Still, when they separated they shook hands and exchanged a searching look perfectly satisfactory to both.
The memory of that interview with the priest was in Farnsworth's mind when, boiling with rage, he left Hamilton's presence and went forth into the chill February air.

He passed out through the postern and along the sodden and queachy aedge of the prairie, involuntarily making his way to Father Beret's cabin.

His indignation was so great that he trembled from head to foot at every step.

The door of the place was open and Father Beret was eating a frugal meal of scones and sour wine (of his own make, he said), which he hospitably begged to share with his visitor.

A fire smouldered on the hearth, and a flat stone showed, by the grease smoking over its hot surface, where the cakes had been baked.
"Come in, my son," said the priest, "and try the fare of a poor old man.