NORAH ENDEAVOURS TO SHOW THAT IT IS NOT TOO LATE TO REPENT.
When Mr. Chandos and his daughter went, by Dr. Mangello’s request, down
to the Duke’s room, they found him almost insensible. He had been raving
wildly a few minutes before in Spanish, which the doctor did not
understand; and he hoped that perhaps the others might be able to make
out his meaning. He now lay with his eyes closed, but his brow was
contracted, and his pale features expressed extreme agony.
“Speak to him, if you can, in Spanish, as it may induce him to express
the trouble of his mind,” whispered Dr. Mangello to Mr. Chandos. But the
Duke seemed to have heard his words, for he opened his eyes, and when he
saw Norah standing near, he said in English,
“It is of no use--I am lost for ever. There is no hope. I am
grateful--most grateful,” he added, after a pause, “for your kindness;
but if you knew all, you----”
“I do know all,” interrupted Norah. And then she endeavoured to show him
that he should hope for pardon of whatever sins he might have
committed, if he would now pray for mercy.
“Of what avail are such prayers as mine? No, I have no faith.”
“But you believe that the prayers of others can avail, and others wish
and pray for your salvation?”
“Ah! how can you tell that? I know they do not--I am nothing to those
angels.”
“They pray for you night and day.”
“What--what can you know?”
“I know that those whom you have most wronged are praying for you. The
Countess Donati told me so.”
“Ha! and can they forgive? And can they still care what becomes of me?”
“Certainly they do; as the Saviour, to whose service they have devoted
their lives, cares for you--the Saviour who died to save sinners; the
same who declared that He came to call not the righteous, but sinners to
repentance.”
“Where did you hear that? Is it in our Scriptures?”
“Yes; and in ours.”
Then Norah repeated several texts which came into her head at the
moment, as being most comforting and hope-inspiring; and she explained
that they were exactly the same as in the Douai Bible, which was used by
his Church; for, during a visit she made to her cousins in Ireland, she
made exact notes of the difference between them.
“And do you think I can be saved? For you hold a different faith from
the one I once believed.”
“I do; and I think that there is less difference than you suppose. But
surely you ought to see a priest.”
“No. I have no faith in priests. I have learnt to despise my Church, and
never sought any better.”
“You must not despise it. I, as a Protestant, advise you most urgently
to send at once for a priest, and confess--scrupulously confess to him
all you have done wrong at any time.”
“And receive the last sacraments,” said the Duke, “and then die.”
“Whether you live or die, you may still find peace and obtain
forgiveness; you may be happy in this world and the next, only confess
all in real humility and penitence. Let me now send, I implore you.”
He gave a reluctant assent, and the overjoyed doctor, who was a
conscientious man, ran himself for Father Anselmo.
Norah saw the fearful struggle in the Duke’s mind--a positive revival of
old hallowed associations of ideas contending against the acquired
scepticism and proud contempt of all religion which a long intercourse
with the world, among some of the worst of mankind, had developed to a
fearful degree. Norah waited and prayed by the side of his sofa in
silence, till Father Anselmo came.
She then took his hand for a moment, and looked back on him with a
beaming and hopeful smile as she accompanied her father from the room.