losed its sharp hands upon her heart so cruelly that all that
on which she strove to fix her mind, fled from her like a mist, and she
moaned or screamed, or was silent with her teeth clenched upon her lip.

"My God--I am very sorry--that I have offended Thee."

"Why is there no priest?... Where is the priest?"

"Mother, dear, listen. I have sent for a priest ... but none has come.
You remember now?... You remember that priests are forbidden now--"

"Where is the priest?"

"Mother, dear. Three priests were put to death only three days ago in
London--for ... for being priests. Ask them to pray for you.... Say,
Edmund Campion pray for me. Perhaps ... perhaps--"

The girl's voice died away.

For, for a full minute, an extraordinary sensation rested on her. It
began with a sudden shiver of the flesh, as sharp and tingling as water,
dying away in long thrills amid her hair--that strange advertisement
that tells the flesh that more than flesh is there, and that the world
of spirit is not only present, but alive and energetic. Then, as it
passed, the whole world, too, passed into silence. The curtains that
shook just now hung rigid as sheets of steel; the woman in the bed lay
suddenly still, then smiled with closed eyes. The pair of maids,
kneeling out of sight beyond the bed, ceased to sob; and, while the
seconds went by, as real as any knowledge can be in which the senses
have no part, the certain knowledge deepened upon the girl who knelt,
arrested in spite of herself, that a priestly presence was here
indeed....

Very slowly, as if lifting great weights, she raised her eyes, knowing
that there, across the tumbled bed, where the darkness of the room
showed between the parted curtains, the Presence was poised. Yet there
was nothing there to see--no tortured, smoke-stained, throttling
face--ah! that could not be--but neither was there the merry, kindly
face, with large cheerful eyes and tender mouth smiling; no hand held
the curtains that the face might peer in. Neither then nor at any time
in all her life did Marjorie believe that she saw him; yet neither then
nor in all her life did she doubt he had been there while her mother
died.

Again her mother smiled--and this time she opened her eyes to the full,
and there was no dismay in them, nor fear, nor disappointment; and she
looked a little to her left, where the parted curtains showed the
darkness of the room....

Then Marjorie closed her eyes, and laid her head