She laid her young cheek against his hand; she could not speak.
Across the silence the bishop's low and broken voice rose in the Prayer for the Sick:
"O most merciful God, who, according to the multitude of Thy mercies, dost so put away the sins of those who truly repent, that Thou rememberest them no more: Open Thine eye of mercy.... Renew in him, most loving Father.... Impute not unto him his former sins...."
"Are you still there, Barbara?"
"Yes."
"A little longer." Death was heavy on his tongue. "Namu Amida Butsu!" he muttered. "But at the end—the old things—the old faith—"
The tears ran down the bishop's face.
"They are all dead now," came the broken whisper through the closing darkness. "There is no one to forgive me, except—"
"God will forgive you!" said the bishop, with a sob.