Explore "A Monk of Cruta" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The lamp which stood on Paul's writing-table had gone out, and only a few dull red embers remained in the grate. By moving a single yard backwards, Paul was almost lost in the deep shadows which hung about the room, whilst such light as there was fell directly upon the priest's pale face. During those last few moments his voice had grown a shade more solemn -- more intense. Paul, who stood looking out at him from the darkness with dazed senses, like a man in a dream, never doubted for an instant, although perhaps he scarcely realized the full meaning of the story to which he was listening.
"It must have been in this very room," Father Adrian continued, looking around him, "that your father and Count Hirsfeld stood face to face. But you are naturally impatient. I will take up the story again in your father's own words to me.