Julius told his errand. “If you could have seen him just now,” he said, “you would see how much more hope there is of him than of many who never technically fail, but have not the same tender, generous heart, and free humility.”
“Yes, many a priest might now be thankful if some check had come on him.”
“And if he had met it with this freedom from bitterness. And it would be a great kindness to keep him here a day or two. Apart from being with you, the showing himself at Compton or at Strawyers on Sunday would be hard on him.”
“I will ask him. I will gladly have him here as long as the quiet may be good for him. My nephew, William, will be here till the end of the Long Vacation, but I must go to St. Faith’s on Monday to conduct the retreat.”
“I leave him in your hands then, and will call as I return to see what is settled, and report what his family wish. I grieve more for them than for himself.”
Julius first encountered Jenny Bowater in the village making farewell calls. He stopped the carriage and joined her, and not a word was needed to tell her that something was amiss. “You have come to tell us something,” she said. “Herbert has failed?”
“Prayers are sometimes answered as we do not expect,” said Julius. “I believe it will be the making of him.”
“Oh, but how will mamma ever bear it!” cried Jenny.
“We must remind her that it is only a matter of delay, not rejection,” said Julius.
“Have you seen him?”