There was a short silence. Magdalen looked earnestly at her sister.
Fay's face became suddenly convulsed.
"Fay is in great trouble," said Magdalen. "She has come to tell you about it. She has suffered very much."
"I can see that," said the Bishop.
"I wish to confess," said Fay in a smothered voice.
"That is a true instinct," said the Bishop. "God puts it into our hearts to confess when we are unhappy so that we may be comforted. When we come to see that we have done less well than we might have done—then we need comfort."
Fay looked from him to Magdalen with wide, hardly human eyes, like some tiny trapped animal between two executioners.
The Bishop's heart contracted.
Poor, poor little thing!
"Would you like to see me alone, my child?" he said, seeing a faint trembling like that of a butterfly beginning in her. "All you say to me will be under the seal of confession. It will never pass my lips."