Without a word, the arms of the priest were lifted to the man towering over him, and he laid his head on the shoulder of one who had never failed him.
"Temple, forgive me, dear old fellow, if I have broken rudely into some sacred, sealed chamber."
"You have done me a priceless kindness in restoring my picture, but with it comes the hour of humiliation I always knew must sooner or later overtake me. Noel, your good opinion is so precious to me I shrink from losing it. I have dreaded your condemnation next to that of my God. You always trusted and respected me, even in what you deemed foolish monkish extremes, and yet—and yet——"
"Sit down, and pull yourself together. You have fasted and prayed your starved nerves into a fit of womanish hysteria. I am no father confessor for you, and if you are not the true, loyal man I have believed you all these years, then, while you are under my roof, I prefer not to find out that you are a hypocrite."
He pushed his friend back into the easy chair, and handed him a glass of chartreuse, but it was put aside.
"Noel, you must hear me. After the first bitterness I shall feel relieved that you know literally all I can tell, and then you will understand many things in my life. To-day I am what I am, simply and solely in the hope of expiating the sin of my youth. Noel, the sin of my youth found me out early, and this life I lead is an attempted atonement. Do you begin to understand?"
Mr. Herriott held up the sketch, and, as he struck it sharply with his fingers, his face darkened.
"Whose portrait is this?"
"The woman—the young girl—whose life I blighted."
"Good God! Blighted? Is your villainy so black?"