Tenderly he drew
back the heavy masses of hair from about her face and shoulders. For
several minutes he remained with his face pressed close against hers;
then he rose, and faced me. The woman--his wife--knew nothing of what
passed between us during the next half-hour. During that half-hour
gentlemen, I received my first confession. The young man was of my faith.
He was my first penitent."
It was growing colder in the coach, and Father Charles stopped to draw
his thin black coat closer to him. Forsythe relighted his cigar for the
third time. The transient passenger gave a sudden start as a gust of wind
beat against the window like a threatening hand.
"A rough stool was my confessional, gentlemen," resumed Father Charles.
"He told me the story, kneeling at my feet--a story that will live with
me as long as I live, always reminding me that the little things of life
may be the greatest things, that by sending a storm to hold up a coach
the Supreme Arbiter may change the map of the world. It is not a long
story. It is not even an unusual story.
"He had come into the North about a year before, and had built for
himself and his wife a little home at a pleasant river spot ten miles
distant from my cabin. Their love was of the kind we do not often see,
and they were as happy as the birds that lived about them in the
wilderness. They had taken a timber claim. A few months more, and a new
life was to come into their little home; and the knowledge of this made
the girl an angel of beauty and joy.
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