“Promise me one thing,” I whispered as she rose, “that you will read that prayer, every hour during the day, to-morrow, by my bed, whether I am sleeping or awake.”

“I promise,” she said, and I am sure she kept her word, that day and many others after it.

During my convalescence, which was slow, I had no other person near me, and wanted none.  Uncle Leonard came in once a day, and spent a few minutes, much to his discomfort and my disadvantage.  Richard I had not seen at all, and dreaded very much to meet.  Ann Coddle fretted me, and was very little in the room.

Over these days there is a sort of peace.  I was entering upon so much that was new and elevating, under the guidance of Sister Madeline, and was so entirely influenced by her, that I was brought out of my trouble wonderfully.  Not out of it, of course, but from under its crushing weight.  I know that I am rather easily influenced, and only too ready to follow those who have won my love.  Therefore, I am in every way thankful that I came at such a time under the influence of a mind like that of Sister Madeline.

But the time was approaching for her to go away.  I was well enough to do without her, and she had other duties.  The sick-room peace and indulgence were over, and I must take up the burden of every-day life again.  I was very unhappy, and felt as if I were without stay or guidance.

“To whom am I to go when I am in doubt?” I said; “you will be so far away.”

“That is what I want to arrange:  the next time you are able to go out, I want to take you to some one who can direct you much better than I.”

“A priest?” I asked.  “Tell me one thing:  will he give me absolution?”

“I suppose he will, if he finds that you desire it.”

“What would be the use of going to him for anything else?” I said.  “It is the only thing that can give me any comfort.”

“All people do not feel so, Pauline.”

“But you feel so, dear Sister Madeline, do you not?  You can understand how I am burdened, and how I long to have the bands undone?”

“Yes, Pauline, I can understand.”

I am not inclined to give much weight to my own opinions, and as for my feelings, I know they were, then, those of a child, and in many ways will always be.  I can only say what comforted me, and what I longed for.  There had always been great force to me, in the Scripture that says, “Whosesoever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them, and whosesoever sins ye retain, they are retained,” even before I felt the burden of my sins.

I had once seen the ordination of a priest, and I suppose that added to the weight of the words ever after in my mind.  I never had any doubt of the power then conferred, and I no sooner felt the guilt and stain of sin upon my soul, than I yearned to hear the pardon spoken, that Heaven offered to the penitent.  I had been tangibly smitten; I longed to be tangibly healed.