That Which Hath Wings: A Novel of the Day

by Richard Dehan

"Very!"

"H'mm!" said the dry cough. "What is his religion?"

"He is a Catholic."

"H'mm! ... A devout Catholic?"

"He seems—awfully keen on his Church!"

A silence had followed, during which the beating of Patrine's heart and the singing of the blood in her ears had seemed to fill the clean little wooden place. Then:

"Do you intend to tell this keen Catholic," asked the merciless voice, "that you do not come to him—pure?"

"No! ... At least..." The heave of her bosom against the little shelf before the lattice made the dry wood quiver and creak. A deep sigh broke from her. The priest's voice continued:

"You have made it quite clear why you have applied to me. To be encouraged not to tell! But even for your own sake I advise you to make confession. Do you expect God's blessing upon a marriage that is—upon your side—a fraud?"

"Men aren't angels!" Patrine burst out rebelliously. "How do I know that he—Yes, I do know!"