The streets were quite deserted as George had said they would be, and very dark, save for an occasional oil lamp.
"As soon as we can get within the preserves," said George, "we had better wait till morning. I have a rug for myself as well as for you.""I saw you had two," answered my father; "you must let me carry them both; the provisions are much the heavier load.
George fought as hard as a dog would do, till my father said that they must not quarrel during the very short time they had to be together. On this George gave up one rug meekly enough, and my father yielded about the basket, and the other rug.
It was about half-past eleven when they started, and it was after one before they reached the preserves. For the first mile from the town they were not much hindered by the darkness, and my father told George about his book and many another matter; he also promised George to say nothing about this second visit. Then the road became more rough, and when it dwindled away to be a mere lane--becoming presently only a foot track--they had to mind their footsteps, and got on but slowly. The night was starlit, and warm, considering that they were more than three thousand feet above the sea, but it was very dark, so that my father was well enough pleased when George showed him the white stones that marked the boundary, and said they had better soon make themselves as comfortable as they could till morning.
"We can stay here," he said, "till half-past three, there will be a little daylight then; we will rest half an hour for breakfast at about five, and by noon we shall be at the statues, where we will dine."This being settled, George rolled himself up in his rug, and in a few minutes went comfortably off to sleep. Not so my poor father.
He wound up his watch, wrapped his rug round him, and lay down; but he could get no sleep. After such a day, and such an evening, how could any one have slept?
About three the first signs of dawn began to show, and half an hour later my father could see the sleeping face of his son--whom it went to his heart to wake. Nevertheless he woke him, and in a few minutes the two were on their way--George as fresh as a lark--my poor father intent on nothing so much as on hiding from George how ill and unsound in body and mind he was feeling.
They walked on, saying but little, till at five by my father's watch George proposed a halt for breakfast. The spot he chose was a grassy oasis among the trees, carpeted with subalpine flowers, now in their fullest beauty, and close to a small stream that here came down from a side valley. The freshness of the morning air, the extreme beauty of the place, the lovely birds that flitted from tree to tree, the exquisite shapes and colours of the flowers, still dew-bespangled, and above all, the tenderness with which George treated him, soothed my father, and when he and George had lit a fire and made some hot corn-coffee--with a view to which Yram had put up a bottle of milk--he felt so much restored as to look forward to the rest of his journey without alarm. Moreover he had nothing to carry, for George had left his own rug at the place where they had slept, knowing that he should find it on his return;he had therefore insisted on carrying my father's. My father fought as long as he could, but he had to give in.
"Now tell me," said George, glad to change the subject, "what will those three men do about what you said to them last night? Will they pay any attention to it?"My father laughed. "My dear George, what a question--I do not know them well enough.""Oh yes, you do. At any rate say what you think most likely.""Very well. I think Dr. Downie will do much as I said. He will not throw the whole thing over, through fear of schism, loyalty to a party from which he cannot well detach himself, and because he does not think that the public is quite tired enough of its toy.
He will neither preach nor write against it, but he will live lukewarmly against it, and this is what the Hankys hate. They can stand either hot or cold, but they are afraid of lukewarm. In England Dr. Downie would be a Broad Churchman.""Do you think we shall ever get rid of Sunchildism altogether?""If they stick to the cock-and-bull stories they are telling now, and rub them in, as Hanky did on Sunday, it may go, and go soon.
It has taken root too quickly and easily; and its top is too heavy for its roots; still there are so many chances in its favour that it may last a long time.""And how about Hanky?"
"He will brazen it out, relic, chariot, and all: and he will welcome more relics and more cock-and-bull stories; his single eye will be upon his own aggrandisement and that of his order.
Plausible, unscrupulous, heartless scoundrel that he is, he will play for the queen and the women of the court, as Dr. Downie will play for the king and the men. He and his party will sleep neither night nor day, but they will have one redeeming feature--whoever they may deceive, they will not deceive themselves. They believe every one else to be as bad as they are, and see no reason why they should not push their own wares in the way of business. Hanky is everything that we in England rightly or wrongly believe a typical Jesuit to be.""And Panky--what about him?"
"Panky must persuade himself of his own lies, before he is quite comfortable about telling them to other people. Hanky keeps Hanky well out of it; Panky must have a base of operations in Panky.
Hanky will lead him by the nose, bit by bit, for his is the master spirit. In England Panky would be what we call an extreme ritualist.""Then the real battle will be between Hanky and Dr. Downie. Which will carry the day?""For the present, probably Hanky. He is the more vigilant, and energetic; in this case Sunchildism will have to go, and I am afraid your whole Musical Bank system will be swept away along with it.""And why not?"
