The Master-Christian

by Marie Corelli

"I thank you too, my dear friend! You have learned something of my work since we came to London, and I think you understand thoroughly the true sanctity and force of my marriage?"

"I—do!—I do understand it!" said the Cardinal slowly. "And I wish with all my heart that all marriage vows could be so solemnly and truly taken! But my heart aches—my heart aches for the world! These thousands you have helped and taught are but a few,—and they were as you have told me, little better than heathen when you came amongst them to tell them the true meaning of Christ's message—what of the millions more waiting to know what the Church is failing to teach? What have the priests of the Lord been doing for nearly two thousand years, that there should still be doubters of God!"

Over his face swept a shadow of deep pain, and at that moment Manuel left the Cross where he had been leaning and came up and stood beside him. The Cardinal looked at his waif wistfully.

"What did you think of this service, my child?"

"I thought that the Master of all these His servants could not be very far away!" answered Manuel softly,—"And that if He came suddenly, He would find none sleeping!"

"May it prove so!" said Aubrey fervently. "But we own ourselves to be unprofitable servants at best,—we can only try to fulfil our Lord's commands as nearly to the letter as possible,—and we often fail;—but we do honestly make the effort. Shall we go now, my lord Cardinal? You look fatigued."

Bonpre sighed heavily. "My spirit is broken, my son!" he answered. "I dare not think of what will happen—what is beginning to happen for the Christian world! I shall not live to see it; but I have sinned, in passing my days in too much peace. Dwelling for many years away in my far-off diocese, I have forgotten the hurrying rush of life. I should have been more active long ago,—and I fear I shall have but a poor account to give of my stewardship when I am called to render it up. This is what troubles both my heart and my conscience!"

"Dear friend, you have no cause for trouble!" said Sylvie earnestly. "Among all the servants of our Master surely you are one of the most faithful!"

"One of the most faithful, and therefore considered one of the most faithless!" said Manuel. "Come, let us go now,—and leave these bridal flowers where the bride wishes them to be,—at the foot of the Cross, as a symbol of her husband's service! Let us go,—the Cardinal has need of rest."

They returned to their respective homes,—Aubrey and his wife to a little tenement house they had taken for a few weeks in the district in order that Sylvie might be able to see and to study for herself the sad and bitter lives of those who from birth to death are deprived of all the natural joys of happy and wholesome existence,—whose children are born and bred up in crime,—where girls are depraved and ruined before they are in their teens,—and where nothing of God is ever taught beyond that He is a Being who punishes the wicked and rewards the good,—and where in the general apathy of utter wretchedness, people decide that unless there is something given them in this world to be good for, they would rather be bad like the rest of the folks they see about them. The Cardinal and Manuel dwelt in rooms not very far away, and every day and every hour almost was occupied by them in going among these poor, helpless, hopeless ones of the world, bringing them comfort and aid and sympathy. Wherever Manuel went, there brightness followed; the sick were healed, the starving were fed, the lonely and desolate were strengthened and encouraged, and the people who knew no more of the Cardinal than that "he was a priest of some sort or other," began to watch eagerly for the appearance of the Cardinal's foundling, "the child that seemed to love them," as they described him,—and to long for even a passing glimpse of the fair face, the steadfast blue eyes, the tender smile, of one before whom all rough words were silenced—all weeping stilled.