"No, no; you do not know," he panted. "It was not—was not—intention."
"What was not intention?" Nigel asked, before Fulvia could speak.
And a moan was the answer.
"This must not go on." Fulvia spoke in a clear voice. "Padre, listen—don't be distressed. I forgive anything—everything—no matter what—if there is anything to forgive. And you are to feel happy—you understand? Not to worry yourself. Things will be all right."
"No, no. Wronged! Wronged!"
They could hardly catch what he said. Then, with more distinct utterance—
"My dear child! My own dear child! No—not intention—folly and weakness—not wilful. HE will forgive—I think—I trust—but—the misery and loss—"
"Nigel, stop him! He must not," whispered Fulvia. "Padre dear, don't! Don't!" she went on aloud. "You will be worse. Can't you rest now?"
"Forgiveness," he panted.
"Yes, oh yes—don't ask again!"