a certain simple dignity. With equal dignity, Father
Benwell answered. It is needless to say that he now knew Winterfield's
correspondent to be Romayne's wife.

"Let me sincerely thank you, Mr. Winterfield, for a candor which does
honor to us both," he said. "You will hardly expect me--if I may
use such an expression--to condescend to justify myself against an
accusation which is an anonymous accusation so far as I am concerned.
I prefer to meet that letter by a plain proof; and I leave you to judge
whether I am still worthy of the friendship to which you have so kindly
alluded."

With this preface he briefly related the circumstances under which
he had become possessed of the packet, and then handed it to
Winterfield--with the seal uppermost.

"Decide for yourself," he concluded, "whether a man bent on prying into
your private affairs, with that letter entirely at his mercy, would have
been true to the trust reposed in him."

He rose and took his hat, ready to leave the room, if his honor was
profaned by the slightest expression of distrust. Winterfield's
genial and unsuspicious nature instantly accepted the offered proof as
conclusive. "Before I break the seal," he said, "let me do you justice.
Sit down again, Father Benwell, and forgive me if my sense of duty has
hurried me into hurting your feelings. No man ought to know better than
I do how often people misjudge and wrong each other."

They shook hands cordially. No moral relief is more eagerly sought than
relief from the pressure of a serious explanation. By common consent,
they now spoke as lightly as if nothing had happened. Father Benwell set
the example.

"You actually believe in a priest!" he said gayly. "We shall make a good
Catholic of you yet."

"Don't be too sure of that," Winterfield replied, with a touch of
his quaint humor. "I respect the men who have given to humanity the
inestimable blessing of quinine--to say nothing of preserving learning
and civilization--but I respect still more my own liberty as a free
Christian."

"Perhaps a free thinker, Mr. Winterfield?"

"Anything you like to call it, Father Benwell, so long as it _is_ free."

They both laughed. Father Benwell went back to his newspaper.
Winterfield broke the seal of the envelope and took out the inclosures.

The confession was the first of the papers at which he happened to look.
At the opening lines he turned pale. He read more, and his eyes filled
with tears. In low broken t