"God knows what I mean," he said unsteadily; "and I shall never know unless you tell me."
And he sat down beside her, resting his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands, wondering what he could do with life and with the young soul already in his dark keeping. And, after a while, the anxiety of responsibility, being totally new, wearied him; perplexed, he lifted his head, seeking her eyes; and saw the compassion in her face and the slow smile trembling on her lips. And suddenly he understood which of them was better fitted for a keeper of souls.
"Will you be patient?" he said.
"Can you ask?"
He shook his head, looking vacantly at the lamp-light.
"Because I've gone all wrong somehow . . . since I was a boy. . . . You will be patient with me—won't you?"
"Yes," she said.
