"'T is a bad business," I said mournfully. "Imagine eight public houses in this wretched village of three hundred souls!"
"'Tis, sir!" he said, as if his conscience stung him; "but I did some good by my visit; I think I have brought Captain Campion around."
"To what?" I exclaimed.
"To recognize his duty to the Church, and the people, and God, by going to his duty."
"You don't say so?" I said, and I was surprised. I could not help thinking of what a glorious triumph it would be to that gentle saint, whose brow was never troubled but with the thought of her father's perversity. How often, how ardently, she had prayed for that day; how many Masses, how many Communions, she had offered to obtain that grace! Many a time I have seen her, after Holy Communion, straining her eyes on the Tabernacle, and I knew she was knocking vigorously at the Heart of Christ; and many a time have I seen her, a Lady of Sorrows, imploring the Queen of Sorrows to take that one trouble from her life. Oh! if men could only know what clouds of anguish and despair their indifference to the practices of their holy religion brings down upon gentle hearts, that dare not speak their sorrow, the Church would not have to mourn so many and such faithless and rebellious children.
I said to Father Letheby: "God bless you; but how did you work the miracle?"
"Well," he said bashfully, "it was not the work of one day or of one visit. I have been laying my train to the citadel; to-day I fired it, and he capitulated. Tell me, sir, did you ever hear of the Halcyone?"
Did I ever hear of the Halcyone? Who didn't? Was there a man, woman, or child, from the Cliffs of Moher to Achill Island, that did not know the dainty five-ton yacht, which, as a contrast to his own turbulent spirit, he had so named? Was it not everywhere said that Campion loved that yacht more than his child,—that he spoke to her and caressed her as a living thing,—and how they slept on the calm deep on summer nights, whilst phosphor-laden waves lapped around them, and only the dim dawn, with her cold, red finger woke them to life? And was it not told with pride and terror in every coracle along the coast with what fierce exultation he took her out on stormy days, and headed her straight against the billows, that broke into courtesies on every side, and how she leaped up the walls of water which lay down meekly beneath her, and shook out her white sail to the blast, until its curved face brushed the breakers, and her leaden keel showed through the valleys of the sea? and men leaned on their spades to see her engulfed in the deep, and the coast-guards levelled their long glasses, and cried: "There goes mad Campion and the witch again!"
"What do you know about the Halcyone?" said I.
"A good deal by hearsay; not a little by personal experience," he replied.