I asked.

"Very odd," replied the priest.

"I think, sir, we beat about the bush," said I. "You must know more of
my affairs than you allow. You must know my curiosity to be justified on
many grounds. Will you not be frank with me?"

"My son," said the old gentleman, "I will be very frank with you on
matters within my competence; on those of which I know nothing it does
not require much discretion to be silent. I will not fence with you, I
take your meaning perfectly; and what can I say, but that we are all in
God's hands, and that His ways are not our ways? I have even advised
with my superiors in the Church, but they, too, were dumb. It is a great
mystery."

"Is she mad?" I asked.

"I will answer you according to my belief. She is not," returned the
Padre, "or she was not. When she was young--God help me, I fear I
neglected that wild lamb--she was surely sane; and yet, although it did
not run to such heights, the same strain was already notable; it had
been so before her in her father, ay, and before him, and this inclined
me, perhaps, to think too lightly of it. But these things go on growing,
not only in the individual but in the race."

"When she was young," I began, and my voice failed me for a moment, and
it was only with a great effort that I was able to add, "was she like
Olalla?"

"Now God forbid!" exclaimed the Padre. "God forbid that any man should
think so slightingly of my favourite penitent. No, no; the Senorita (but
for her beauty, which I wish most honestly she had less of) has not a
hair's resemblance to what her mother was at the same age. I could not
bear to have you think so; though, heaven knows, it were, perhaps,
better that you should."

At this I raised myself in bed, and opened my heart to the old man;
telling him of our love and of her decision; owning my own horrors, my
own passing fancies, but telling him that these were at an end; and with
something more than a purely formal submission, appealing to his
judgment.

He heard me very patiently and without surprise; and when I had done he
sat for some time silent. Then he began: "The Church," and instantly
broke off again to apologise. "I had forgotten, my child, that you were
not a Christian," said he. "And indeed, upon a point so highly unusual,
even the Church can scarce be said to have decided. But would you have
my opinion? The Senorita is, in a matter of this kind, the best judge;
I would accept her judgment."

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