"This you say as a man, and not as a priest,—this is your true thought, as you wish to have peace, in the hour of your death?"
"Even so," said Father Luke.
"Thank you, O, bless you with all my soul. One question more,—O, answer me with the same frankness.—In the next world shall we meet, and know the friends whom we have loved in this?"
"We shall meet, we shall know, we shall love them in the next world, as certainly as we ever met, knew and loved them in this," was the answer of Father Luke, given with all the force and earnestness of undeniable sincerity. "Do you think we gather affections to our heart, only to bury them in the grave?"
The lady rose from her chair,—
"I thank you, once more, and with all my soul. Your words come from your heart. They confirm the intuitions of my own heart. For the consolation which these words afford, accept the gratitude of a dying woman. And now,—" she extended her hand, "and now farewell!"
The priest, who, through this entire interview, had never ceased to regard her, with his eyes almost hidden by his down-drawn brows,—struggling all the while to repress an agitation which increased every moment, and well nigh mastered him,—the priest also rose with these words on his lips:
"You dying, sister! you seem young, and full of life, and with the prospect of long years before you."
It was either the impulse of madness, or the force of a calm conviction, which induced her to reply:
"In one hour I will be dead."