“He don’t mean it!” he gasped. “He don’t! He’s lyin’! Where’s a priest fur ter confess ter? He’d let me die wi’out it! Father Denis said as there was blood on me!” His voice thinned and rose, making Randal thrill with the terror of it. “He’s keepin’ me here ter die an’ be damned! Randal———”
Randal looked over at Ted in the dim light.
“There ain’t a priest in the township,” said Ted, briefly. “I bin askin’.”
“And a doctor?”
“He’s jes’ gone. Can’t do nothin’. Chest’s crushed in.”
There was a quiver over the strong tender face, and Ted bent down again.
“Jimmie—dear old lad—ef yer’d let me holt yer up a bit, p’raps———”
“Let me be! Let me be, you———! Ah-h!”
Then all the agony of an unforgiven soul leapt upon Jimmie, and the two watched, sick and shaken and helpless, save that Ted’s heart knelt in him with prayer. A truth told Randal long years back came to him suddenly.
“Jimmie, the rule of your Church says that when there is no priest one man can confess to another, and receive absolution from him. That’s true, I know. So if that is what you are afraid of———”
Jimmie lay still, fighting for breath.
“Do you mean it?” he said slowly.
