the ordeal, nor tried to turn away his eyes from that truthful—yet to him dreadful—mirror, wherein he saw, as in a magnifying glass, the greatness of his erring; the terrible evil which his book might do in the world, and all the suffering which he had so cruelly inflicted upon one who loved him with rare devotedness, and to whom, in spite of himself, his heart had ever clung with passionate attachment.
How vividly did the memory of their last interview rise up before him as he remembered Flora's sad prophetic manner, when she said in answer to his bitter reproaches, "It would be fearful to think that such a sacrifice as mine should be made in vain! Truth must dawn upon you at last, though I may not live to see that day, and then, Edwin, you will do me justice."
His pulse seemed to stand still as he thought of what Mr. Blake had told him—of the more than possibility that her words might be fully verified—that she might die, just as he had learned to know the true beauty and value of the treasure which he had so madly thrown away.
A feverish impatience to see her again took possession of him. "Yet," he thought to himself, "I must not go to her until I can take with me the hard won flag of faith, and lay it at her feet as the glorious trophy of her heroism. This very day I will go to Père d'Aubin, and ask him to explain what is still dark to me in the faith for which she has so valiantly suffered."
Père d'Aubin, or as the people called him, Padre d'Aubini, was a Frenchman, who, when comparatively a young man, had been forced to leave his country by ill-health, and although he was now quite well again, he made no exertion to get himself removed from Capri.
His venerable appearance and genial manner had often attracted Mr. Earnscliffe's attention. From a few accidental conversations, too, which he had had with him, he knew him to be a man of no mean acquirements, and one who must have seen much of the world in his earlier days. Yet there he was, devoting himself to the spiritual care of poor illiterate peasants, and making it seem that to be with them and to do them good was happiness to him, although deprived of home and friends and all real companionship. Heretofore he had been an enigma to Mr. Earnscliffe, who could not ascribe his devotion to the priesthood, as he habitually did that of others, to ignorance, or desire of self-aggrandisement.
Père d'Aubin might well have been called learned, yet he sought not a field where that learning could have been displayed, and have gained for him power and fame. What then was it that rendered him apparently happy in the humble, simple life which he led on this poor island?
This question was one of the many riddles which by degrees were being solved for Mr. Earnscliffe; and he felt that he could have no better guide in the path of truth than Père d'Aubin.
On arriving at his hotel his first work was to open his desk, take out Flora's letter which he had thrust into one of its corners, and press it to his lips. After a moment or two, however, of indulgence in old and sweet memories, he said, "But I must hasten on with the great work which is before me; then I will go to her and——and, yes I feel it, she will return me good for evil; the measure of her love and goodness will exceed even the measure of my offences."