"You can't do that, madame—it is not yours—you have given it to God."
The woman turned her eyes on him with a piteous look.
"No, madame," he said, sharply; "it is too late to withhold a part. This, madame, is temptation—a weakness of earth; the promises are to her that overcometh."
Her only answer was an hysterical whimper and imperfect sobbing.
"Be calm," he resumed. "It is meritorious. Discharge your mind of it, and the memory of your sacrifice will be sweeter, and its promise more glorious the nearer you draw to your darkest hour on earth."
She had another word to say; her fingers were creeping on the coverlet to his hand.
"No, madame, there won't be any struggle—you will faint, that is all, and waken, we trust among the blest. I'm sorry I can't stay just now. But Father Edwyn is here, and Dr. Garnet."
Again she turned her wavering head towards him, and lifted her eyes, as if to speak.
"No, no, you must not exert yourself—husband your strength—you'll want it, madame."
It was plain, however, she would have one last word more, and a little sourly he stooped his ear again.