“At last help came, priests and lay brothers.  It pleased Heaven that they should come at last at the very moment when I was saying mass for the people.  Of course there was no bishop amongst them, and none of them knew that I was not a priest.  I should have confessed the truth to the eldest of them, but I had no courage, for I did not do it at once, but put it off, and as every priest said mass every day, I said mine, too, on the first morning after the others had come.  I wished to go away at once.  But I alone knew all the people, and could preach a little in their language, and I was much loved by them, for I had been alone with them during eighteen months.  So my new brethren would not let me go, and after what I had done so far, I was ashamed to tell the truth about myself.  They looked up to me as a superior, because I had been so long in the mission and had lived through what had killed so many.  They thought me very humble and praised my humility.  But it was not humility—­it was shame.

“During two years more I remained with them, and two of them died, but the rest lived, for I had learned how men should live in that country in order to escape the fevers, and I taught them.  The mission grew, and many people were converted.  Then they began to speak of sending home two of their number to Rome, to give an account of the work, and to get more help, if possible, in order that the conversion might be carried further into the country; and they decided to do so.  It was my right to be one of the two, and I took it.  My companion was a young priest less strong than the rest, and we left the mission and after a long journey we got home safely.  I meant to go to the first bishop I met, and make my confession.

“But when we came to Rome and we were giving an account of what had been done, the young priest thrust me forward to speak, as was natural, and I seemed to be a personage of importance, because I had lived through so many perils and had outlived so many.  We two were invited to dinner by cardinals, and were admitted to a private audience of the Pope.  Everybody seemed to know what I had done, and even the liberal newspapers praised my courage and devotion.

“I had no courage, for being full of vanity, I never confessed my sin.  But I would not go back to the mission, and when I could leave Rome, I left the young priests there and went to Naples to see my father.  He had read what had been written about me, and was proud of me, and he received me gladly, for he loved me and was a devout man.  Six years had passed since I had seen his wife, and though I trembled when I was just about to see her, yet when she entered the room I knew that I did not love her any more, and I was very much pleased to find that this sin, at least, had left me.