"I must! Dear little one!"—he came to stoop over her—"I am most truly grieved. But I am bound to my orphans by all possible engagements—both of honour and conscience."
"Why is it so horrible that an Anglican church should be built on your land?" she said, slightly holding him away from her.
"Because I am responsible for the use of my land, as for any other talent. It shall not be used for the spread of heresy."
"Are there any Catholics near it?"
"Not that I know of. But it has been a fixed principle with me throughout my life"—he spoke with a firm and, as she thought, a haughty decision—"to give no help, direct or indirect, to a schismatical and rebellious church. I see now why there has been so much secrecy! My land is of vital importance to them. They apparently feel that the whole Anglican development of this new town may depend upon it. Let them feel it. They shall not have a foot—not an inch of what belongs to me!"
"Then they are to have no church," said Laura. She had grown quite pale.
"Not on my land," he said, with a violence that first amazed and then offended her. "Let them find sympathisers of their own. They have filched enough from us Catholics in the past."
And he resumed his rapid walk, his face darkened with an anger he vainly tried to curb. Never had she seen him so roused.
She too rose, trembling a little.
"But I love that picture!" she said. "I beg you not to sell it."