“Don’t talk of my life. A stewardship I never set myself to contemplate, and so utterly failed in. I’ve got nothing to carry to my God but broken vows and a wasted year.”
“Nothing can be brought but repentance.”
“Yes, but look at others who have tried, felt their duties, and cared for souls; while I thought only of my vows as a restraint, and tried how much pleasure I could get in spite of them. A pretty story of all the ministry I shall ever have.”
“These last weeks!”
“Common humanity—nonsense! I should always have done as much; besides, I was crippled everywhere, not merely by want of power as a priest, but by having made myself such a shallow, thoughtless ass. But that was not what I wanted to say. It was about Gadley and his confession.”
“O, Herbert! I am afraid I was very unkind that night. I did not think of anything but our own trouble, nor see how much it had cost you.”
“Of course not—nonsense. You had enough to think of yourself, and I was only ashamed of having bored you.”
“And when I think of the state of that room, I am afraid it was then you took in the poison.”
“Don’t say afraid. If it was for Jenny, I shall have done some good in the world. But the thing is—is it good? Will it clear Douglas? I suppose what he said to you was under seal of confession?”
“Scarcely so, technically; but when a man unburthens himself on his death-bed, and then, so far from consenting, shows terror and dismay at the notion of his words being taken down as evidence, it seems to me hardly right or honourable to make use of them—though it would right a great wrong. But what did you get from him?”