“Mary,” he said again, “make your confession—quickly. Stand back, you men.”
They obeyed him; and he bent his ear towards the mouth he could so dimly see. There was a sob or two—a long moaning breath—and then the murmur of words, very faint and broken by gulps for breath. He noticed nothing of the hoofs that dashed up the road and stopped abruptly, and of the murmur of voices that grew round him; he only heard the gasping whisper, the words that rose one by one, with pauses and sighs, into his ear....
“Is that all?” he said, and a silence fell on all who stood round, now a complete circle about the priest and the penitent. The pale face moved slightly in assent; he could see the lips were open, and the breath was coming short and agonised.
“... In nomine Patris—his hand rose above her and moved cross-ways in the air—et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”
Then he bent low again and looked; the bosom was still rising and falling, the shut eyes lifted once and looked at him. Then the lids fell again.
“Benedictio Dei omnipotentis, Patris et Filii et Spiritus sancti, descendat super te et maneat semper. Amen.”
Then there fell a silence. A horse blew out its nostrils somewhere behind and stamped; then a man’s voice cried brutally:
“Now then, is that popish mummery done yet?”
There was a murmur and stir in the group. But Anthony had risen.
“That is all,” he said.