“It is very praiseworthy in you. Continue as you have begun, and you may one day belong, completely to our Company,” said Father Caboccini, affectionately.
“I am as yet but a poor auxiliary member,” said Faringhea, humbly; “but no one is more devoted to the Society, body and soul. Bowanee is nothing to it.”
“Bowanee! who is that, my good friend?”
“Bowanee makes corpses which rot in the ground. The Society makes corpses which walk about.”
“Ah, yes! Perinde ac cadaver—they were the last words of our great saint, Ignatius de Loyola. But who is this Bowanee?”
“Bowanee is to the Society what a child is to a man,” replied the Asiatic, with growing excitement. “Glory to the Company—glory! Were my father its enemy, I would kill my father. The man whose genius inspires me most with admiration, respect, and terror—were he its enemy, I would kill, in spite of all,” said the half-caste, with an effort. Then, after a moment’s silence, he looked full in Caboccini’s face, and added: “I say this, that you may report my words to Cardinal Malipieri, and beg him to mention them to—”
Faringhea stopped short. “To whom should the cardinal mention your words?” asked Caboccini.
“He knows,” replied the half-caste, abruptly. “Good night!”
“Good-night, my friend! I can only approve of your excellent sentiments with regard to our Company. Alas! it is in want of energetic defenders, for there are said to be traitors in its bosom.”
“For those,” said Faringhea, “we must have no pity.”