“My dear child, you never can tell!” she cried as Cis ended. “Robert Lucas became a Catholic about ten years after I did; he is fifteen years younger than I. Wilmer Lucas was no less disgusted than he was angry. He said that Robert had made a fool of himself, that with his mind continually hovering over kisses upon the pope’s toe he never could get anywhere, amount to anything! Wilmer always enjoyed vigorous symbolical language! In point of fact Robert Lucas has gone far, has amounted to a great deal. He is not involved in national politics, as our lawyer Wilmer is, but he is a successful man, and no one ever speaks of him without paying tribute in the highest terms to his lofty character. Wilmer Lucas is honorable and honored, but it is Robert, not he, whose goodness seems to impress people over and above his other qualities. Wilmer Lucas has been most intolerant of the Church all these years; he is protestant, not only against her directly, but against her intrusion into his family. He is exceedingly fond of Robert’s daughter Jeanette, by the way. I have always seen that in the case of Father Morley, whom he avoids; my own case; his unwillingness to allow his brother ever to speak on the subject, Wilmer Lucas betrays his perception of the impregnable position of the Old Church, that he pays her tribute, though it is in a form not unlike the tribute to her Founder recorded in the Gospel. He is a man of logical mind, highly trained to sift evidence; he cannot fail to perceive the immense difference between her consistent logic and the shifting sands of mere opinion outside of her, nor can he account for her hold on men’s souls down through the ages by natural means. Now, to-day, you have startled him by a new instance of the power of conscience. I am glad that you look pale, Cis dear, that you show suffering! And how it must have impressed him that, though you could not withstand Rodney’s pleading with you to do what you held wrong in a lesser matter, you have held your Faith against all pressure from without and within! Evidently Mr. Lucas is impressed, the more so that he had not thought you particularly devout. Perhaps it will set him thinking, farther and hard! As I set out by saying, you never can tell!”
“Oh, Miss Braithwaite, it isn’t likely that Mr. Lucas would pay attention long to no-consequence me!” cried Cis.
“You—never—can—tell!” repeated Miss Braithwaite emphatically. “Usually a train of circumstances, some of them trivial and hardly noted, lead men to the Truth; it is like a sort of Divine hare-and-hounds; tiny scraps of paper flutter along the trail, unconsciously seen by the players, till at last! The goal and the game won!”
“That’s great, Miss Braithwaite!” cried Cis with quick appreciation of the figure. “I wish I were that sort of a scrap of paper, but it’s not likely.”
“Never can tell!” Miss Braithwaite harped on her premise. “I’ve always noticed that when God breaks us, my dear, it’s to use the pieces in new combinations, and for good. It is as if we were picture puzzles, with reverse sides. We’re something quite pretty at first; then the pieces are tossed and displaced by a great experience, and, if we submit and wait, behold God’s Hand puts us all together again, the reverse side up, and the picture is no longer merely a pretty thing, but a beautiful, shining illumination, of which all who run may read its meaning which is at once a magnet and a map of the way.”
“Miss Braithwaite, you tell me wonderful things!” cried Cis softly. “If I’m here all winter with you I ought to amount to something; I’ll try to. It’s strange that I don’t hear—from Rodney. Do you suppose he isn’t going to say one word to me? I was sure he’d try to see me. Do you think he’s given right up like this?”
“From my experience of men I’d say decidedly not,” said Miss Braithwaite. “However, it is strange that he makes no sign. Perhaps he’s the exception; that his anger will prevent him from claiming to hear his verdict from your lips, but very few men would submit to banishment on the strength of a brief note from you.”
“I will not see him; he can’t hear the verdict from my lips!” cried Cis. “What would be the use? Only miserable pain; parting all over again. I’m so afraid of meeting him! You can’t drive me everywhere I go. I truly think I ought to leave Beaconhite; I think perhaps I must.”
“Well, well, we’ll see! Not to-night, at least! To-morrow is also a day. I like those wise old sayings. I hope that you may stay on; you need Father Morley for a while. Yes, Ellen; someone to see me?” Miss Braithwaite turned toward her maid, entering with a card on a small salver.
“No, Miss Braithwaite, for Miss Adair. He—the caller—was determined to walk right in, but I made him go into the reception room,” said Ellen, who, like most good and faithful servants, was perfectly conversant with household affairs; took care that whatever happened under the roof should, in some way, transpire to her.