Matteo, very much surprised, for
only the very gravest matters, and generally the most terrible crimes,
are referred to the bishop by a confessor.

"It is a grave matter," answered Don Teodoro. "Have the kindness to get
your stole, and I will make my confession, here. But we will lock the
enter door of the outer room, if you please."

He was shivering, and his face was white as he rose to go and slip the
bolt. Re-entering the room, he locked the inner door also behind him.
Don Matteo had produced from a drawer an old violet stole with tarnished
silver embroidery. It was carefully wrapped up in thin, clean, white
paper. A priest always wears the stole in administering any of the seven
sacraments. He passed it over his head, and the broad bands fell over
his breast, and he held the ends, upon which were embroidered small
Greek crosses, in one of his hands. Grave and silent, he sat down beside
the table, resting his elbow upon it and shading his eyes with his other
hand.

Don Teodoro knelt down, beside him at the table, and each said his part
of the preliminary form in a low voice. When Don Teodoro had said the
first half of the 'Confiteor,' he was silent for some time, and Don
Matteo was aware that his tall, thin frame was trembling, for the table
shook under his elbow. Then he began to speak, as follows:--

"I must tell the story of my life. My father was an officer in the army
of King Ferdinand, under the former government, and I was his only
child. He had a little fortune, and his pay was relatively large for
those days, so that I was brought up as a gentleman's son. My father,
who had been so fortunate as to make many advantageous friendships in
the course of his career, wished me to enter the military academy and
the army. By his interest I should have had rapid advancement. But this
was not my inclination. Ever since I can remember anything, I know that
I ardently wished to be a priest. As a little boy, I used to make a
small altar in a dark room behind my own, and I used to adorn it and
dress it for the feast days, and light tapers on it, and save my pocket
money to buy tiny silver ornaments for it. Before I could read I knew
the Rosary and the short Litanies, and I used to say them very devoutly
before my little altar, with genuflexions and other gestures such as I
saw the priests make in church. My father smiled sometimes, but he did
not interfere. He was a devout man, though he was a soldier. I had some
faci