"Catholics pray for the souls of dead people, don't they? Pray for mine by-and-by. It will comfort me to know you are praying, darling, even if God is too angry with us to hear!"
He held her to his bursting heart, groaning.
"If He is angry, it cannot be with you. The sin was mine—all mine. He must know!"
Later she awakened from a troubled sleep to murmur:
"Richard, I dreamed of Bridget-Mary. She was all in black, but there was white linen about her face and neck, and it was dabbled dreadfully with blood." The weak, slight body shuddered in his embrace. "She said our wickedness had brought her death, but that she would plead for us in Heaven."
"She is not dead, my beloved; I heard of her before we left Cape Colony. She has taken the veil. She is well, and will be happy in her religion, as those good women always are."
"I was not one of those good women, Richard——"
He strained her to him in silence. She panted presently:
"You might have been happy—with her—if I had never come between you!"
He found some words to tell her that these things were meant to be. From the beginning ...