"You have nothing to do with the sins of others; it is enough to repent of your own sins. The priest has nothing to do with any sins but those confessed by the sinner to himself. Your own sins are your sole concern to-night, Margot."
The woman's face seemed to clear a little, and her eyes wandered to the man at the window with less anxiety. Charley was wondering whether, after all, she would have the courage to keep her word, whether spiritual terror would surmount the moral attitude of honour. He was also wondering how much right he had to put the strain upon the woman in her desperate hour. "How long did the doctor say I could live?" the woman asked presently.
"Till morning, perhaps, Margot."
"I should like to live till sunrise," she answered, "till after breakfast. Rosalie makes good tea," she added musingly.
The Cure almost smiled. "There is the Living Bread, my daughter."
She nodded. "But I should like to see the sunrise and have Rosalie bring me tea," she persisted.
"Very well, Margot. We will ask God for that."
Her mind flew back again to the old question.
"Is it wrong to keep a secret?" she asked, her face turned away from the man at the window.
"If it is the secret of a sin, and the sin is your own—yes, Margot."