“I—yes, partly. I envied him his experience—his usefulness. And then—I thought—I feared—that he would take from me the heart of the girl I—love.”
“And this girl that you love, is she a daughter of the Holy Church?”
“No; she is a Protestant.”
“A heretic?”
Arthur clasped his hands in great distress. “Yes, a heretic,” he repeated. “We were brought up together; our mothers were friends—and I—envied him, because I saw that he loves her, too, and because—because——”
“My son,” said Father Cardi, speaking after a moment's silence, slowly and gravely, “you have still not told me all; there is more than this upon your soul.”
“Father, I——” He faltered and broke off again.
The priest waited silently.
“I envied him because the society—the Young Italy—that I belong to———”
“Yes?”