“That will do, my good man,” said D'Esmonde, with a nod of his head; and then, as the door closed behind him, added, “You see, Michel, I was right in my fears of this doctor. The evasive terms of his note, too, confirmed my suspicions,—that 'desire for further time in a matter of such great difficulty.' We have thrown him on the scent, and he is now in full cry after the game. Shame upon us!—shame! that such as he can foil us at our own weapons. I see his plan clearly enough. He is either in possession of some secret fact of this man's early life, which can be employed as a menace to extort a confession from him, or he is about to work on him by bribery. Now, as to the former, I am perfectly at ease. What I, with every agency of the Church, have failed to elicit, I can safely defy the layman's craft to detect. As to the effect of a bribe, I am far from being so certain.”
“And in either case the result concerns you but little,” said Cahill. “The fellow has nothing in his power against you.”
“Nothing,” said D'Esmonde. “I never left myself in the hands of such as he! It will, of course, be disagreeable to me that our intercourse should be made public. The Orange press will know how to connect our intimacy with a thousand schemes and subtleties that I never dreamed of; and, more offensive still, the assumed relationship to Mr. Godfrey will afford a fruitful theme for sneer and sarcasm. I foresee it all, my good Michel; and, worst of all, I perceive how this publicity will mar higher and nobler objects. The Sacred College will never make a prince of the Church of one whose name has been sullied by the slang of journalism. These are the dangers to be averted here. You must contrive to see this man at once,—to assure him of our interest and protection, if he be but discreet and careful. He may safely deny all knowledge of the circumstances to which we alluded. We are the only persons to whom he made these revelations. He has only to assume an ignorance of everything. Impress this upon him, Michel; for if they can involve him in a narrative, be it ever so slight or vague, these lawyers exercise a kind of magic power in what is called cross-examination, and can detect a secret fact by tests as fine as those by which the chemist discovers a grain of poison. Would that I could see him myself! but this might be imprudent.”
“Trust all to me, D'Esmonde; and believe me, that with men like him habit has taught me better how to deal than you, with all your higher skill, could accomplish. I will contrive to see him to-night, or early to-morrow. The under-turnkey was from my own parish, and I can make my visit as if to him.”
“How humiliating is it,” cried D'Esmonde, rising and pacing the room,—“how humiliating to think that incidents like these are to sway and influence us in our road through life; but so it is, the great faults that men commit are less dangerous than are imprudent intimacies and ill-judged associations. It is not on the high bluff or the bold headland that the craft is shipwrecked, but on some small sunken rock,—some miserable reef beneath the waves! Could we but be 'penny wise' in morals, Michel, how rich we should be in knowledge of life! I never needed this fellow,—never wanted his aid in any way! The unhappy mention of Godfrey's name—the spell that in some shape or other has worked on my heart through life—first gave him an interest in my eyes; and so, bit by bit, I have come to be associated with him, till—would you believe it?—I cannot separate myself from him. Has it ever occurred to you, Michel, that the Evil One sometimes works his ends by infusing into the nature of some chance intimate that species of temptation by which courageous men are so easily seduced,—I mean that love of hazard, that playing with fire, so intoxicating in its excitement? I am convinced that to me no bait could be so irresistible. Tell me that the earth is mined, and you invest it with a charm that all the verdure of 'Araby the Blest' could never give it! I love to handle steel when the lightning is playing; not, mark me, from any contempt of life, far less in any spirit of blasphemous defiance, but simply for the glorious sentiment of peril. Be assured that when all other excitements pall upon the mind, this one survives in all its plenitude, and, as the poet says of avarice, becomes a good 'old gentlemanly vice.'”
“You will come along with me, D'Esmonde?” said the other, whose thoughts were concentrated on the business before him.
“Yes, Michel, I am as yet unknown here; and it may be, too, that this Meekins might wish to see me. We must take good care, while we avoid any public notice, that this fellow should not think himself deserted by us.”
“The very point on which I was reflecting, D'Esmonde. We can talk over this as we go along.”