Once, and once only, did Father Paul interrupt the narrative,
which in whispers was addressed to him. Gabriel had hardly
repeated the first two or three sentences of his grandfather's
confession, when the priest, in quick, altered tones, abruptly
asked him his name and place of abode.
As the question was answered, Father Paul's calm face became
suddenly agitated; but the next moment, resolutely resuming his
self-possession, he bowed his head as a sign that Gabriel was to
continue; clasped his trembling hands, and raising them as if in
silent prayer, fixed his eyes intently on the cross. He never
looked away from it while the terrible narrative proceeded. But
when Gabriel described his search at the Merchant's Table; and,
referring to his father's behavior since that time, appealed to
the priest to know whether he might even yet, in defiance of
appearances, be still filially justified in doubting whether the
crime had been really perpetrated--then Father Paul moved near to
him once more, and spoke again.
"Compose yourself, and look at me," he said, with his former sad
kindness of voice and manner. "I can end your doubts forever.
Gabriel, your father was guilty in intention and in act; but the
victim of his crime still lives. I can prove it."
Gabriel's heart beat wildly; a deadly coldness crept over him as
he saw Father Paul loosen the fastening of his cassock round the
throat.
Pages:
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371