It was the last of a series of a dozen or more, each of which slid off minute by minute.

Then, still watching the endless movement of the lifts ascending and descending between the entrances of the upper end of the station, he stepped in and sat down.
He felt quiet now that he had actually started.

He had made his confession, just in order to make certain of his own soul, though scarcely expecting any definite danger, and sat now, his grey suit and straw hat in no way distinguishing him as a priest (for a general leave was given by the authorities to dress so for any adequate reason).

Since the case was not imminent, he had not brought stocks or pyx--Father Dolan had wired to him that he might fetch them if he wished from St.
Joseph's, near the Junction.

He had only the violet thread in his pocket, such as was customary for sick calls.
He was sliding along peaceably enough, fixing his eyes on the empty seat opposite, and trying to preserve complete collectedness when the car abruptly stopped.