Penrose asked why.

Romayne, thereupon, entered on the necessary explanation.  As a priest writing to priests, I pass over details utterly uninteresting to us.  The substance of what he said amounted to this:  Miss Eyrecourt had produced an impression on him which was new to him in his experience of women.  If he saw more of her, it might end—­I ask your pardon for repeating the ridiculous expression—­in his “falling in love with her.”  In this condition of mind or body, whichever it may be, he would probably be incapable of the self-control which he had hitherto practiced.  If she consented to devote her life to him, he might accept the cruel sacrifice.  Rather than do this, he would keep away from her, for her dear sake—­no matter what he might suffer, or whom he might offend.

Imagine any human being, out of a lunatic asylum, talking in this way.  Shall I own to you, my reverend colleague, how this curious self-exposure struck me?  As I listened to Romayne, I felt grateful to the famous Council which definitely forbade the priests of the Catholic Church to marry. We might otherwise have been morally enervated by the weakness which degrades Romayne—­and priests might have become instruments in the hands of women.

But you will be anxious to hear what Penrose did under the circumstances.  For the moment, I can tell you this, he startled me.

Instead of seizing the opportunity, and directing Romayne’s mind to the consolations of religion, Penrose actually encouraged him to reconsider his decision.  All the weakness of my poor little Arthur’s character showed itself in his next words.

He said to Romayne:  “It may be wrong in me to speak to you as freely as I wish to speak.  But you have so generously admitted me to your confidence—­you have been so considerate and so kind toward me—­that I feel an interest in your happiness, which perhaps makes me over bold.  Are you very sure that some such entire change in your life as your marriage might not end in delivering you from your burden?  If such a thing could be, is it wrong to suppose that your wife’s good influence over you might be the means of making your marriage a happy one?  I must not presume to offer an opinion on such a subject.  It is only my gratitude, my true attachment to you that ventures to put the question.  Are you conscious of having given this matter—­so serious a matter for you—­sufficient thought?”

Make your mind easy, reverend sir!  Romayne’s answer set everything right.

He said:  “I have thought of it till I could think no longer.  I still believe that sweet woman might control the torment of the voice.  But could she deliver me from the remorse perpetually gnawing at my heart?  I feel as murderers feel.  In taking another man’s life—­a man who had not even injured me!—­I have committed the one unatonable and unpardonable sin.  Can any human creature’s influence make me forget that?  No more of it—­no more.  Come!  Let us take refuge in our books.”