"Then I could not absolve you, even if you came to confession. You may
be absolved from your allegiance, as we all are; but you are not
absolved from charity and justice towards Elizabeth as a woman. I have
consulted theologians on the very point; and--"
Then Anthony sprang up.
"See here, Robin; we must talk this out." He flicked his fingers
sharply. "See--we will talk of it as two friends."
"You had better take back those words," said the priest gravely.
"Why?"
"It would be my duty to lay an information! I understood you spoke to me
as to a priest, though not in confession."
"You would!" blazed the other.
"I should do so in conscience," said the priest. "But you have not yet
told me as a friend, and--"
"You mean--"
"I mean that so long as you choose to speak to me of it, now and here,
it remains that I choose to regard it as _sub sigillo_ in effect. But
you must not come to me to-morrow, as if I knew it all in a plain way. I
do not. I know it as a priest only."
There was silence for a moment. Then Anthony stood up.
"I understand," he said. "But you would refuse me absolution in any
case?"
"I could not give you absolution so long as you intended to kill her
Grace."
Anthony made an impatient gesture.
"See here," he said. "Let me tell you the whole matter from the
beginning. Now listen."
He settled himself again in his chair, and began.
* * * * *
"Robin," he said, "you remember when I spoke to you in the inn on the
way to Matstead; it must be seven or eight years gone now? Well, that
was when the beginning was.
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