THE LIPS ARE THE LIPS OF THE BISHOP, BUT THE VOICE IS THE VOICE OF ST. PAUL

Confused by the surprising proposal of his wife, uncertain as to his wisdom in bluntly rejecting it, and more than ever under the sway of his violent temper, Durand, upset by the abrupt ending of the interview and by the unexplained light that shone in Louise’s eyes as she left him, caught up his hat and started for the hall door. He flung it rudely open, only to find himself confronted by Janeway.

It was an awkward encounter. Janeway was never in worse mood. The strain of his suspense showed in his flushed face, and he spoke the hardest of greetings. “Good evening, Durand.”

With the words he continued to advance, and in effect backed Durand into the room. Stepping aside to make way for the intrusion, Durand answered sharply: “You can have the room to yourself!”

He tried to pass out. Janeway obstructed him. “It’s large enough for two,” he said.

The words and manner of the lawyer were too charged with aggressiveness to mistake. “What’s your game?” demanded Durand in a loud voice.

“Mrs. Durand,” said Janeway, and he seemed to regain in part his habitual restraint, “has had some questions to put to you to-night----”

“Questions,” retorted Durand, “that mean another capitalistic fee for her high-minded legal adviser!”

“It won’t make any difference to me in fees whether you do what she asked or not. But before I see her, I want to know what answer you gave her. Will you tell me?”

“No.”

The violent refusal did not stir Janeway. As the storm gathered, he gained better control of himself. “There are good reasons, Durand,” he continued carefully, “for my asking you this before I see her.”

“No reasons that are of the slightest consequence to me,” blustered Durand.

“One of them _is_ of consequence to you,” persisted Janeway, still confronting the angry steel master. “If you attempt to take that woman back and sink her into the licentious hell you train in, I’ll kill you. Make no mistake, Durand, for I mean it.”

So intense was the instant that neither of the two men noticed a third person in the hall behind them.

“Curse your impudence!” cried Durand. “It’s time for you and me to adjust our differences!”

Bishop Marion, on the threshold of the open door, halted, amazed. “Mr. Janeway!” he exclaimed, in stinging reproach, “have you completely forgotten yourself? What possible controversy can you have with this man now? Surely you will withdraw your words.”

“I meant exactly what I said,” declared Janeway, unmoved. “He’s warned.”

“Are you two,” demanded the Bishop, “to stand here in my presence with murder in your hearts?”

“My words were conditional.” Janeway made a characteristically wrathful gesture as he spoke. “Let him be guided,” he added, not lowering his tone on the final words.

“No more words, I beg of you--nor threats,” interposed Bishop Marion.

“Don’t imagine your threats or withdrawals are of any interest to me. And I’ll thank _you_, Mr. Bishop, to give less attention in the future to my personal concerns.”

Bishop Marion regarded Durand steadily. “I hope I shall have need in future to give very much less. Do I hear correctly that you have just declined to receive back your wife?”

“You do!” Durand pushed the declaration almost to a shout.

If Janeway started, it was imperceptibly; he stood a transfixed listener to the rapid exchanges.

“Then my interest in your domestic affairs,” returned Bishop Marion, “ceases from this instant forever.”

“And if you’ve no further threats to offer,” added Durand, looking savagely at Janeway, “I’ll bid you both good evening.”

Janeway suppressed a laugh. “Good evening, Mr. Durand,” he said, making way as Durand strode from the room; then he turned keenly on the Bishop. “He has refused?”

“He has.”

“Then where do we stand?”

The Bishop regarded him gravely. “We have crossed a great gulf.”

“Where is Mrs. Durand?”

“With my sister and Miss Durand. I will find her and bring her in.” And, speaking, Bishop Marion passed at once into the anteroom.

Stalking to the Bishop’s office for Simms and Judge Harrison, Durand ran into Simms, looking for him. Simms, much excited, took him by the arm. “Stay there half a minute in the office with Harrison, Bob,” he whispered hurriedly. “I’ve uncovered something. I must move quick.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Durand, with an epithet of disgust.

“Never mind what I mean. Do as I tell you!”

“What’s up?”

