“Please, father, give me absolution for what I am about to confess.”
“A timore inimici eripe animam tuam,” responded the seated figure, in a low, mumbling voice. “Deliver yourself, my daughter.”
The penitent hesitated a moment, as if calling up her nerve; bit her lower lip, and began:
“I have to accuse myself, first and foremost, of infidelity.”
“That is bad. Is it spiritual or secular infidelity to which you refer, my child?”
“Infidelity to my lover, father.”
A sudden cough seemed to catch the listener; he crowed a little as he answered:
“To be sure. There will be some good reason for this apostacy, no doubt.”
“It is to be found, father, in my own conscience, which shrinks from the load he would have put upon it.”
“What load? Be specific, child. Has he tempted you to wrong?”