“I hope your walk has done you good.”
“Perhaps,” Father Damon replied, without any leniency in his face; “but that does not matter. I must tell you what I could not last night. Can you hear me?”
They went together into the oratory. Father Damon did not spare himself. He kept nothing back that could heighten the enormity of his offense.
And Father Monies did not attempt to lessen the impression upon himself of the seriousness of the scandal. He was shocked. He was exceedingly grave, but he was even more pitiful. His experience of life had been longer than that of the penitent. He better knew its temptations. His own peace had only been won by long crucifixion of the natural desires.
“I have nothing to say as to your own discipline. That you know. But there is one thing. You must face this temptation, and subdue it.”
“You mean that I must go back to my labor in the city?”
“Yes. You can rest here a few days if you feel too weak physically.”
“No; I am well enough.” He hesitated. “I thought perhaps some other field, for a time?”
“There is no other field for you. It is not for the moment the question of where you can do most good. You are to reinstate yourself. You are a soldier of the Lord Jesus, and you are to go where the battle is most dangerous.”
That was the substance of it all. There was much affectionate counsel and loving sympathy mingled with all the inflexible orders of obedience, but the sin must be faced and extirpated in presence of the enemy.