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"I want to know, if you will tell me," Montanelli
went on; "whether you have bound yourself
by a vow, or--in any way."
"There is nothing to tell, dear Padre; I have
not bound myself, but I am bound."
"I don't understand------"
"What is the use of vows? They are not what
binds people. If you feel in a certain way about
a thing, that binds you to it; if you don't feel that
way, nothing else can bind you."
"Do you mean, then, that this thing--this--
feeling is quite irrevocable? Arthur, have you
thought what you are saying?"
Arthur turned round and looked straight into
Montanelli's eyes.
"Padre, you asked me if I could trust you.
Can you not trust me, too? Indeed, if there were
anything to tell, I would tell it to you; but there
is no use in talking about these things. I have
not forgotten what you said to me that night; I
shall never forget it. But I must go my way and
follow the light that I see."
Montanelli picked a rose from the bush, pulled
off the petals one by one, and tossed them into
the water.


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