"I confess ... I confess ... I cannot, Father."
A pinch of snuff dropped from the old man's fingers.
"I have not been baptized, but I was educated in a convent, and...."
"Then I cannot hear your confession. Baptism is the door of the Church, and without it...."
"But I am in great trouble. For Our Lady's sake, listen to me. Oh, listen to me, Father, only listen to me."
Although accustomed to the sufferings of the human heart, a measureless pity came over the old priest, and he said in a kind and tender voice:
"Go on, my daughter. I cannot give you absolution, for you are not a child of the Church; but I am an old man, and if I can help your poor soul to bear its burden, God forbid that I should turn you away."
In a torrent of hot words Roma poured out her trouble, hiding nothing, extenuating nothing, and naming and blaming no one. At length the throbbing breath and quivering voice died down, and there was a moment's silence, in which the dull rumble in the church seemed to come from far away. Then the voice behind the grating said in tender tones:
"My daughter, you have committed no sin in this case and have nothing to repent of. That you should be troubled by scruples shows that your soul is pure and that you are living in communion with God. Your bodily health is reduced by nervousness and anxiety, and it is natural that you should imagine that you have sinned where you have not sinned. That is the sweet grace of most women, but how few men! What sin there has been is not yours; therefore go home, and God comfort you."