Will it be believed? his father did not know him. It was indeed years since they had met, and it was perhaps difficult to recognise the child in this young warrior, now come to man's estate—at least to man's height and stature.
Alphege marked the tear-bedewed cheek, the choking voice; he knew the signs of penitence; he hesitated not for a moment.
"My son, I am not the pænitentiarius who ordinarily receives strangers to Confession."
"But I wish to come to thee. Oh, father, I have fought against it, and almost did Satan conquer in me: refuse me not."
"Nay, my son; I cannot refuse thee."
And they entered the church.
Father Alphege had composed himself in the usual way for the monotonous recitation of human sin—all too familiar to his ears—but as he heard he became agitated in himself. The revelation was clear, none could doubt it: he recognised the penitent.
"My son," he said at the close, "thy sin has been great, very great. Thou hast joined in ill-treating men made in the image of God; thou art stained with blood; thy sin needs a heavy penance."
"Name it, let it be ever so heavy."
"Go thou to the Holy Land, take the Cross, and employ thy talents for war in the cause of the Lord."