So, you see, in these words did Doe admit that the dog-like devotion, which he had once given to Radley, was transferred to Monty.  In my own less intense way I felt the same thing.  Radley had become remote, and ceased to be a force in our lives; Monty reigned in his stead.  We were boys; and what’s the use of pretending?  A boy’s affection is not eternal.

Of Doe’s confession I can relate no more.  It withdraws itself into a privacy.  I can but tell you the tale of my own experience.

Sec.2

Monty’s cabin was to be his confessional.  I was to go to him early the next morning, as I had been detailed for Submarine Watch for the remainder of the day.

I approached his door, stimulating myself for the ordeal by saying “In half an hour I shall have told all, and the thing will be done.”  A certain happiness fought in my mind against my shrinking from self-humiliation.  Two moods wrestled in me; the one said:  “The long-dreaded moment is on you”; the other said:  “The eagerly awaited moment has come.”

I found Monty ready for me, robed in a surplice and violet stole.  In front of the place where I was to kneel was a crucifix.

“Kneel there,” said Monty, “and, if necessary, look at that. He was so much a man like us that He kept the glory that was set before Him as a motive for enduring the cross.”

I knelt down.  Nervousness suddenly possessed me, and my voice trembled, as I read the printed words: 

“Father, give me thy blessing, for I have sinned.”

Then nervousness left me.  The scene became very calm.  It seemed to be taking place somewhere out of the world.  The worldly relations of the two taking part in it changed as in a transfiguration.  I ceased to think of Monty as a lively friend.  He had become a stately priest, and I a penitent.  He had become a father, and I a child.

With a quiet deliberateness that surprised me, I said the “Confiteor,” and accused myself of the long catalogue of sins that I had prepared.  It was almost mechanical.  Such merit as there may have been in my exhaustive confession must have lain in what conquering of obstacles I achieved before I came to my knees in Monty’s presence, because I was conscious of no meritorious effort then.  It was as if I had battled against a running current, and had at last got into the stream; for now, as I spoke in the confessional, I was just floating without exertion down the current.

When I had finished, Monty sat without saying a word.  I kept my face in my hands, and waited for the counsel that he would offer.

He gave me the very thing that my opening manhood was craving; one clear and lofty ideal.  I had felt blindly for it that far-off time when, as a small boy, the recollection of my grandfather’s words:  “That Rupert, the best of the lot,” had lifted me out of cheating and lies.  I had aspired towards it, but had not seen it, that evening outside Kensingtowe’s baths.  I had seen it hazily that day the old Colonel spoke of our Youth and our High Calling.