"Where slew you him?" the priest's stifled voice continued.
"There, father--without, by the west door. Oh, pardon, pardon, that here, on holy ground that should be sanctuary, I took his life!"
It seemed almost to the wretch outside the confessional that the priest had uttered a gasp, had started in his seat, as he heard these words; yet presently he spoke again:
"The victim being the young Scots officer found murdered more than three months past?"
"'Tis so, holy father. 'Tis so. Oh, pardon! Pardon me! Mea culpa, mea culpa!"
"What restitution have you made?" the voice was heard to ask. "What restitution propose to make?"
"I know not what to make, father. I cannot call him back to life. What can I, must I do?"
"Have you wronged others--man, woman, or child? Think! trifle not with the Church. There are, doubtless, others."
"Oh, father, I have been an evil liver--a bad husband; bad friend. Set my feet but in the right way! show me the path. And oh! father, absolve me of this sin of blood. Above all, that!"
"Confess all," the priest said, "confess all."