, and thou art employed upon an
indifferent search while yet the tenement is warm which but now held
her spirit. This is not seemly, Philip. What is the key thou seekest?"

"Father, I have no time for tears--no time to spare for grief or
lamentation. I have much to do and more to think of than thought can
well embrace. That I loved my mother, you know well."

"But the key thou seekest, Philip?"

"Father, it is the key of a chamber which has not been unlocked for
years, which I must--will open; even if--"

"If what, my son?"

"I was about to say what I should not have said. Forgive me, Father; I
meant that I must search that chamber."

"I have long heard of that same chamber being closed; and that thy
mother would not explain wherefore, I know well, for I have asked
her, and have been denied. Nay, when, as in duty bound, I pressed the
question, I found her reason was disordered by my importunity, and
therefore I abandoned the attempt. Some heavy weight was on thy
mother's mind, my son, yet would she never confess or trust it with
me. Tell me, before she died, hadst thou this secret from her?"

"I had, most holy father."

"Wouldst thou not feel comfort if thou didst confide to me, my son? I
might advise--assist--"

"Father, I would indeed--I could confide it to thee, and ask for thy
assistance--I know 'tis not from curious feeling thou wouldst have it,
but from a better motive. But of that which has been told it is not
yet manifest--whether it is as my poor mother says, or but the phantom
of a heated brain. Should it indeed be true, fain would I share the
burthen with you--yet little you might thank me for the heavy load.
But no--at least not now--it must not, cannot be revealed. I must do
my work--enter that hated room alone."

"Fearest thou not?"

"Father, I fear nothing. I have a duty to perform--a dreadful one, I
grant; but I pray thee, ask no more; for, like my poor mother, I feel
as if the probing of the wound would half unseat my reason."

"I will not press thee further, Philip. The time may come when I may
prove of service. Farewell, my child; but I pray thee to discontinue
thy unseemly labour, for I must send in the neighbours to perform the
duties to thy departed mother, whose soul I trust is with its God."

The priest looked at Philip; he perceived that his thoughts were
elsewhere; there was a vacancy and appearance of mental stupefaction,
and as he turned away, the good man shook his head.

"