“Admission is a good sign—giving promise of repentance, which need never come too late if a man be disposed to it. It is a deep sin the Church cannot condone—a dark crime indeed.”
“Oh, I haven’t done anything deserving the name. Only such as a great many others.”
“But you might be tempted some day. Whether or not it’s my duty, as your spiritual adviser, to point out the true doctrine—how the Vatican views such things. It’s after all only a question of balance between good and evil; that is, how much evil a man may have done, and the amount of good he may do. This world is a ceaseless war between God and the devil; and those who wage it in the cause of the former have often to employ the weapons of the latter. In our service the end justifies the means, even though these be what the world calls criminal—ay, even to the taking of life, else why should the great and good Loyola have counselled drawing the sword, himself using it?”
“True,” grunts Murdock, smoking hard, “you’re a great theologian, Father Rogier. I confess ignorance in such matters; still, I see reason in what you say.”
“You may see it clearer if I set the application before you. As for instance, if a man have the right to a certain property, or estate, and is kept out of it by a quibble, any steps he might take to possess himself would be justifiable providing he devote a portion of his gains to the good cause—that is, upholding the true faith, and so benefiting humanity at large. Such an act is held by the best of our Church authorities to compensate for any sin committed—supposing the money donation sufficient to make the amount of good it may do preponderate over the evil. And such a man would not only merit absolution, but freely receive it. Now, Monsieur, do you comprehend me?”
“Quite,” says Murdock, taking the pipe from his mouth and gulping down a half tumbler of brandy—for he has dropped the wine. Withal, he trembles at the programme thus metaphorically put before him, and fears admitting the application to himself.
Soon the more potent spirit takes away his last remnant of timidity, which the tempter perceiving, says:—
“You say you have sinned, Monsieur. And if it were only for that you ought to make amends.”
“In what way could I?”
“The way I’ve been speaking of. Bestow upon the Church the means of doing good, and so deserve indulgence.”