"Kit Caryll, d'you know what I am?"
"You look like a--kind of a clergyman, sir."
"And that is what I am," replied the other a touch defiantly. "I am in
Holy Orders in my own humble way."
He began pacing once more.
"We all have our weaknesses, sir.... My mother was mine.... She should
have been the mother of saints rather than of a--' bully swordsman!'--
I think that was the phrase?" cocking a blue eye at the boy.
"After Egypt I came home to find her dying.... Well, she entreated me
to forsake my profession and become a Christian--'for my sake, Harry,'
says she.... I argued it with her. I told her it was good work, God's
work, to kill the French. I said I looked on myself as a Crusader
fighting the Moors, as indeed I did. But she wouldn't hear of it. She
said the Moors were black and the French white, and that made just all
the difference.... And she begged so hard--and--and--"
His back was to the boy, and he was looking out of the window.
It was some time before he went on.
"I couldn't say her no then. So I told her I'd do as she wished and
take Orders. But I made one condition. 'I won't go to the French; but
if the French come to me, then,' I said, 'surely, mother, I may up and
smite!' She gave me that.
Pages:
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193