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"Ah, father! That's words and only words! Forgive! If he'd not

been run over, he'd have come home to-day drunk and his only

shirt dirty and in rags and he'd have fallen asleep like a log,

and I should have been sousing and rinsing till daybreak, washing

his rags and the children's and then drying them by the window

and as soon as it was daylight I should have been darning them.

That's how I spend my nights!... What's the use of talking of

forgiveness! I have forgiven as it is!"

A terrible hollow cough interrupted her words. She put her

handkerchief to her lips and showed it to the priest, pressing

her other hand to her aching chest. The handkerchief was covered

with blood. The priest bowed his head and said nothing.