in the room with her. It would seem
as though she were afraid she had not courage enough to keep the secret
of the cross without their presence. Charley had yielded to her request,
while he shrank from granting it. Yet, as he said to himself, the woman
was keeping his secret--his and Rosalie's--and she had some right to
make demand.

When the Cure asked the question of old Margot, he turned expectantly,
and with a sense of relief. He thought it strange that the Cure should
wish him to remain. The Cure, on his part, was well pleased to have him
in the influence of a Christian death-bed. A time must come when the
last confidences of the dying woman could be given to no ears but his
own, but meanwhile it was good that M'sieu' should be there.

"M'sieu' le Cure," said the dying woman, "must I tell all?"

"All what, Margot?"

"All that is sin?"

"There is no must, Margot."

"If you should ask me, M'sieu'--"

She paused, and the man at the window turned and looked curiously at
her. He saw the problem in the woman's mind: had she the right to die
with the secret of another's crime upon her mind?

"The priest does not ask, Margot: it is you who confess your sins. That
is between you and God."

The Cure spoke firmly, for he wanted the man at the window to clearly
understand.

"But if there are the sins of others, and you know, and they trouble
your soul, M'sieu'?"

"You have nothing to do with the sins of others; it is enough to repent
of your own sins. The priest has nothing to do with any sins but those
confessed by the sinner to himself. Your own sins are your sole concern
to-night, Margot."

The woman's face seemed to clear a little, and her eyes wandered to
the man at the window with less anxiety. Charley was wondering whether,
after all, she would have the courage to keep her word, whether
spiritual terror would surmount the moral attitude of honour. He was
also wondering how much right he had to put the strain upon the woman
in her desperate hour. "How long did the doctor say I could live?" the
woman asked presently.

"Till morning, perhaps, Margot."

"I should like to live till sunrise," she answered, "till after
breakfast. Rosalie makes good tea," she added musingly.

The Cure almost smiled. "There is the Living Bread, my daughter."

She nodded. "But I should like to see the sunrise and have Rosalie bring
me tea," she persisted.

"Very well, Margot. We will ask God for that."

Her mind flew bac