"Oh, sir, I daren't! indeed I daren't!" moaned Capitola.
"My poor girl!" said the minister, "if I am to do you any good it is absolutely necessary that you make me your confidant."
"Oh, sir, I have been a very wicked girl; I daren't tell you how wicked I have been!"
"Does your good uncle know or suspect this wrongdoing of yours?"
"Uncle! Oh, no, sir! He'd turn me out of doors! He'd kill me! Indeed he would, sir! Please don't tell him!"
"You forget, my child, that I do not yet know the nature of your offense," said the minister, in a state of painful anxiety.
"But I am going to inform you, sir; and oh! I hope you will take pity on me and tell me what to do; for though I dread to speak, I can't keep it on my conscience any longer, it is such a heavy weight on my breast!"
"Sin always is, my poor girl," said the pastor, with a deep moan.
"But, sir, you know I had no mother, as you said yourself."
"I know it, my poor girl, and am ready to make every allowance," said the old pastor, with a deep sigh, not knowing what next to expect.