"No," replied the man, "I have never seen you before to-day. We are strangers to each other. But I have heard much of you." "From whom?" "From Emilius," said the man. "Emilius!" cried Father Daniel, and signs of agitation were visible on his face. "Are you acquainted with him? Have you seen him lately? "I am acquainted with him. I saw him three days ago." Father Daniel fell back with a sudden impulse of revulsion, and with as sudden an impulse of contrition said humbly, "Forgive me--forgive me!" "It is I who should ask that," said the man, with a curious and not discreditable assumption of manliness, in the humbleness of which a certain remorseful abasement was conspicuous. He bowed his head. "Bless me, Father!" "Do you deserve it?" "I need it," said the man; and the good priest blessed him. "It is, up to now," said the man presently, raising his head, "as Emilius told me. But he could not lie." "You are his friend?" said Father Daniel. "I am not worthy to be called so," said the man. "I am a sinner. He is a martyr." "Ah," said Father Daniel, "give me your hand. Nay, I will have it. We are brothers. No temptation has been mine. I have not sinned because sin has not presented itself to me in alluring colours. I have never known want. My parents were good, and set me a good example. They taught me what is right; they taught me to pray. And you?" "And I, Father?" said the man in softened accents. "I! Great God, what am I?" It was as though a revelation had fallen upon him. It held him fast for a few moments, and then he recovered his natural self. "I have never been as yourself, Father. My lot was otherwise. I don't complain. But it was not my fault that I was born of thieves--though, mind you, Father, I loved my mother." "My son," said Father Daniel, bowing his head, "give _me_ your blessing." "Father!" "Give _me_ your blessing!" Awed and compelled, the man raised his trembling hands above Father Daniel's head. When the priest looked again at the man he saw that his eyes were filled with tears. "You come from Emilius." "Yes, with messages which I promised to deliver. I have been in prison for fifteen years. Emilius joined us; we hardened ones were at first surprised, afterwards we were shocked. It was not long before we grew to love him. Father, is there justice in the world?" "Yes," said Father Daniel, with a false sternness in his voice. "That it sometimes errs is human. Your messages! To whom?" "To one who is dead--a good woman." He lowered his head a moment. "I will keep it here," touching his breast; "it will do me no harm. To you." "Deliver it." "Emilius desired me to seek you out, and to tell you he is innocent." "I know it." "That is the second. The third is but one word to a man you know--Gabriel Carew." "He is here," said Father Daniel.