“I; quite as great a sinner as thou; though not in the same way. The devil has gins and snares, as well as traps. But penitence softened my impious heart, and then gratitude remoulded it. Therefore, seeing you penitent, I hope you can be grateful to Him, who has been more merciful to you than you have to your fellow-creature. Daughter, the Church sends you comfort.”
“Comfort to me? ah! never! unless it can raise my victim from the dead.”
“Take this crucifix in thy hand, fix thine eyes on it, and listen to me,” was all the reply.
“Yes, father; but let me thoroughly dry your feet first; 'tis ill sitting in wet feet; and you are the holiest man of all whose feet I have washed. I know it by your voice.”
“Woman, I am not. As for my feet, they can wait their turn. Obey thou me.
“Yes, father,” said the lady humbly. But with a woman's evasive pertinacity she wreathed one towel swiftly round the foot she was drying, and placed his other foot on the dry napkin; then obeyed his command.
And as she bowed over the crucifix, the low, solemn tones of the friar fell upon her ear, and his words soon made her whole body quiver with various emotion, in quick succession.
“My daughter, he you murdered—in intent—was one Gerard, a Hollander. He loved a creature, as men should love none but their Redeemer and His Church. Heaven chastised him. A letter came to Rome. She was dead.”
“Poor Gerard! Poor Margaret!” moaned the penitent.
Clement's voice faltered at this a moment. But soon, by a strong effort, he recovered all his calmness.