"Nay, I trust she will. If what we guess at is true, it is too terrible to think she will die with that upon her soul."
"She is a Catholic, sir, I believe; she'll tell her priest, but what use is that to us?"
"If she does that, there will be no fear."
Keene shook his head despairingly. "I never made such a mull in my life before."
Just then one of the surgeons came out. We both eagerly turned to him with the same question: "Will she die?"
"Who can tell? While there is life there is hope. The wounds are very dangerous ones. There is little chance for her; still there is a chance. I am going now for instruments and dressings to my house close by. She ought to be in the hospital, but we dare not remove her. The sole hope is in staunching the bleeding; it has stopped for the moment, but the least motion will cause it to break out afresh. Who knows anything of her? who is responsible in the matter? We have heard no particulars as yet."
Keene explained in a few words all that was necessary.
"Can you tell me where to find the nearest Catholic priest?" I asked him as he went away.
"In the next street to this there is a small chapel. I know the priest attached, and excellent man, though he is a papist. Pardon me; perhaps you are the Catholic?"