He was only one of those kind priests who looked after the poor and whose sympathy, however well meant, would be of little value.

If she told him how cruel had been the wrong done her, and how unjust had been her arrest, it would make no difference; he could not help her.
"There must be somebody," he urged.

He had read her indecision in the nervous play of her fingers, as he had read many another human emotion in his time.

"There must be somebody," he repeated.
"There is only Martha," she answered at last, yielding to his influence.
"She was my nurse when I was a child.

She is as poor as I am.