"Sure?… Well, that's a comfort: because, of course, I don't want to go to hell either. It would never do.… But why are you puckering up your eyes so?"
"I was thinking," said Brother Copas, "that I might start teaching you Latin. Your father and I were discussing it just now."
"Would he like me to learn it?"
"It's the only way to find out all that St. Hospital means, including all it has meant for hundreds of years.… Bless me, is that the quarter chiming? Take your father's hand and lead him home, child. Venit Hesperus, ite capellae."
"What does that mean?"
"It's Latin," said Brother Copas. "It's a—a kind of absolution."
CHAPTER X.
THE ANONYMOUS LETTER.
Although the month was June and the evening warm, Master Blanchminster sat huddled in his armchair before a bright fire. A table stood at his elbow, with some books upon it, his untasted glass of wine, and half a dozen letters—his evening's post. But the Master leaned forward, spreading his delicate fingers to the warmth and, between them, gazing into the core of the blaze.