“Truly,” said the Abbot, “I see His guidance in all ways.”
“I do not,” returned Peregrine very frankly. “But then it is not probable that you have followed paths like to those I have traversed.”
The Abbot smiled, humorous, though grave. “I meant I saw His guidance in the paths He bids us follow. An’ stiff necked we follow those of our own choosing, methinks ’tis the Devil leads the way.”
Peregrine rubbed his chin. “There I am with you very freely. But how about this child? He found himself in paths where truly I can see none of God’s guidance, and would hesitate to say I saw the Devil’s leading, since assuredly the path was no choice of the boy’s.”
Abbot Hilary mused, looking down among the trees. “God has His Own methods,” he said presently. “At times He leads by strange paths, which, were they of our own choosing, would soil us sadly; but, since for some hidden purpose of His Own He takes us by them, He leads us through the mire undefiled.”
Peregrine nodded quick assent. “Here you have given clear tongue to the matter. The child that lies in my arms has been present with evil, yet he is not evil. Unwittingly he has taken part in the worst sacrilege, yet he is no sacrilegist. Thus much I have learned from him. How he came to such straights he knows not. He has no memory for aught but the place from which I brought him. An’ you can gain full speech from him as he gave it to me, and cleanse his mind from memory of past foulness, ’twill be well for his soul.”
For a few moments the Abbot made no answer. Then he said quietly, “What do you propose for the boy?”
“That he remain with you,” returned Peregrine on the instant. “In the first place, I am no fit company for him; in the second place, he is blind and needs safe harbourage; in the third place, he should learn forgetfulness of the past, which you can teach him.”
“And how for yourself?” replied the Abbot smiling.
Peregrine’s face fell to rigid lines.