“O my darling! my own beautiful darling!” he whispered, “how could I ever be angry with you? You are more to me than all the world. Ah, God! how I love you, my darling! my own sweet darling!”
For nearly an hour the boy nestled there in his arms, pressing his soft cheek against his; then the priest told him he must go. For one long last kiss their lips met, and then the small white-clad figure slipped through the window, sped across the little moonlit garden, and vanished through the opposite window.
When they met in the vestry next morning, the lad raised his beautiful flower-like face, and [42] ]the priest, gently putting his arms round him, kissed him tenderly on the lips.
“My darling! my darling!” was all he said; but the lad returned his kiss with a smile of wonderful almost heavenly love, in a silence that seemed to whisper something more than words.
“I wonder what was the matter with the father this morning?” said one old woman to another, as they were returning from the chapel; “he didn’t seem himself at all; he made more mistakes this morning than Father Thomas made in all the year he was here.”
“Seemed as if he had never said a Mass before!” replied her friend, with something of contempt.
[43] And that night, and for many nights after, the priest, with the pale tired-looking face, drew the curtain over his crucifix and waited at the window for the glimmer of the pale summer moonlight on a crown of golden curls, for the sight of slim boyish limbs clad in the long white night-shirt, that only emphasized the grace of every movement, and the beautiful pallor of the little feet speeding across the grass. There at the window, night after night, he waited to feel tender loving arms thrown round his neck, and to feel the intoxicating delight of beautiful boyish lips raining kisses on his own.
Ronald Heatherington made no mistakes in the Mass now. [44] ]He said the solemn words with a reverence and devotion that made the few poor people who happened to be there speak of him afterwards almost with awe; while the face of the little acolyte at his side shone with a fervour which made them ask each other what this strange light could mean. Surely the young priest must be a saint indeed, while the boy beside him looked more like an angel from heaven than any child of human birth.
PART II [45]
