The Loyalist. James Francis Barrett

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СКАЧАТЬ makes no pretense of infallibility in statesmanship. Hence, a Catholic who is true to his Church and her teachings makes the best citizen."

      "Why?"

      "Because, to him, patriotism is inculcated by religion. Throughout his whole life his soul has been nurtured by his Church on a twofold pabulum—love of God and love of country."

      "The Catholic Church expressly teaches that? I thought——"

      "Exactly," agreed Stephen, interrupting him. "The Catholic has been taught that the civil authority, to which he owes and pays allegiance, is something divine; for him it is the authority of God vested in His creatures and he gives ear to its voice and yields to it a sweet and humble submission as befits a child of God, doing His Will in all things. For he recognizes therein the sound of the Divine Voice."

      "I see."

      "He remembers the teaching of his Church, derived from the words of St. Paul writing on this subject to the citizens of Rome, 'Let every man be subject to higher powers, for there is no power but from God; and those that are, are ordained of God,' and the letter of St. Peter, the first Pope, 'Be ye subject, therefore, to every human creature for God's sake; whether it be to the king as excelling; or to governors as sent by him—for so is the will of God.'"

      "You must have been reading the Bible," interrupted Mr. Allison with a smile.

      "I have," answered Stephen, as he continued with little or no attention to the interruption.

      "The Catholic obeys the voice of his rightly constituted authority because he feels that he is obeying the voice of his God, and when he yields obedience to the law of his land, he feels that he is yielding obedience to God Himself. His ruler is the mouthpiece of God; the Constitution of his state a most sacred thing because it is the embodiment of the authority of God and he would rather die than commit any untoward or unlawful deed which might undermine or destroy it, precisely because it is from God."

      There was no response. All had listened with attention to Stephen as he emphasized point after point. All, save Colonel Forrest, who wore a sardonic smile throughout it all.

      "You should 've talked like that on Guy Fawkes' Day," he muttered, "if you wanted t' hev some fun. We'd hev some hot tar fur you."

      "Thank God!" replied Stephen. "We shall witness no more such outbreaks of fanaticism. They have long enough disgraced our country. They are, I trust, forever ended."

      "The Pope Day Celebration ended?" asked Anderson in surprise.

      "I hope so. Since General Washington issued the order soon after taking command of the army, abolishing the celebration, the practice has never been resumed."

      "Wash'ton thinks he owns th' country," mumbled Forrest in a half articulate manner. "Likes th' Papists, he does. No more Pope Day! Cath'lic gen'rals! French al-lies! P'rhaps 'll send fur th' Pope next. Give 'm 'is house, p'rhaps. Give 'im th' whole coun'ry. No damn good to us, he ain't. No damn good——"

      The next moment Stephen was upon him with his hands about his throat, his face flaming with rage and passion.

      "You hound! No more of that; or your treason will end forever."

      He shook his head violently, tightening his fingers about his throat. As he did, Forrest writhing in the chair under his attack, began to fumble with his hand at his hip as if instinctively seeking something there. Stephen's eyes followed the movement, even while he, too, relaxed his hold to seize with his free hand the arm of his adversary. Only for a moment, however; for he immediately felt himself seized from behind by the shoulders and dragged backwards from his man and completely overpowered.

      The man who was known as Anderson took charge of the Colonel, helping him to his feet, and without further words led him to one side of the room, talking softly but deliberately to him as he did so.

      A moment later they had passed through the door and vanished down the street in the direction of the Square.

CHAPTER VI

       Table of Contents

I

       Table of Contents

      The morrow was one of those rare days when all nature seems to invite one to go forth and enjoy the good things within her keeping. The sunrise was menacing; unless the wind shifted before noon it would be uncomfortably warm. Still, the air was bracing and fragrant with the soft perfume distilled by the pines.

      Stephen felt in tune with nature as he made his early morning toilet. He gazed the while into the garden from his widely opened window, and responded instinctively to the call of the countryside. The disagreeable episode of the preceding day had left unpleasant recollections in his mind which disconcerted him not a little during his waking hours, the time when the stream of consciousness begins to flow with an unrestrained rapidity, starting with the more impressive memories of the night before. He did not repent his action; he might have repeated the performance under similar circumstances, yet he chided himself for his lack of reserve and composure and his great want of respect to a superior officer.

      He was early mounted and on his way, striking off in the direction of the Germantown Road. He had left word with his landlady of his intended destination, with the added remark that he would be back in a short time, a couple of hours at the most, and that he would attend to the business of the day upon his return. What that might amount to he had no idea at all, being preoccupied entirely with what he had to do in the immediate present, for he made it a point never to permit the more serious affairs of life to intrude upon his moments of relaxation.

      He was a pleasant figure to look upon; smooth-faced and athletic, well mounted and dressed with great preciseness. On his well shaped hands he wore leathern gauntlets; he was in his uniform of buff and blue; beneath his coat he had his steel-buckled belt with his holster and pistol in it; he wore his cocked hat with a buff cockade affixed, the insignia of his rank in the service.

      The road lay in the direction of Marjorie's house. Perhaps he chose to ride along this way in order that he might be obliged to pass her door, and then again, perhaps, that was but of secondary import. This was no time for analysis, and so he refused to study his motives. He did know that he had not seen her for a long time, the longest time it seemed, and that he had had no word from her since their last meeting, save the intelligence received from her father yesterday in response to his repeated inquiries concerning her welfare and that of her mother.

      "Let us turn up here, Dolly, old girl." He leaned forward a little to pat the mare's neck affectionately as he spoke; while at the same time he pulled the right rein slightly, turning her head in the direction indicated. "And, if we are fortunate, we shall catch a glimpse of her."

      Dolly raised her ears very erect and opened full her nostrils as if to catch some possible scent of her, of whom he spoke. She pierced the distance with her eyes, but saw no one and so settled herself into an easy canter, for she knew it to be more to her rider's advantage to proceed at a slowing pace until they had passed the house in question.

      "You are an intelligent old girl, Dolly, but I must not let you too far into the secrets of my mind. Still, you have shared my delights and woes alike and have been my one faithful friend. Why should I СКАЧАТЬ