“I thought of going to one of the fathers of Santa Caterina, if they have not too many penitents.”
“Will you confess to me?”
Arthur opened his eyes in wonder.
“Reverend Father, of course I—should be glad; only——”
“Only the Director of a theological seminary does not usually receive lay penitents? That is quite true. But I know Canon Montanelli takes a great interest in you, and I fancy he is a little anxious on your behalf—just as I should be if I were leaving a favourite pupil—and would like to know you were under the spiritual guidance of his colleague. And, to be quite frank with you, my son, I like you, and should be glad to give you any help I can.”
“If you put it that way, of course I shall be very grateful for your guidance.”
“Then you will come to me next month? That's right. And run in to see me, my lad, when you have time any evening.”
Shortly before Easter Montanelli's appointment to the little see of Brisighella, in the Etruscan Apennines, was officially announced. He wrote to Arthur from Rome in a cheerful and tranquil spirit; evidently his depression was passing over. “You must come to see me every vacation,” he wrote; “and I shall often be coming to Pisa; so I hope to see a good deal of you, if not so much as I should wish.”
Dr. Warren had invited Arthur to spend the Easter holidays with him and his children, instead of in the dreary, rat-ridden old place where Julia now reigned supreme. Enclosed in the letter was a short note, scrawled in Gemma's childish, irregular handwriting, begging him to come if possible, “as I want to talk to you about something.” Still more encouraging was the whispered communication passing around from student to student in the university; everyone was to be prepared for great things after Easter.