She hardly knew what to say, or how to answer the awed look in those dying eyes. He bent a keen glance upon her.
“Will it be soon?” he asked; and she knew that the “it” meant death. She could not deceive him. She bent her head in assent, as she said:
“Very soon, I think.”
His eyes never left her face. His own face moved not a muscle, but its expression changed moment by moment in a way she could not understand.
“There is not much time left, Monica. Sit down by me where I can see you. I must make a confession to you before I die.”
“Not to me, Conrad,” said Monica gently. “Confess your sins to our Father in Heaven. He alone can grant forgiveness; and His mercies are very great.”
“Forgiveness!” the word was spoken with an intensity of bitterness that startled Monica. The horror was deepening each moment in his eyes. She began to feel that it was reflected in her own. What did it all mean?
“God is very merciful,” she said gently, commanding herself so that he should not see her agitation.
“You do not know,” he interrupted almost fiercely. “Wait till I have told you all.”