ked round, he saw an expression on Enid's
face which chilled him to the bone. It was a look of unutterable woe, of
grief, shame, agony, and profound astonishment. But there was no
incredulity. Whatever Mrs. Meldreth had told her Enid had believed. The
Rector made one step towards the bed.

"If you have anything to confess, Mrs. Meldreth," he began; but Enid
interrupted him.

"She has confessed," said the girl, turning her face to him with a
strange look of mingled humiliation and compassion--"she has
confessed--and I--I have forgiven. Nurse, do you hear? God will forgive
you, and I forgive you too."

"God will forgive," murmured the woman.

A smile flickered over her pale face. Then a change came; the light in
her eyes went out, her jaw fell. A slight convulsion passed through her
whole frame, and she lay still--very still. The confession, great or
small, that she had made had been heard only by Enid and her God.

CHAPTER XVII.

"It is all over," said Maurice Evandale, looking gravely at the dead
woman's face. "It is all over, and may God have mercy upon her soul!"

He left Sabina, who was sobbing hysterically as she sat huddled up in
the chair on which he had placed her, and came to Enid's side. She
turned to him with sorrowful appeal.

"Is she dead? Can nothing be done?"

"Nothing. Come away, Miss Vane; this is no place for you. One moment!
Have you anything to say to this woman? Have you any charge to bring?"

He pointed to Sabina as he spoke, and she, roused for an instant, raised
a mute terrified face from her hands, and seemed to shrink still lower
in her chair, as if she would willingly have hidden herself and her
secret, whatever it might be, out of sight of all the world. She
waited--waited--evidently with dread--for the accusation that she
expected from Enid's lips. The Rector waited also, but the accusation
did not come. There was a moment's utter silence in the chamber of
death.

"Have you anything to say?" asked Maurice Evandale at last.

Then Enid spoke.

"No," she answered, with quivering lips; "I can say nothing. I--I
forgave her--before she died;" and then she turned away and went swiftly
out of the room, leaving the others to follow or linger as they pleased.

Sabina rose from her chair and stood as if dazed, stupefied by her
position. All her fierceness and defiance had left her; her face was
white, her eyes were downcast, her hands hung listlessly at her sides.
The Rector pa