"I think it is the stigmata," she said, blushing furiously.
I was struck silent. It was too grand. Could it be? Had we a real, positive saint amongst us?
"What do you think, Father Dan? Are you angry?"
"God forbid, child. But tell me, have you spoken to Alice on the matter?"
"Oh, dear no! I wouldn't dream of such a thing. It would give her an awful shock."
"Well, we'll keep it a profound secret, and await further revelations. 'Abscondisti hæc a prudentibus, et revelasti ea parvulis.'"
But next evening, I think I threw additional fervor into the Laudate's and Benedicite's at Lauds.
But as I looked at Father Letheby across the table in the lamplight, and saw his drawn, sallow cheeks and sunken eyes, and the white patch of hair over his ears, I could not help saying to myself: "You, too, have got your stigmata, my poor fellow!"
FOOTNOTES:
[8] Shroud.