Before Mr. Dent took his leave he unburdened himself of what he had really come to say.
“Master Anthony,” he said, standing up and fingering his hat round and round, “I said I talked no doctrine now; but I must unsay that; and—you will not think me impertinent if I ask you something?”
“My dear Mr. Dent——” began the other, standing and smiling too.
“Thank you, thank you—I felt sure—then it is this: I do not know much about the Popish religion, though I used to once, and I may be very mistaken; but I would like you to satisfy me before I go on one point”; and he fixed his anxious peering eyes on Anthony’s face. “Can you say, Master Anthony, from a full heart, that you fix all your hope and confidence for salvation in Christ’s merits alone?”
Anthony smiled frankly in his face.
“Indeed, in none other,” he said, “and from a full heart.”
“Ah well,” and the birdlike face began to beam and twitch, “and—and there is nothing of confidence in yourself and your works—and—and there is no talk of Holy Mary in the matter?”
Anthony smiled again. He wished to avoid useless controversy.
“Briefly,” he said, “my belief is that I am a very great sinner, that I deserve eternal hell; but I humbly place all my trust in the Precious Blood of my Saviour, and in that alone. Does that satisfy you?”
Mr. Dent’s face was breaking into smiles, and at the end he took the priest’s face in his hands and kissed him gently twice on the cheeks.