"Well, no one knows when you will have the chance: but you shall have it. Bring the pen here, and the writing-board." Hadrian pulled down His sleeve, and stroked the cat for a minute or two, thoughtfully looking-out of the window. Then He wrote, putting what He wrote into an envelope which He gave to the shaking sprig of virtue who stood before Him. "You will take this to Plowden, after you have been to Ragna. You will obtain his formal acknowledgment. See that it is made out in your name; and keep it secretly till the time comes for using it. On Our death you will present it; and Plowden will pay you five thousand pounds, and take your receipt for it. With that sum, you will buy, and stock, such a place as We have described. As long as you and Macleod live, Plowden will pay you a regular income, so that you never can come to want, and always can have something to give away. Every quarter-day he will pay a hundred pounds to you, and fifty to Macleod; and you can make as much more as you like out of your farm. That, remember, is yours; and you may do what you please with it. When you both die, the capital which provides your incomes will return to the pontifical treasury: so if you want to marry, and beget a family, and leave something more than real property--the farm--behind you, you must earn it. We give you a chance, and perfect freedom. Do you follow?" "Oh I never shall forget a single word. Holy Father, I can't take it. What have I done to deserve it? What could I ever do to deserve it?" "Boy, you have done this to deserve it. You have wished to bear or to share another's burden. You shall have your wish; and you shall have a little reward here and a very great reward--There,--if you carry out your wish. That's what you have done and what you can do. You are good, and you are trusted. And that's all. Now go away at once because We have a lot of writing yet to do." "John," cried Hadrian, just before the door closed. "By the bye, you had better tell Macleod of his appointment; and see about his uniforms at once: but keep the other matter to yourself till--you know when. Oh--and please make him understand that We shall call him 'James.' That Gaelic 'Hamish' is a little too much. And he had better be Mr. James to the others." Outside the closed door, Sir John struck his own hands together. "And the maddening thing is that there is nothing in the whole world that I can do for Him. If I were to give Him a little present, like a baccy-pouch, ten to one it wouldn't be precisely to His taste--anyhow it 'ld only be like giving Him a calf of His Own cow. Oh damn! It's like a wax match offering a light to the sun." He suddenly faced to the door again; and his words came in the form of a solemn pledge. "Lord, I promise." He remained entranced for several moments: and anon went on his way with steadfast brow. CHAPTER XX