rted her head with pillows. Then he prayed by
her side the prayers for the dying, and she said Amen to each prayer.
Then for some hours she wandered, but when the fell disease had quite
made sure of its prey, her mind cleared, and she begged Gerard to shrive
her. "For oh, my conscience it is laden," she said sadly.

"Confess thy sins to me, my daughter: let there be no reserve."

"My father," said she sadly, "I have one great sin on my breast this
many years. E'en now that death is at my heart I can scarce own it. But
the Lord is debonair; if thou wilt pray to Him, perchance He may forgive
me."

"Confess it first, my daughter."

"I--alas!"

"Confess it!"

"I deceived thee. This many years I have deceived thee."

Here tears interrupted her speech.

"Courage, my daughter, courage," said Gerard kindly, overpowering the
lover in the priest.

She hid her face in her hands, and with many sighs told him it was she
who had broken down the hermit's cave with the help of Jorian Ketel, "I,
shallow, did it but to hinder thy return thither; but when thou sawest
therein the finger of God, I played the traitress, and said, 'While he
thinks so, he will ne'er leave Gouda manse;' and I held my tongue. Oh,
false heart."

"Courage, my daughter; thou dost exaggerate a trivial fault."

"Ah, but 'tis not all, The birds."

"Well?"

"They followed thee not to Gouda by miracle, but by my treason. I said,
he will ne'er be quite happy without his birds that visited him in his
cell; and I was jealous of them, and cried, and said, these foul little
things, they are my child's rivals. And I bought loaves of bread, and
Jorian and me we put crumbs at the cave door, and thence went sprinkling
them all the way to the manse, and there a heap. And my wiles succeeded,
and they came, and thou wast glad, and I was pleased to see thee
glad; and when thou sawest in my guile the finger of Heaven, wicked,
deceitful, I did hold my tongue. But die deceiving thee? ah, no, I could
not. Forgive me if thou canst; I was but a woman; I knew no better at
the time. 'Twas writ in my bosom with a very sunbeam. ''Tis good for him
to bide at Gouda manse.'"

"Forgive thee, sweet innocent?" sobbed Gerard; "what have I to forgive?
Thou hadst a foolish froward child to guide to his own weal, and
didst all this for the best, I thank thee and bless thee. But as thy
confessor, all deceit is ill in Heaven's pure eyes. Therefore thou
hast done well to confess and rep