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... A rough wooden
bench had been placed against the trunk; and on this Montanelli sat down.
Arthur was studying philosophy at the university; and, coming to a
difficulty with a book, had applied to "the Padre" for an explanation of the
point. Montanelli was a universal encyclopaedia to him, though he had never
been a pupil of the seminary.
"I had better go now," he said when the passage had been cleared up;
"unless you want me for anything."
"I don't want to work any more, but I should like you to stay a bit if
you have time."
"Oh, yes!" He leaned back against the tree-trunk and looked up through
the dusky branches at the first faint stars glimmering in a quiet sky. The
dreamy, mystical eyes, deep blue under black lashes, were an inheritance
from his Cornish mother, and Montanelli turned his head away, that he might
not see them.
"You are looking tired, carino," he said.
"I can't help it." There was a weary sound in Arthur's voice, and the
Padre noticed it at once.
"You should not have gone up to college so soon; you were tired out
with sick-nursing and being up at night. I ought to have insisted on your
taking a thorough rest before you left Leghorn."
"Oh, Padre, what's the use of that? I couldn't stop in that miserable
house after mother died. Julia would have driven me mad!"
Julia was his eldest step-brother's wife, and a thorn in his side.
"I should not have wished you to stay with your relatives," Montanelli
answered gently. "I am sure it would have been the worst possible thing for
you. But I wish you could have accepted the invitation of your English
doctor friend; if you had spent a month in his house you would have been
more fit to study."
"No, Padre, I shouldn't indeed! The Warrens are very good and kind, but
they don't understand; and then they are sorry for me,--I can see it in all
their faces,--and they would try to console me, and talk about mother...
