Oh, my son, don't force me to stand guilty
before God to answer for your lost soul."
It seemed to Maurice that he was being swept away by the simple power
of the emotion of Frontford. He felt the tears in his eyes, and almost
without his volition his hand responded to the pressure of the hand
that clasped it. He made a strong effort to call back his will.
"Father," he responded, "we must each stand or fall alone. It is not
your fault that I can't see things as you do, or that I can't any
longer remain here. I am changed. If I stayed, it would be against my
convictions."
"Ah," was the eager reply, "but you could submit your convictions to
the church."
Maurice drew back.
"I am a man, to think for myself. I must be honest with my reason. The
church cannot take for me the place of honesty and conviction."
The Father Superior dropped the hand he held.
"Then you insist on putting your own will and your own wisdom above
that of the church?"
"I must do the thing that seems to me right."
The priest's face hardened. It was as if over the surface of a pool a
film of ice formed. He sank back in his chair, and when he spoke again
it was in a voice so hard and cold that the young man started.
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