“No, it's not that. I asked for it, you know, and I like it. It's something else. To tell you the truth, I'm very foolish in some ways. When I've got anything on my mind I'm always thinking. Day and night it's the same with me, and even work——”
His breathing was audible, but he tried to laugh.
“Do you know what it is this time? It's what you said on the roof on the night of the vows, you remember. What you didn't say, I mean—and that's just the trouble. It was wrong to talk of the world without great necessity, but if you had been able to say 'Yes' when I asked if everybody was well you would have done it, wouldn't you?”
“We'll not talk of that now,” said John.
“No, it would be the same fault as before. Still——”
“How keen the air is! And your asthma is so troublesome! You must really let me speak to the Father.”
“Oh, that's nothing. I'm used to it. But if you know yourself what it is to be always thinking of anybody——”
John called to the dog, and it capered about him. “Good-morning, Brother Paul.” And he went into the house. The lay brother leaned on his besom and drew a long sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his chest.
John had hastened away, lest his voice should betray him.
“Awful!” he thought. “It must be awful to be always thinking of somebody, and in fear of what has happened to her. Poor little Polly! She's not worthy of it, but what does that matter? Blood is blood and love is love, and only God is stronger.”