Always Bolla! What was he doing in Leghorn again? And why should Gemma want to read with him? Had he bewitched her with his smuggling? It had been quite easy to see at the meeting in January that he was in love with her; that was why he had been so earnest over his propaganda. And now he was close to her--reading with her every day. Arthur suddenly threw the letter aside and knelt down again before the crucifix. And this was the soul that was preparing for absolution, for the Easter sacrament--the soul at peace with God and itself and all the world! A soul capable of sordid jealousies and suspicions; of selfish animosities and ungenerous hatred--and against a comrade! He covered his face with both hands in bitter humiliation. Only five minutes ago he had been dreaming of martyrdom; and now he had been guilty of a mean and petty thought like this! When he entered the seminary chapel on Thursday morning he found Father Cardi alone. After repeating the Confiteor, he plunged at once into the subject of his last night's backsliding. “My father, I accuse myself of the sins of jealousy and anger, and of unworthy thoughts against one who has done me no wrong.” Farther Cardi knew quite well with what kind of penitent he had to deal. He only said softly: “You have not told me all, my son.” “Father, the man against whom I have thought an unchristian thought is one whom I am especially bound to love and honour.” “One to whom you are bound by ties of blood?” “By a still closer tie.” “By what tie, my son?” “By that of comradeship.” “Comradeship in what?” “In a great and holy work.” A little pause. “And your anger against this--comrade, your jealousy of him, was called forth by his success in that work being greater than yours?” “I--yes, partly. I envied him his experience--his usefulness. And then--I thought--I feared--that he would take from me the heart of the girl I--love.” “And this girl that you love, is she a daughter of the Holy Church?” “No; she is a Protestant.” “A heretic?” Arthur clasped his hands in great distress. “Yes, a heretic,” he repeated. “We were brought up together; our mothers were friends--and I--envied him, because I saw that he loves her, too, and because--because----” “My son,” said Father Cardi, speaking after a moment's silence, slowly and gravely, “you have still not told me all; there is more than this upon your soul.” “Father, I----” He faltered and broke off again. The priest waited silently. “I envied him because the society--the Young Italy--that I belong to------” “Yes?” “Intrusted him with a work that I had hoped--would be given to me, that I had thought myself--specially adapted for.” “What work?” “The taking in of books--political books--from the steamers that bring them--and finding a hiding place for them--in the town------” “And this work was given by the party to your rival?” “To Bolla--and I envied him.”