But, forgive me," he added with a smile, "such sights are best forgotten and may not interest you." He was studying his visitor as a doctor does a patient, trying to discover the seat of the disease.

That Felix was not the same man he had met the night at Kitty's was apparent; then he had been merely a man with a sorrow, now he seemed laboring under a weight too heavy to bear.
Felix drew back his shoulders as if to brace himself the better and said: "Can we talk here ?" "Yes, and with absolute privacy and freedom.

Take this chair; I will sit beside you." It was the voice of the father confessor now, encouraging the unburdening of a soul.
Felix glanced first around the simple room, with its quiet and seclusion, then stepped back and closed the sacristy door, saying, as he took his seat: "There is no need, I suppose, of locking it ?" "Not the slightest." For a moment he sat with head bowed, one hand pressed to his forehead.
The priest waited, saying nothing.
"I have come to you, Father Cruse, because I need a man's help--not a priest's--a MAN'S.

If I have made no mistake, you are one." The fine white fingers of the priest were rising and falling ever so slightly on the velvet arm of the chair on which his hand rested, a compound gesture showing that both his brain and his hand were at his listener's service.
"Go on," he said gently and firmly.

"As priest or man, Mr.O'Day, I am ready." Felix paused; the priest bent his head in closer attention.