Simms was not tractable. “You’ll know soon enough, if I don’t get action. Do as I tell you.” He pushed Durand into the office and hastened toward the reception-room. In it he encountered Janeway.

“Look here!” exclaimed Simms. “What’s this story I hear from Harrison about you and Louise Durand?”

“What do you hear?” asked Janeway.

“Why, that you’re going to marry her! Man, isn’t there bad blood enough already between you and Bob Durand?”

“There never was less.”

“She’s a Catholic. _She_ won’t marry you.”

“How do you know?”

“Know? Why, damn it, man, I’m a Catholic myself.”

“You a Catholic?” Contempt could convey nothing more than the even words carried. “Well”--Janeway paused in his studied scorn--“somebody’s got to be persecuted; I suppose it might as well be the Catholics as anybody else.”

“That’s all right,” flared Simms, “but I’ll tell _you_ there’s a few things you can put over a jury that you can’t put over the outfit that runs this house.”

“I haven’t taken a degree yet in the Canon Law of the Church,” remarked Janeway composedly. “But I think I can qualify pretty soon.”

“Bob Durand,” declared Simms, “will fight to the death your marrying Louise.”

Janeway only continued to bait the exasperated attorney. “You wouldn’t help him make trouble for me, would you, Simms?”

Simms puffed out. “I’m his lawyer, Henry,” he said warningly. “I’ll stand by him, remember that.”

“Do,” counselled Janeway, as Simms again started into the hall. “I’ve beaten you both before. I may do it again.”

It was only a moment before Louise stood in the anteroom door with Bishop Marion. Janeway clasped her hands. They were icy.

“Was that Simms here with you just now?” asked Louise anxiously. “What was he saying?”

Janeway laughed with the spirit of a boy. “He said Durand would never let you marry me.”

“What did you say?”

“That I shouldn’t ask his permission.” He turned to the Bishop. “Now we are here with you together, tell us: Where do we stand?”

Bishop Marion, cognizant of the excitement of the two before him, yet lost nothing of his seriousness. “Mr. Janeway,” he said, “the problem you laid before me with this child is a very old one--and as long as humanity endures and men and women turn to the Church of God, that problem will call for merciful answer. St. Paul”--he spoke now to Louise--“found himself confronted by cases precisely like yours. And for those difficult cases he laid down a great law--the Magna Charta in favor of the Christian faith--the law that I apply to you to-night. It is this:

“Where one party to a pagan marriage becomes a Christian, she is bound by natural justice to live with her pagan partner as his wife, _provided_ that partner permits the untrammelled practice of her religion, and does not compel her or tempt her to lead a sinful life. But St. Paul required that on these points the Christian spouse, before breaking the bond between them, should interpellate her husband. This you have done.”

“If that’s St. Paul’s law, it’s good law and good common sense,” interposed Janeway with emphasis.

“Your husband,” continued the Bishop, addressing Louise, “has refused the assurance you had the right to demand. I say to you, therefore, Louise, that in the sight of the Catholic Church you are no longer bound in your marriage to Robert Durand.”

“Then,” exclaimed Janeway tensely, “that dread barrier falls! Louise! I renew my suit!”

Gertrude hastened into the room from the antechamber, almost dragging Judge Harrison after her. The Judge looked as close to bewildered as he could ever be caught, and, glancing uncertainly from one to another of the three in the room, clung to the dead cigar in his fingers; it seemed, in the confusing circumstances, as if it might prove his best friend. Gertrude was at no loss for greetings. “Oh, this is where you are!” she exclaimed. Louise ran to her. “Gertrude!” she cried in a low voice, “I’m free!”

Harrison walked toward Janeway and the Bishop, and looked from one to the other. “If I’ve no business here,” he suggested calmly, “I shall hope somebody will tell me so.”

“But you have!” exclaimed Janeway. “I want you here. Louise is free!”

Harrison regarded the men before him benevolently.

“Well,” he observed, in leisurely fashion, “I shan’t ask just now how it’s been done; I hope to hear some time in the future. I had it fixed in my own mind that Janeway would come to grief this time,” he said to the Bishop. “I couldn’t see any other way out. But I never let on to Simms. I told him a few minutes ago I didn’t know the rules of this particular game; but whatever they were, I considered it a bet to play Janeway to win.”

