“This is what they have brought him to ... the son denies his mother!”
“Can’t you get on with your father?” he asked in a whisper.
Alexis only waved his hand and his head sank lower still. Father James understood it all. Tears filled the old man’s eyes, he bent over the Tsarevitch, laid one hand on the young man’s, while with the other he began gently to stroke his hair, as he would that of a sick child, saying:
“What is it, my little son? What is it, my son? the Lord be with thee! If you have something on your mind, don’t keep it back; it will do you good for us to talk it over together. I am your father, remember; though I am but a sinner yet the Lord may give me wisdom.”
The Tsarevitch continued to be silent and avoided his gaze. But suddenly his face fell, his lips quivered with a hollow tearless sob, he sank at his confessor’s feet.
“It’s hard, Father, it’s hard! I know not what to do. I can bear it no longer—— I wish my father——”
He was unable to proceed, he seemed frightened by what he was going to say.
“Come into the chapel, come quickly, I’ll tell you all there, I want to confess. Judge, Father, in the sight of God between my father and me——”
In the chapel, a small room next to the bedchamber, the walls were covered with ancient icons, in gold and silver trimmings set with precious stones; they were a heritage of Tsar Alexis. No ray of sunshine ever penetrated here. Lamps lit the perpetual gloom.