“I’ve a confession to make, Father,” he said presently. The Sister moved towards the door.
“No,” said Hugh, “don’t go. How long have I got to live?”
“Some hours at least,” said the Sister gently.
Hugh smiled. “Well, you’d better both hear what I’ve got to say. It won’t take long, but I can think of nothing else till I’ve said it. Perhaps you, Sister, will write down what is necessary. I can sign it presently, and, at all events, there will be two witnesses.”
At a sign from Father O’Sullivan the nurse crossed to the other side of the bed.
“Now, my son,” said Father O’Sullivan quietly, tenderly.
“I have let another man suffer instead of me,” said Hugh steadily. “His name—please get that down clearly, Sister—is Peter Carden.”
Father O’Sullivan did not move, but he drew a long breath. And there are some people who say that the age of miracles is past!
“There’s no need to enter into all particulars,” went on Hugh; “it would mean rather complicated business details that really don’t signify. But get this down clearly. About five or six years ago, Peter Carden was accused of forgery and embezzlement. He was put on his trial and pleaded guilty. He got three years in Portland Gaol. He was innocent; he was shielding me. Everything of which he was accused, and to which he pleaded guilty, was done by me. Is that clear, Father?”
“Perfectly clear, my son.”