"Lizzie is afraid, sir, that the priest is sick. Would you mind coming down to see him?"
"God bless me! no," I said, quite alarmed. I followed the servant rapidly and was ushered into Father Letheby's parlor, unexpected and almost unannounced.
"What's the matter, sir?" he cried; "what's the matter?"
"Nothing particular," I replied. "'T is a rather fine night, is it not?"
"Lizzie must have sent for you?" he answered.
"Yes," I said, "she did. She thought you were unwell. Are you?"
He looked ill enough, poor fellow, and at these words he sank wearily into a chair.
"I am afraid you're unwell," I repeated.
"I'm not unwell," he said, blubbering like a child, "but—but—my heart is broken."
"Oh," I cried, "if that's all, it's easily mended. Come now, let's hear all, and see if we can't put the pieces together."