She walked straight to the sofa, and fell on her knees.
“Oh, Bertha, please forgive me. I was wrong, and I’ve behaved wickedly to you.”
“My dear Fanny,” murmured Bertha, a smile breaking through her misery.
“I withdraw every word I said to you, Bertha; I can’t understand how I said it. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
“Oh, yes, there is. Good heavens, I know! My conscience has been reproaching me ever since I was here, but I hardened my heart, and would not listen.”
Poor Miss Glover could not really have hardened her heart, however much she tried.
“I knew I ought to come to you and beg your forgiveness, but I wouldn’t. I’ve not slept a wink at night. I was afraid of dying, and if I’d been cut off in the midst of my wickedness, I should have been lost.”
She spoke very quickly, finding it evidently a relief to express her trouble.
“I thought Charles would upbraid me, but he’s never said a word. Oh, I wish he had, it would have been easier to bear than his sorrowful look. I know he’s been worrying dreadfully, and I’m so sorry for him. I kept on saying I’d only done my duty, but in my heart I knew I had done wrong. Oh Bertha, and this morning I dared not take communion, I thought God would strike me for blasphemy. And I was afraid Charles would refuse me in front of the whole congregation.... It’s the first Sunday since I was confirmed, that I’ve missed taking Holy Communion.”