He was accustomed to halting confessions, and ready with a prompting word if the sinner faltered.
"It is about my wife." The words seemed to choke him, as if the grip of a long-held silence had not yet quite relaxed its hold.
"Not ill, I hope ?" "No, she is not ill." The priest leaned forward, a startled look on his face.

"You surely don't mean she is dead ?" O'Day did not answer.
Father Cruse settled back into the depths of his chair.

"She has left you, then," he said in a conclusive tone.
"Yes--a year ago." He stopped, started to speak, and, with a baffled gesture, said: "No, you might better have it all.

It is the only way you will understand; I will begin at the beginning." The priest laid his hand soothingly on O'Day's wrist.

"Take your time.