McElroy was looking, after his habit, at the leaping flames and his
thin hands played absently and constantly with the covering of the bed,
when the door opened and closed and the little maid stood shrinking
against it.
He did not look up for long, thinking, if his dull mind could form a
thought through his melancholy dreams, that Ridgar had come in.
At last a sigh that was like a gasp pierced his lethargy and he raised
his eyes.
She stood with one small hand over her beating heart and her cheeks
white in the firelight.
"Ah! little one!" he said gently. "Why did you come through such a
night? 'Tis wild as--as--Sit in the big chair," he added kindly.
But Francette, in whose face was an unbearable anguish, came swiftly
and fell on her knees beside the bed, raising her eyes to his.
"M'sieu!" she cried, with great labouring breaths. "Oh! M'sieu, I have
come to confess! If there is in your good heart pity for one who has
sinned beyond pardon, give it me, I pray, for love of the good God!"
McElroy stared down at her in wonder.
"Confess? Sinned?" he said. "Why, little one, what can a child like you
know of sin? 'Tis only some blunderer like myself who should speak its
damnable name.
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