“Then you think confession to God is all that is required?”
“If there be no one else wronged to whom confession can be made. If the case were mine--and sometimes I much fear that in taking holy orders I have grievously sinned--I should then do just as I have done with regard to that--cry to the living power which I think originated me, to set the matter right for me.”
“Alas! alas! that he will not hear of. He would rather be punished than consoled. I fear for his brain. But indeed that might be well.”
She had gone much farther than she had intended; but the more doubtful help became, the more she was driven by the agony of a perishing hope to search the heart of Wingfold.
“Are you sure,” he said at length, “that the person of whom you speak is not neglecting something he ought to do--something he knows perhaps?”
He had come back to the same with which he started.
Through her veil he saw her turn deadly white. Ever since Leopold said the word JURY, a ghastly fear had haunted Helen. She pressed her hand on her heart and made no answer.
“I speak from experience,” the curate went on--“from what else could I speak? I know that so long as we hang back from doing what conscience urges, there is no peace for us. I will not say our prayers are not heard, for Mr. Polwarth has taught me that the most precious answer prayer can have, lies in the growing strength of the impulse towards the dreaded duty, and in the ever sharper stings of the conscience. I think I asked already whether there were no relatives to whom reparation could be made?”
“Yes, yes,” gasped Helen; “and I told you reparation was impossible.”
“But at least confession--” said Wingfold---and started from his seat.
A stifled cry had interrupted him. Helen was pressing her handkerchief to her mouth. She rose and ran from him. Wingfold stood alarmed and irresolute. She had not gone many steps, however, when her pace slackened, her knees gave way, and she dropped senseless on the grass. Wingfold ran to the house for water. Rachel hastened to her assistance, and Polwarth followed. It was some time before they succeeded in reviving her.
When at length the colour began to return a little to her cheek, Polwarth dropped on his knees at her feet. Wingfold in his ministrations was already kneeling on one side of her, and Rachel now kneeled on the other. Then Polwarth said, in his low and husky, yet not altogether unmelodious voice,