Gerard, sick and cold at heart, kneeled down, and prayed for help from Heaven to do his duty.
When he rose from his knees his face was pale and old, but deadly calm and patient. He went softly and brought her bed into the room, and laid her gently down and supported her head with pillows. Then he prayed by her side the prayers for the dying, and she said Amen to each prayer. Then for some hours she wandered, but when the fell disease had quite made sure of its prey, her mind cleared, and she begged Gerard to shrive her. “For oh, my conscience it is laden,” she said sadly.
“Confess thy sins to me, my daughter: let there be no reserve.”
“My father,” said she sadly, “I have one great sin on my breast this many years. E'en now that death is at my heart I can scarce own it. But the Lord is debonair; if thou wilt pray to Him, perchance He may forgive me.”
“Confess it first, my daughter.”
“I—alas!”
“Confess it!”
“I deceived thee. This many years I have deceived thee.”
Here tears interrupted her speech.
“Courage, my daughter, courage,” said Gerard kindly, overpowering the lover in the priest.