"O Mr. Granger! God bless you! I am happy. Doesn't he keep his promises? I will never distrust him again."
His grave looks did not dampen her joy. Of course it was not necessary that he should have much feeling. The good intention was enough. She wet his face with ice-water, laid ice to his head, put the fan in his hand, in her childish, joyful way, shutting his fingers about it one by one, then went out to send Mr. Lewis for a priest.
He stared at her. "Why, you look as if he were going to get well," he said almost indignantly.
"So he is, Mr. Lewis," she answered. "He is going to have the only real getting well. I shall never have to be anxious about him any more. He will be out of harm's way."
She went back to the sick-room then, quiet again. "Forgive me if my gladness jarred on you," she said. "I forgot everything but that you were now all safe. You will go straight to heaven, you know. And of course, since it is to be now, then now is the best time."
He said nothing, but watched her with steady eyes, wherever she moved. What thoughts were thronging behind those eyes, she could never know. Nothing was said till Mr. Lewis came back with the priest.
It was sunset when he came, and the father staid till late in the evening. Then he went, promising to say mass the next morning for his new penitent, and to come early to see him.
Mr. Granger was evidently suffering very much, and Margaret would not talk to him. Only once, when he opened his eyes, she said,
"You wish Dora to be a Catholic?"