to utter what would be necessary,
in order to make my confession available towards the punishment of the
guilty ones. Leave Providence to deal with them!"

"My quiet little countrywoman," said the priest, with half a smile on
his kindly old face, "you can pluck up a spirit, I perceive, when you
fancy an occasion for one."

"I have spirit only to do what I think right," replied Hilda simply. "In
other respects I am timorous."

"But you confuse yourself between right feelings and very foolish
inferences," continued the priest, "as is the wont of women,--so much
I have learnt by long experience in the confessional,--be they young or
old. However, to set your heart at rest, there is no probable need
for me to reveal the matter. What you have told, if I mistake not, and
perhaps more, is already known in the quarter which it most concerns."

"Known!" exclaimed Hilda. "Known to the authorities of Rome! And what
will be the consequence?"

"Hush!" answered the confessor, laying his finger on his lips. "I tell
you my supposition--mind, it is no assertion of the fact--in order
that you may go the more cheerfully on your way, not deeming yourself
burdened with any responsibility as concerns this dark deed. And now,
daughter, what have you to give in return for an old man's kindness and
sympathy?"

"My grateful remembrance," said Hilda, fervently, "as long as I live!"

"And nothing more?" the priest inquired, with a persuasive smile. "Will
you not reward him with a great joy; one of the last joys that he may
know on earth, and a fit one to take with him into the better world? In
a word, will you not allow me to bring you as a stray lamb into the true
fold? You have experienced some little taste of the relief and comfort
which the Church keeps abundantly in store for all its faithful
children. Come home, dear child,--poor wanderer, who hast caught a
glimpse of the heavenly light,--come home, and be at rest."

"Father," said Hilda, much moved by his kindly earnestness, in
which, however, genuine as it was, there might still be a leaven of
professional craft, "I dare not come a step farther than Providence
shall guide me. Do not let it grieve you, therefore, if I never return
to the confessional; never dip my fingers in holy water; never sign my
bosom with the cross. I am a daughter of the Puritans. But, in spite of
my heresy," she added with a sweet, tearful smile, "you may one day
see the poor girl, to whom you have done thi