He drew back with a little shudder when he saw her go in.
But he almost instantly recovered himself, and followed her into the house, and up the stairs. And there in bed, propped up by pillows, lay his deadly enemy, looking already like a corpse.
Clement eyed him a moment from the door, and thought of all the tower, the wood, the letter. Then he said in a low voice, “Pax vobiscum!” He trembled a little while he said it.
The sick man welcomed him as eagerly as his weak state permitted. “Thank Heaven, thou art come in time to absolve me from my sins, father, and pray for my soul, thou and thy brethren.”
“My son,” said Clement, “before absolution cometh confession. In which act there must be no reservation, as thou valuest thy soul's weal. Bethink thee, therefore, wherein thou hast most offended God and the Church, while I offer up a prayer for wisdom to direct thee.”
Clement then kneeled and prayed; and when he rose from his knees, he said to Ghysbrecht, with apparent calmness, “My son, confess thy sins.”
“Ah, father,” said the sick man, “they are many and great.”
“Great, then, be thy penitence, my son; so shalt thou find God's mercy great.”
Ghysbrecht put his hands together, and began to confess with every appearance of contrition.
He owned he had eaten meat in mid-Lent. He had often absented himself from mass on the Lord's day, and saints' days; and had trifled with other religious observances, which he enumerated with scrupulous fidelity.