Volume Three—Chapter Nine.
The Gamblers at Llangorren.
Among the faces now seen at Llangorren—most of them new to the place, and not a few of forbidding aspect—there is one familiar to us. Sinister as any; since it is that of Father Rogier. At no rare intervals may it be there observed; but almost continuously. Frequent as were his visits to Glyngog, they are still more so to Llangorren, where he now spends the greater part of his time; his own solitary, and somewhat humble, dwelling at Rugg’s Ferry seeing nothing of him for days together, while for nights its celibate bed is unslept in: the luxurious couch spread for him at the Court having greater attractions.
Whether made welcome to this unlimited hospitality, or not, he comports himself as though he were; seeming noways backward in the reception of it; instead as if demanding it. One ignorant of his relations with the master of the establishment might imagine him its master. Nor would the supposition be so far astray. As the King-mater controls the King, so can Gregoire Rogier the new Lord of Llangorren—influence him at his will.
And this does he; though not openly, or ostensibly. That would be contrary to the tactics taught him, and the practice to which he is accustomed. The sword of Loyola in the hands of his modern apostles has become a dagger—a weapon more suitable to Ultramontanism. Only in Protestant countries to be wielded with secrecy, though elsewhere little concealed.
But the priest of Rugg’s Ferry is not in France; and, under the roof of an English gentleman, though a Roman Catholic, bears himself with becoming modesty—before strangers and the eyes of the outside world. Even the domestics of the house see nothing amiss. They are new to their places, and as yet unacquainted with the relationships around them. Nor would they think it strange in a priest having control there or anywhere. They are all of his persuasion, else they would not be in service at Llangorren Court.
So proceed matters under its new administration.