She came forward quickly and with evident eagerness.
"I came to confession," she said, breathing hurriedly, the excitement in her eyes shining through her veil, "but I find I am too late."
"There is no too late or too early for that; I am always ready," said the priest. "But how is your mother?"
"Ah, sir, I have _made_ trouble. Oh, Père Jerome, I am bringing so much trouble upon my poor mother!"
Père Jerome moved slowly toward the house, with his eyes cast down, the veiled girl at his side.
"It is not your fault," he presently said. And after another pause: "I thought it was all arranged."
He looked up and could see, even through the veil, her crimson blush.
"Oh, no," she replied, in a low, despairing voice, dropping her face.
"What is the difficulty?" asked the priest, stopping in the angle of the path, where it turned toward the front of the house.
She averted her face, and began picking the thin scales of bark from a crape-myrtle.
"Madame Thompson and her husband were at our house this morning. _He_ had told Monsieur Thompson all about it. They were very kind to me at first, but they tried----" She was weeping.
"What did they try to do?" asked the priest.
"They tried to make me believe he is insane."
She succeeded in passing her handkerchief up under her veil.
"And I suppose then your poor mother grew angry, eh?"
"Yes; and they became much more so, and said if we did not write, or send a writing, to _him_, within twenty-four hours, breaking the----"
"They would give him up to the Government. Oh, Père Jerome, what shall I do? It is killing my mother!"
"She has gone to see Monsieur Jean Thompson. She says she has a plan that will match them all. I do not know what it is. I begged her not to go; but oh, sir, _she is_ crazy,--and--I am no better."
"My poor child," said Père Jerome, "what you seem to want is not absolution, but relief from persecution."
"Oh, father, I have committed mortal sin,--I am guilty of pride and anger."
"Nevertheless," said the priest, starting toward his front gate, "we will put off your confession. Let it go until to-morrow morning; you will find me in my box just before mass; I will hear you then. My child, I know that in your heart, now, you begrudge the time it would take; and that is right. There are moments when we are not in place even on penitential knees. It is so with you now. We must find your mother. Go you at once to your house; if she is there, comfort her as best you can, and _keep her in, if possible_, until I come. If she is not there, stay; leave me to find her; one of you, at least, must be where I can get word to you promptly. God comfort and uphold you. I hope you may find her at home; tell her, for me, not to fear,"--he lifted the gate-latch,--"that she and her daughter are of more value than many sparrows; that God's priest sends her that word from Him. Tell her to fix her trust in the great Husband of the Church, and she shall yet see her child receiving the grace-giving sacrament of matrimony. Go; I shall, in a few minutes, be on my way to Jean Thompson's, and shall find her, either there or wherever she is. Go; they shall not oppress you. Adieu!"