Читать «Cup of Gold (Золотая чаша)» онлайн - страница 121

Henry felt the warm fingers of the Vicar creep to his wrist and begin a stroking movement.

" 'The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want,' " Henry droned sleepily. " 'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures-'

" The stroking continued, but more harshly. The Vicar's voice became more loud and authoritative. It was as though, after years of patient waiting, the Church had at last got Henry Morgan within its power. There was something almost gloating about the voice.

"Have you repented your sins, Sir Henry?"

"My Sins? No, I had not thought of them. Shall I repent Panama?"

The Vicar was embarrassed. "Well, Panama was a patriotic conquest. The King approved. Besides, the people were Papists."

"But what are my sins, then?" Henry went on. "I remember only the most pleasant and the most painful among them. Somehow I do not wish to repent the pleasant ones. It would be like breaking faith with them; they were charming. And the painful sins carried atonement with them like concealed knives. How may I repent, sir? I might go over my whole life, naming and repenting every act from the shattering of my first teething ring to my last visit to a brothel. I might repent everything I could remember, but if I forgot one single sin, the whole process would be wasted."

"Have you repented your sins, Sir Henry?"

He realized, then, that he had not been talking at all. It was difficult to talk. His tongue had become lazy and sluggish. "No," he said. "I can't remember them very well."

"You must search in your heart for greed and lust and spite. You must drive wickedness from your heart."

"But, sir, I don't remember ever having been consciously wicked. I have done things which seemed wicked afterwards, but while I was doing them I always had some rather good end in view." Again he was conscious that he wasn't really speaking.

"Let us pray," the voice said.

Henry made a violent effort with his tongue. "No!" he cried.

"But you prayed before."

"Yes, I prayed before-because my mother would have liked it. She would have wanted me to pray at least once, more as a proof of her training than for any other reason, a reassurance to her that she had done her duty by me."

"Would you die heretic, Sir Henry? Aren't you afraid of death?"

"I am too tired, sir, or too lazy, to consider problems of heresy. And I am not afraid of death. I have seen much violence, and no man whom I have admired was afraid of death, but only of dying. You see, sir, death is an intellectual matter, but dying is pure pain. And this death of mine is very pleasant so far.

No, sir; I am not afraid even of dying.

It is comfortable, and it would be quiet if I could only be left alone. It is as though I were about to sleep after a great effort."

He heard the Vicar's voice again; but, though the warm hand still stroked his wrist, the voice came from a mighty distance.

"He will not answer me," the Vicar was saying. "I am perplexed for his soul."

Then he heard his wife speaking to him. "You must pray, dear. Every one does. How can you get to heaven if you do not pray?"