“I believe so,” she said.
“Then if you did your best, you may be sure God took it as such, and wasn’t holding you to account for any little weakness which was but part and parcel of human nature. I’m thinking He knows the human side of us well enough, and doesn’t look at it too closely when we’re trying to do His will. He’ll not have been taking a trifle of fretting into consideration, when your heart was set the right way. You needn’t be thinking He was waiting to pounce down and punish you because you didn’t throw the Castle over to that young fella with devil a bit may care in your heart. Sure, it’s giving Him the things the human side of us is fretting after that counts. Don’t you go fearing God likes punishing people. Where’s your faith at all?”
“But supposing—” began Lady Mary.
“I’m not supposing at all,” broke in Father Maloney. “The child’s safe enough. And if he isn’t—though surely ’tis in my heart he is—’tis no punishment to you. Glory be to God! Who do you think loves him best, our Blessed Lord, or you? I tell you he’s as safe in His keeping, storm or no storm, as if he was in his bed this very minute with you on one side of him, and Biddy on the other. ’Tis all for talking about the Love of Christ we are, and when it comes to the test, it’s precious little believing we show. And I’m as bad as any of ye.”
“Then you are anxious,” said Lady Mary quietly.
Father Maloney blew his nose.
“Anxious! of course I’m anxious,” he said half-testily. “Who wouldn’t be anxious with a bit of a boy out in the weather we’ve had. ’Tis against all sense I shouldn’t be anxious. But he’ll come home right enough,” he ended obstinately.
And then suddenly the cloak of quiet dignity, the gentle control, fell from Lady Mary.
“Oh, Father,” she cried, “go on saying that. Say it again and again. I don’t mind how often you say it. Somehow,” her lips were trembling piteously, “it makes it seem true.”
For the moment she was nothing but a frightened old woman, fear gripping her close.