As soon as the liturgy was over, the brothers went to the dining hall to break their fast in a silence emphasized by the quiet reading in Latin of the gospel for the day. Then one of the senior brothers rose to his feet and announced the duties of the day, the work expected of the novices, the names of those who would study, garden, farm, clean and cook, or serve in the church workshops. James was ordered to attend the senior professor in his chambers. A few of the young seminarians glanced enviously at James, wishing that they too might be sent to England, to go into hiding to spy and serve the hidden Roman Catholic faithful. He did not acknowledge them. He thought they were fools to long for martyrdom. They would not wish for it if they knew what it was like to stand on a darkened quayside and watch for a light and not know if it were a friend or an enemy. They would not wish for it if they had ever got within a second of the most triumphant victory of the war, only to see it thrown away for a whim. But he avoided their glances, bowed his head in obedience, and went on his own to the professor’s rooms.

He was admitted by a clerk and found Dr. Sean seated behind his table, his stole of office scarlet against the black of his gown, a black cap of office on his head, his thin face pale and drawn. He rose from his chair and skirted the table to greet James, and hugged him, kissing him on both cheeks in the French way, and then made the sign of the cross and blessed him. “Sit down,” he said warmly. “Sit down, my son, and tell me everything.”

James, very sure that he could not tell everything, sat on the edge of his chair as the professor seated himself and took up a quill pen to make notes.

“You came back last night? And you have spoken to no one of your trip?”

“No one,” James confirmed.

“You left the king in captivity?”

“God forgive me, I did.”

“Tell me how that was? Were you not ordered to get him to a boat? And see him to his son’s ship and safety?”

“I was, Father Professor.”

“Then why did you fail?”

Haltingly, ashamed of himself, James explained the trip to the Isle of Wight, the associates who met him, the boys who concealed his mission, the boatman who failed him, and the replacement: Zachary. He said that Mr. Hopkins’s house was completely unguarded and that the king could have left with him but would not do so.

The professor sat, his fingers steepled together as if he were praying. “Why would he not leave with you?”

“He did not explain himself to me.”

“But he would not leave?”

“He laughed,” James said bitterly. “And then he was angry that anyone should doubt that he could save himself. He was confident that he would be able to make an agreement with them. He told me to come again in future, if he needed me. I warned him that it was dangerous for me, and for others—that we might not be able to come again—but he didn’t take me seriously. I couldn’t make him take us seriously.”

“You told him you were obeying his wife and son? That it was their plan?”

“I said the password, and I told him they had paid me, and given me money to bribe the boatman. He said he would not go at their bidding.” James could not easily convey the king’s petulance and maintain the respect that he must show for God’s ordained leader on earth.

“But you got back to Sir William without detection?”

“I’m certain that I did.”

“And then you were ill?”

James flushed. The professor could see the deep color at the neck of his robe.

“I was. Some sort of fever that they have on the marshes there. It didn’t last long.”

“Was it a sickness of the body only? Or was it of your faith, my son?”

James dropped his head. The older man could barely make out the muttered words that his faith was shaken and indeed lost.

“This is not surprising,” Dr. Sean said gently. “You were very alone, a young man, and in danger of your life for weeks and weeks before you even got to the island. We gave you the greatest task that anyone from this college has ever been set, and it failed.”

“I’m so sorry,” James whispered. “I am shamed.”

“It sounds as if no one could have persuaded the king. If he did not want to come you could not make him. I believe that you did your best and I imagine that no one could have done more.”

There was a silence.

“Could you have done more, my son?”

“I have questioned myself,” James admitted. “I cannot see what more I could have done. I wish I could have got him away. I think if he had come with me I would have got him safely away. I even dream of it. I go over and over in my mind. But there’s no certainty. There’s no knowing what would have happened out at sea, or even at the quayside. I don’t think I could have done more—not without his consent. But I fear . . . I fear that I should have insisted. But how could I insist to him?”

“One setback may shake your faith but not break it,” the senior man remarked. “Your vows remain intact?”

There was a long silence in the sunlit peaceful room.

“They do not,” James confessed, his voice a whisper. “Father, I have sinned. I met a woman and I love her. I am so sorry, Professor. I am deep in sin.”

The older man nodded. “We are all of us in sin. We were born in sin and we sin every day. But the Lord is merciful. He forgives us if we confess and return to God. You will confess and return to God.”

James’s head came up. “I ask to be released from my vows,” he said quietly. “I will confess, and serve any penance that is asked of me, of course. But I pray that I may be released. Father Professor, I love her. I want to be with her.”

The abbey bell struck the hour and in the town, beyond the window, the other church bells rang too. James listened to the competing chimes, all of them announcing the hour of prayer in this devout town. When the last had fallen silent, Dr. Sean looked kindly at the young man. “Go to the church and confess your sins and we will talk again next week.”

“Next week!” James exclaimed.

The older man smiled patiently. “Yes,” he said. “Of course. Did you think you would leave tomorrow? You and I will talk again next week. And in the meantime, you will speak of this only in the confessional, to the confessor that I appoint to talk with you. Nowhere else, to no one else, and you will not write to anyone either. You are still under your vow of obedience, my son, and this is how you will spend your week.”

James rose to his feet, bowed, and went to the door. Dr. Sean bent his head over his paper, knowing that James would hesitate at the door.

“Father Professor, I have given my word to her that I will return to her. She is waiting for me.”

Slowly the older man raised his head, his quill poised in his hand. “My son, she will have to learn patience, as will you. We serve an eternal God, not one who counts the minutes. God took a week to make the world, now He demands that you consider this important choice for a similar time. I don’t think you can refuse Him.”

James, baffled, bowed his head. “I can’t,” he agreed.

“If she is a good woman, then she will be praying too. She will need time to consider her situation.”

“She is a good woman,” he said, thinking of her pale face in the church porch as she waited for ghosts. “She is not of our faith, not of our beliefs, but she is a good woman.”