The sound of a soul in torture came eddying up in confused words; all that came to the mortal ear, listening unseen, were, "Forgive--I--I only"----
A few murmurous sounds, and then the voice that had uttered its confession in that deep confessional of a gloomy soul said, and there was almost woman's pleadingness in it,--
"When can I come again?"
"I will write to you."
"When will you write?"
"When one more soul is gone."
"Oh, it's wicked to shorten life by wishes even! but when one has done one terrible wrong, little wickednesses gather fast."
Woman has a pathos, when she pleads for God, deeper than when she pleads for anything on earth. That pleading,--I can't make you hear it,--the words were,--
"Herbert! Herbert! don't you see, won't you see, that, if you leave the one great sin all uncovered, open to the continual attrition of a life of goodness, God will let it wear away? It will lessen and lessen, until at the last, when the Ocean of Eternity beats against it, it shall go down, down into the deeps of love that no mortal line can fathom. Oh, Herbert, come out with me!--come out into this Infinity of Love!"
"With you? yes, anywhere!"