“Apparently his hat did so at all events,” said one of the brothers. “I saw it lying with his lamp on the stall in front of me.”
There was silence for a moment, and then the Father said with a smile:
“But my children are so amusing in such matters! Only this morning I had to reprove Brother Storm for losing his hat somewhere, and now Brother Paul——”
By an involuntary impulse, obscure to themselves, the brothers turned toward John, who was standing in the recess of one of the windows with his pale face looking out on the sunshine.
John was the first to speak.
“Father,” he said, “I have something to say to you.”
“Come this way,” said the Superior, and they passed out of the room together.
The Father led the way to his room and closed the door behind them. But there was little need for confession; the Father seemed to know everything in an instant. He sat in his wicker chair before the fire and rocked himself and moaned.
“Well, well, God's wrath comes up against the children of disobedience, but we must do our best to bear our punishment.”
John Storm made no excuses. He had stood by the Father's chair and told his story simply, without fear or remorse, only concealing that part of it which concerned himself in relation to Glory.