“You had better go, Wilfred,” was all he said.
The two priests stood in silence watching the child as he slipped through the [50] ]window, stole across the grass, and vanished into the opposite cottage.
Then the two turned and faced each other.
The young priest sank into his chair and clasped his hands, waiting for the other to speak.
“So it has come to this!” he said: “the people were only too right in what they told me! Ah, God! that such a thing should have happened here! that it has fallen on me to expose your shame—our shame! that it is I who must give you up to justice, and see that you suffer the full penalty of your sin! Have you nothing to say?”
“Nothing—nothing,” he replied softly. “I cannot ask for pity: I cannot explain: [51] ]you would never understand. I do not ask you any thing for myself, I do not ask you to spare me; but think of the terrible scandal to our dear Church.”
“It is better to expose these terrible scandals and see that they are cured. It is folly to conceal a sore: better show all our shame than let it fester.”
“Think of the child.”
“That was for you to do: you should have thought of him before. What has his shame to do with me? it was your business. Besides, I would not spare him if I could: what pity can I feel for such as he——?”
But the young man had risen, pale to the lips.