“Dost thou repent of these thy sins? Are they hateful in thine eyes?”
“Oh, yes! yes!”
Soeur Séraphine’s face softened; her eyes shone with their own kind light. She said no word, but with a lovely gesture held out Maria’s hand. Patricia clasped it, and knelt down by the bedside.
“Maria,” she said, in a low, stifled voice, “I have been wicked and hateful, and I beg your pardon!”
“Oh, don’t, Patricia!” gasped Maria. “Oh, please don’t! I—of course it was horrid of me; of course you thought—oh, do get up, Patricia! Oh, of course I forgive you, if you forgive me!”
“So!” The Sister raised Patricia, and seated her beside her. “That is well. Now you are friends once more, and that part of this sad matter may be forgotten. For her second and far more grievous sin, that of attempting to renounce the gift of life given her by the good God, Maria is deeply repentant; is it not so, my child?”
“Oh, yes!” murmured Maria, clasping her hands over her face. “I don’t see how I could have done it!”
“Fitting penance will be devised for thee!” the Sister went on serenely. “Thou preferest to leave it to me and Madame, and it is well. For thee, Patricia; wouldst thou prefer to choose thine own penance, or shall we devise one for thee also?”
“I think—” Patricia spoke slowly, but with something of her usual assured tone: “I think, my Sister, that I will go to Coventry myself!”