"It's not in the least an intrusion," I said, honestly glad to see him.
"Thank you. Let us sit down over here by the window, if you will. I do not wish to run any risk of being overheard," and he glanced about anxiously.
As I looked at him more closely, I saw that he was labouring under some deep trouble or anxiety. His face was pale and haggard, and he fingered his glasses with a nervousness which I knew was not habitual.
"The truth of the matter is," he went on, "that I feel the need of advice—legal advice. I have friends here, of course, to whom I could have gone; but I was told that you were interested in this case, and from what I saw of you the other evening, I felt that I should like to lay my difficulty before you. It is, as I said, a purely legal question, or I should not have felt the need of any earthly counsel."
I thanked him for his confidence and begged him to continue.
"As I understand the law," he went on, "an insane person cannot be punished for a crime."
"No," I said, "except by being confined in an asylum until cured—and even that is largely discretionary."
"And what, in law, is considered insanity—what is the test for it?"
"Inability to distinguish right from wrong is the usual test. No man is excused from responsibility for a crime, if he has the capacity and reason sufficient to enable him to distinguish between right and wrong, as to the particular act he is then doing."
I fancied I heard the clergyman breathe a sigh of relief.