HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} And for
some obscure reason or purpose he always spoke of hell as the special
punishment of murderers. Again and again in his discourse he coupled
murder and hell.

Ramon was wearied by strong emotions and a shortness of sleep. His nerves
were overstrung. This ceaseless iteration of hell and murder, murder and
hell would drive him crazy, he thought. He wished mightily that the priest
would have done and name his price and go. What was the sense and purpose
of this endless babble about hell and murder?{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} A sickening thought struck
him like a blow, leaving him weak. What if old Archulera had confessed to
the priest?

Well; what if he had? A priest could not testify about what he had heard
in confessional. But a priest might tell some one else.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} O, God! If the
man would only go and leave him to think. Hell and murder, murder and
hell. The two words beat upon his brain without mercy. He longed to
interrupt the priest and beg him to leave off. But for some reason he
could not. He could not even turn his head and look at the man. The priest
was but a clammy grip that held him and a disembodied voice that spoke of
hell and murder. Had he done murder? And was there a hell? He had long
ceased to believe in hell, but hell had been real to him as a child. His
mother and his nurse had filled him with the fear of hell. He had been
bred in the fear of hell. It was in his flesh and bones if not in his
mind, and the priest had hypnotized his mind. Hell was real to him again.
Fear of hell came up from the past which vanishes but is never gone, and
gripped him like a great ugly monster. It squeezed a cold sweat out of his
body and made his skin prickle and his breath come short.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}

The priest dropped the subject of hell, and spoke again of the mass. He
mentioned a sum of money. Ramon nodded his head muttering his assent like
a sick man. The grip on his hand relaxed.

"Good-bye, my little brother," murmured the priest. "May Christ be always
with you." His gown rustled across the room and as he opened the door,
Ramon saw his face for a moment--a sallow, shrewd face, bedewed with the
sweat of a great effort, but wearing a smile of triumphant satisfaction.

Ramon lay sick and exhausted. It seemed to him that there was no air in
the room. He was suffocating. His body burned and prickled. He rose and
tore loose his collar. He must get out of this place, mu