“What is it that you desire of me?” said Catharine, bewildered by this solemn acting. “What have I done?”
“What do I desire? Why, that you confess and forsake your sin, but especially confess. I am ready and willing to take down every word of the fearful narrative, as it falls from your lips. Oh! my dear child, you have it in your power to aid us in accomplishing a great work—begin, dear child, begin!”
The woman seated herself at the table, and took up a steel pen, sharp and hard as herself, which she dipped in an inkstand, shook lightly, and held ready to pounce on a sheet of paper, already arranged, the moment Catharine’s lips should unclose.
“Come, my poor, sweet child, don’t hesitate; take up the cross and begin; what was the first step?”
“Madam, I do not understand. What do you wish me to say? I have done wrong in marrying my husband without the consent of his mother, but beyond this I have nothing but grief and poverty to confess!”
Again the tears rolled down that woman’s face. She sighed heavily and shrouded her forehead with one hand. Then she shook her head, and looked mournfully at the two women, muttering something in a solemn undertone.
At last she lifted up her head, and smiled benignly.
“I see. This is a case that requires time. I will lay it before the Board. Doubtless the good seed has been planted in our conversation, today, and the sisters will strengthen my hands to reap in due season.”
“Then you will find the sweet crathur a place and recommend her entirely!” exclaimed Mary Margaret, coming to the point at once.
“We will, as I have just said, take her case into consideration,” replied the directress, blandly. “You can go home, good woman, for according to your light I do not doubt that you are good. This person can remain here; I should prefer to have her directly under my own care.”