me another time, Father," he said, "and before we part I
want to ask you a favour. I was somehow inspired to write two sermons
the other day. . . . I will give them to you to look at. If they
are suitable, use them."

"Very good," said Father Yakov, laying his open hand on Kunin's
sermons which were lying on the table. "I will take them."

After standing a little, hesitating and still wrapping his cassock
round him, he suddenly gave up the effort to smile and lifted his
head resolutely.

"Pavel Mihailovitch," he said, evidently trying to speak loudly and
distinctly.

"What can I do for you?"

"I have heard that you . . . er . . . have dismissed your secretary,
and . . . and are looking for a new one. . . ."

"Yes, I am. . . . Why, have you someone to recommend?"

"I. . . er . . . you see . . . I . . . Could you not give the post
to me?"

"Why, are you giving up the Church?" said Kunin in amazement.

"No, no," Father Yakov brought out quickly, for some reason turning
pale and trembling all over. "God forbid! If you feel doubtful,
then never mind, never mind. You see, I could do the work between
whiles, . . so as to increase my income. . . . Never mind, don't
disturb yourself!"

"H'm! . . . your income. . . . But you know, I only pay my secretary
twenty roubles a month."

"Good heavens! I would take ten," whispered Father Yakov, looking
about him. "Ten would be enough! You . . . you are astonished, and
everyone is astonished. The greedy priest, the grasping priest,
what does he do with his money? I feel myself I am greedy, . . .
and I blame myself, I condemn myself. . . . I am ashamed to look
people in the face. . . . I tell you on my conscience, Pavel
Mihailovitch. . . . I call the God of truth to witness. . . ."

Father Yakov took breath and went on:

"On the way here I prepared a regular confession to make you, but
. . . I've forgotten it all; I cannot find a word now. I get a
hundred and fifty roubles a year from my parish, and everyone wonders
what I do with the money. . . . But I'll explain it all truly. . . .
I pay forty roubles a year to the clerical school for my brother
Pyotr. He has everything found there, except that I have to provide
pens and paper."

"Oh, I believe you; I believe you! But what's the object of all
this?" said Kunin, with a wave of the hand, feeling terribly oppressed
by this outburst of confidence on the part of his visitor, and not
knowing how to get away from the tearful