O my God--I am sorry--that I
have--displeased Thee--because thou art All-good. I hate all the
sins--that I have done--against Thy Divine Majesty."
And so phrase after phrase she went on, giving him time to hear and to
make an inner assent of the will; and repeating also other short vocal
prayers that she knew by heart. And so the delicate skein of prayer rose
from the altar where this morning sacrifice lay before God, waiting the
consummation of His acceptance.
Presently she ended, and he lay again with closed eyes and mute face.
Then again they opened, and she bent down to listen....
"It will all be well with me," she answered, raising her head again.
"Mistress Margaret has written from Brussels. I shall go there for a
while.... Yes, Mr. Buxton will take me; next week: he goes to Normandy,
to his estate."
Again his lips moved and she listened....
A faint flush came over her face. She shook her head.
"I do not know; I think not. I hope to enter Religion.... No, I have not
yet determined.... The Dower House?... Yes, I will sell it.... Yes, to
Hubert, if he wishes it."
Every word he whispered was such an effort that she had to pause again
and again before he could make her understand; and often she judged more
by the movement of his lips than by any sound that came from him. Now and
then too she lifted her handkerchief, soaked in a strong violet scent,
and passed it over his forehead and lips. She motioned with the flask of
cordial once or twice, but his eyes closed for a negative.
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