Benwell possesses all the social virtues," Mr. Winterfield ran
on. "He shall have his coffee, and the largest sugar-basin that the
hotel can produce. I can quite understand that your literary labors have
tried your nerves," he said to Romayne, when he had ordered the coffee.
"The mere title of your work overwhelms an idle man like me. 'The Origin
of Religions'--what an immense subject! How far must we look back
to find out the first worshipers of the human family?--Where are the
hieroglyphics, Mr. Romayne, that will give you the earliest information?
In the unknown center of Africa, or among the ruined cities of Yucatan?
My own idea, as an ignorant man, is that the first of all forms of
worship must have been the worship of the sun. Don't be shocked, Father
Benwell--I confess I have a certain sympathy with sun-worship. In the
East especially, the rising of the sun is surely the grandest of all
objects--the visible symbol of a beneficent Deity, who gives life,
warmth and light to the world of his creation."

"Very grand, no doubt," remarked Father Benwell, sweetening his coffee.
"But not to be compared with the noble sight at Rome, when the Pope
blesses the Christian world from the balcony of St. Peter's."

"So much for professional feeling!" said Mr. Winterfield. "But, surely,
something depends on what sort of man the Pope is. If we had lived in
the time of Alexander the Sixth, would you have called _him_ a part of
that noble sight?"

"Certainly--at a proper distance," Father Benwell briskly replied. "Ah,
you heretics only know the worst side of that most unhappy pontiff! Mr.
Winterfield, we have every reason to believe that he felt (privately)
the truest remorse."

"I should require very good evidence to persuade me of it."

This touched Romayne on a sad side of his own personal experience.
"Perhaps," he said, "you don't believe in remorse?"

"Pardon me," Mr. Winterfield rejoined, "I only distinguish between false
remorse and true remorse. We will say no more of Alexander the Sixth,
Father Benwell. If we want an illustration, I will supply it, and
give no offense. True remorse depends, to my mind, on a man's accurate
knowledge of his own motives--far from a common knowledge, in my
experience. Say, for instance, that I have committed some serious
offense--"

Romayne could not resist interrupting him. "Say you have killed one of
your fellow-creatures," he suggested.

"Very well. If I know that I really meant to