The priest turned to Andreas. “I absolved her too soon, perhaps,” he said, in German. “Her penitence is skin-deep. She is still rebellious. Quick, quick, hurry her off from this sinful adviser. You’ll do well, as you say, to get her away as soon as you can—clear away from London. It’s no place for her, I’m sure, so long as this man . . . and his friends and allies . . . are here to tempt her.”
Rue clung hard to her still. “Linnet, dear,” she cried, coaxingly, “come up to my room! You’re not going with them, are you?”
“Yes; I am, dear,” Linnet sobbed out, in a heart-broken tone. “Oh, how good you are!—how sweet to me! But I must go. They have conquered me.”
“Then I’ll go round this very minute,” Rue burst forth through her tears, “and tell Will what they’re doing to you. If it was me, I’d defy them and their Church to their faces. I’ll go round and tell Will—and Will’ll come and rescue you!”
The priest motioned Linnet hastily with one hand down the stairs. “Sie haben recht, Herr Hausberger,” he murmured low. “Apage retro, Satanas! With temptations like these besetting her path, we shall be justified in hurrying away this poor weak lamb of our flock from the very brink of a precipice that so threatens to fall with her.”
CHAPTER XLVI
HOME AGAIN!
Andreas Hausberger was always a wise man in his generation. The moment he knew Linnet had left his house, he realised forthwith that the one great danger to his interests lay in the chance of her obtaining a divorce, and marrying Will Deverill. To prevent such a catastrophe to his best investment was now the chief object in life of the prudent impresario. He had hurried away from home that first afternoon, it is true, to make sure how things stood with Philippina and her husband; but as soon as he found out no serious danger menaced him there, he rushed back to Avenue Road—to find Linnet flown, without a word to say whither. Now, Andreas, being a very wise man, and knowing his countrywomen well, felt tolerably sure Linnet was by far too good a Catholic to agree to a divorce, even if Will suggested it. She might run away to her lover in a moment of pique—and so shut herself out from the benefit of the English law on the subject by misconducting herself in return; but fly in the face of the Church, insult her creed, defy its authority, annul its sacraments—oh, never! never! Andreas was certain Linnet would do—just what Linnet really did; fling herself frankly upon Will Deverill’s mercy, but refuse to marry him.
Moreover, with his usual worldly wisdom, the wirth of St Valentin saw at a glance that the Church was the only lever which could ever bring his revolted wife back to him. She had always disliked him; she now hated and despised him. But he was still, and must always be, in the sight of God, her lawful husband. Linnet feared and obeyed the Church, with the unquestioning faith of the genuine Tyrolese; it was to her a pure fetish—authoritative, absolute, final. Andreas recognised clearly that his proper course now was to enlist this mighty engine, if possible, in his own favour. To guard against all adverse chances, he must get Linnet back into his power at once, must carry her away from the sphere of Will’s influence, and, if luck permitted, must hurry her off to some land where divorce was impossible.