“No, no!” interrupted Janeway hastily. “Not Janeway to win. But St. Paul to hand down a great law--and a just judge to administer it,” he said, laying a hand on the sleeve of the Bishop. “Now,” he added, turning to Gertrude, “set our wedding-day!”

Gertrude took the remark seriously. “Oh, let it be set quick! Give no chance for hatred or revenge to defeat your happiness!”

Louise spoke to Bishop Marion, as if again to hear that the gyves had fallen from her wrists. “And my marriage bond to my former husband--is it now absolutely broken?” she asked, looking for confirmation to her protector.

The Bishop alone had remained calm. He turned kindly eyes on his eager questioner. “I have said you are free,” he replied slowly. “But to say, at this moment, that your marriage bond to your former husband is absolutely broken would be to say too much.”

Janeway started. He looked, in effect, apoplectic. “What!” he burst out. “After all this sacrifice, all this humiliation--her marriage bond is not absolutely broken! What, in God’s name, Bishop Marion, do you mean?”

“I mean,” answered the Bishop, choosing his words, “there is but one way--only one--completely to sever that bond.”

A question rose like a flash to Janeway’s lips. “What’s that way?”

“Your marriage bond to Robert Durand”--Bishop Marion addressed Louise--“becomes forever severed the moment you become the wife of another man.”

Janeway whirled toward her. “Then, Louise!” he exclaimed, “for the love of heaven, become my wife now, here, this minute!”

Louise looked from Gertrude to Janeway, and back at Bishop Marion, to grasp the meaning of his astonishing words.

The Bishop refused to become excited. “That privilege, my child,” he added, looking at Louise, “is yours, if you wish it. You are absolutely free to act.”

The sound of voices, raised in argument, floated in from the hall. “Mr. Simms,” said Gertrude, alarmed, “was in the office when I called Uncle Sidney out, talking awfully loud to a white-haired priest--about who could get married and who couldn’t.”

Bishop Marion smiled. “It must be dear old Father Breton--who is as deaf as a post.”

Janeway caught Louise’s hands. “Can you ask more than what Bishop Marion tells you?” he said earnestly. “We can protect ourselves now from every peril of the revengeful duplicity of another. She looked at him bewildered. Louise!” he pleaded. “God of Heaven, don’t you understand?”

His words shook her from her thoughts. “Henry,” she cried, low and affectionately, “I understand. But I can’t be married _this minute_! I’ve made no preparations, no, no--nothing of any kind.” She turned in confusion to Gertrude. “I didn’t expect to get _married_ to-night!”

Janeway saw her dismay. He held her hands before him and spoke reassuringly. “Louise! I ask it only for our happiness. Don’t you wish to make that safe?”

She looked at him with the simplest faith. “I wish to reward all your patience,” she said, “to repay all your kindness. Above all, I do want--if you really wish it--to make you happy, if I can.” She hesitated. “But I _can’t_ get married without _any_ notice, Henry!”

Janeway drew her a little apart. “Dearest, I understand perfectly your delicacy of feeling. Go home with Gertrude; but be married now. Receive me as your husband in your own good time--when you like.”

She opened her eyes wide. “Oh, but I shouldn’t like that at all!” she said. “I want you to be my husband when I marry you. But I haven’t had one minute’s notice!”

The voice of Simms, struggling with Father Breton, strengthened Janeway’s last appeal. “They are at our heels, Louise! I implore you, consent!”

She turned to the Bishop. “What must we do, Bishop Marion, to get married now?”

“Are you sure you wish it--now?” he asked.

“Henry says so,” faltered Louise. “Yes, I’m sure--if Henry is!” And she joined uneasily in the laughter started by her words.

“Then to the chapel,” said Bishop Marion. “Father Smyth is there. You, Judge Harrison, and you, Miss Durand, as witnesses.”

Judge Harrison looked nonplussed. He laid down his cigar and addressed himself gravely to Gertrude and Louise. “You will have to stand by me,” he said aside. “Elizabeth is missing all this; when she hears it, she’ll never believe I was no more than an innocent bystander. I look to you to protect me, girls.”

Bishop Marion threw open the chapel doors.