Percy drew out the purple thread, slipped it over his shoulders, and sat down by the bed. ✴✴✴✴✴ But she would not let him go for a while after that.
"Tell me, father. When will you bring me Holy Communion?"
He hesitated.
"I understand that Mr. Brand and his wife know nothing of all this?"
"No, father."
"Tell me, are you very ill?"
"I don't know, father. They will not tell me. I thought I was gone last night."
"When would you wish me to bring you Holy Communion? I will do as you say."
"Shall I send to you in a day or two? Father, ought I to tell him?"
"You are not obliged."
"I will if I ought."
"Well, think about it, and let me know. . . . You have heard what has happened?"
She nodded, but almost uninterestedly; and Percy was conscious of a tiny prick of compunction at his own heart. After all, the reconciling of a soul to God was a greater thing than the reconciling of East to West.
"It may make a difference to Mr. Brand," he said. "He will be a great man, now, you know."
She still looked at him in silence, smiling a little. Percy was astonished at the youthfulness of that old face. Then her face changed.
