“The priest! Shrive me for obeying the Bishop, and bringing doom upon the heretics! Nay, witch!—art thou so far gone down the black road that thou reckonest such good works to be sins?”
And the sumner laughed bitterly.
“It is thy confession of sin wherewith I deal,” answered Haldane sternly. “It is thy conscience, not mine, whereon it lieth heavy. Who is it that goeth down the black road—the man that cannot rest for the haunting of dead faces, or the poor, harmless, old woman, that bade him seek peace from the Church of God?”
“The Church would never set that matter right,” said the sumner, half sullenly, as he rose to depart.
“Then there is but one other hope for thee,” said a clear low voice from some unseen place: “get thee to Him who is the very Head of the Church of God, and who died for thee and for all Christian men.”
The sumner crossed himself several times over, not waiting for the end of one performance before he began another.
“Dame Mary, have mercy on us!” he cried; “was that an angel that spake?”
“An evil spirit would scarcely have given such holy counsel,” gravely responded Haldane.
“Never expected to hear angels speak in a witch’s hut!” said the astonished sumner. “Pray you, my Lord Angel—or my Lady Angela, if so be—for your holy intercession for a poor sinner.”
“Better shalt thou have,” replied the voice, “if thou wilt humbly rest thy trust on Christ our Lord, and seek His intercession.”