"Never mind that, Mr. Ablethorpe," I said. "Only tell me as a friend. Remember how I helped you all I could before. If you know anything of my father. I must hear of it, and you must tell me." He shook his head. "Indeed, you cannot understand, Joseph," he repeated mournfully. "It is not to be expected that you should. I have not the authority to tell you. It is a sacred thing with me." With the grasp of one hand I caught hold of the leathern case, and out came the thing he called the monstrance. It had a kind of glass top, which I had lifted up to get at the wafers. "If you don't tell me," I shouted, "I'll send the whole flying into the Brom Water." "That would be deadly sin--the sin of sacrilege, Joseph," he answered, trying to get the case from me; but I was too active and too near the wall. "Hold, Joseph--oh, my monstrance--my cibory!" He was evidently in a great strait with his conscience. Curious what times some people have with their consciences! What a blessing mine never bothered me! I wonder what it feels like? Perhaps like when you have eaten a whole bushel of unripe gooseberries and wish you hadn't. Something like that, I wager! At any rate, he felt bad, and I was sorry for him. So I didn't throw the monstrous thingborium away, because he thought so much about it. I kept a tight hold of it, though, and said-- "Well, then, tell me if you know anything about my father!" Mr. Ablethorpe sat down with his head between his hands, and groaned. "Perfectly legitimate--perfectly legitimate--from your point of view," he said. "What am I to do? Seal of the confessional! I can't do it, yet I must satisfy Joseph." Then he hit upon something. "You know where the Rev. Cecil de la Poer lives," says he. "He is my spiritual director." I knew him. The Reverend Cecil was another of the ultra-High Churchers, who lived about three miles off, and was a gentleman's private chaplain. He was, if possible, ten times more set on thingboriums _et cetera_ than our Mr. Ablethorpe. "Well," said the Hayfork, "I will write a private confession of all I know about the matter to my spiritual director. I will intrust you with the letter to deliver it to Mr. De la Poer. And if you open it, the sin will be on your head." "That's all right," said I, cheerfully. And he wrote something, and sealed, or, rather licked it, in an envelope which he had used for carrying his cards in. It was on one of these that he had written his confession. He went off home in a great hurry to put the thingborium into his safe, and I opened the letter to Mr. De la Poer behind the trunk of the first big tree. All it said was just-- DEAR DE LA POER,--I have to communicate to you, under the seal of the confessional, that I have learned nothing whatever concerning Mr. Yarrow, of Breckonside village, at the house of Deep Moat Grange or elsewhere. Yours truly, R. ABLETHORPE. So once more I had drawn blank. CHAPTER XX CONCERNING ELSIE