windows; and over the littered table a painted deal bookshelf held a
dozen volumes, devotional, moral, and dogmatic theology; and by the
side of that an illuminated address framed in gilt, and so on.

Laurie looked at it all in dumb dismay. He had seen it before, again
and again, but had never realized its horror as he realized it now
from the depths of his own misery. Was it really true that his
religion could emit such results?

There was a step on the stairs--a very heavy one--and Father Mahon
came in, a large, crimson-faced man, who seemed to fill the room with
a completely unethereal presence, and held out his hand with a certain
gravity. Laurie took it and dropped it.

"Sit down, my dear boy," said the priest, and he impelled him gently
to a horsehair-covered arm-chair.

Laurie stiffened.

"Thank you, father; but I mustn't stay."

He fumbled in his pocket, and fetched out a little paper-covered
packet.

"Will you say Mass for my intention, please?" And he laid the packet
on the mantelshelf.

The priest took up the coins and slipped them into his waistcoat
pocket.