“Yes, I am a priest,” he said.
Again the whimpering broke out from the bed; and Percy, half turning again to silence it, saw the girl mechanically loosen the clasp of the thin dust cloak over her white dress.
“You sent for him, mother?” snapped the man, with a tremble in his voice, and with a sudden jerk forward of his whole body. But the girl put out her hand.
“Quietly, my dear,” she said. “Now, sir—-”
“Yes, I am a priest,” said Percy again, strung up now to a desperate resistance of will, hardly knowing what he said.
“And you come to my house!” exclaimed the man. He came a step nearer, and half recoiled. “You swear you are a priest?” he said. “You have been here all this evening?”
“Since midnight.”
“And you are not—-” he stopped again.
Mabel stepped straight between them.
“Oliver,” she said, still with that air of suppressed excitement, “we must not have a scene here. The poor dear is too ill. Will you come downstairs, sir?”