g him the whole business.

"'Now what do you make of it, Father?' I asked.

"'I make the devil out of it, doctor,' said he, very placidly.

"'Oh, well,' I began impatiently, 'of course I can't be expected----'

"'Now, wait a bit, doctor,' he put in. 'If you don't go with my
diagnosis, what's your own? What do you make out of it?'

"Well, there he had me.

"'Of course,' I said, 'it's a mere coincidence.'

"'Ah,' says he, 'then would you be willing to go and live there with
your wife?'

"'Good God, no!' I burst out, before I thought. And then I wouldn't
back out of it. You see, there had been five women. Five good,
ordinary, honest women--six, if you count Miss Jessop.

"'I thought not,' said he quietly.

"He sat and puffed awhile.

"Finally, 'I'll have to be taking a look at your house, doctor,' he
said.

"'All right,' said I. 'When?'

"'This evening,' he said, 'after my confessions. Say about nine. And
I'll go home and have a nap. I'm thinking I'll need one.'

"And he knocked out his pipe and left.

"I was busy all the afternoon, so busy that I almost forgot the whole
thing, and as a matter of fact, I had had no time for dinner, when he
called for me. He was so fresh and bright and jolly that you'd never
have suspected he'd just got a murderer to agree to give himself up,
gone with him to see him safely jailed, and sent his confession up to
the governor--oh, he was a remarkable man, that man! And it's a
remarkable institution, the Confessional. We're learning to do more
with it now than we did twenty years ago. But they've always known ...
they've always known..."

He ruminated long, and crushed the ashes in the brass tray before him.
The men nodded, but kept silence, dreading lest he lose the thread.

"I had the horse ready and drove myself. When I unlocked the door of
the house I lighted the lamp in the hall, and so on in every room we
went through, kitchen and all. In every room there was a fresh shining
lamp, filled and ready, for Althea had left everything like a new pin,
and in every room that lamp was lighted, when we left it. You know
what a nice, warm glow an old-fashioned kerosene lamp gives a
place--electricity's nothing to it, in my opinion.

"'This seems a good sort of house, doctor,' said Father Kelly to me, as
we came back and sat down in the pretty little sitting-room, with a
palm in it, and cushions my wife had made, and books on the table. 'I
can't see any harm h