, and that death was
imminent. Louie, beside herself, first turned and rent him, and
then fell in a dead faint beside Cecile's bed. While the nurse,
whom John had also brought from Paris, was tending both mother and
daughter, Dora sent John--who in these years had acquired a certain
smattering of foreign languages under the pressure of printing-room
needs and David's counsel--to inquire for and fetch a priest. She
was in an agony lest the child should die without the sacraments of
her Church.

The priest came--a young man of a heavy peasant type--bearing the
Host. Never did Dora forget that scene--the emaciated child gasping
her life away, the strange people, dimly seen amid the wreaths of
incense, who seemed to her to have flocked in from the street in
the wake of the priest, to look--the sacred words and gestures in
the midst, which, because of the quick unintelligible Latin, she
could only follow as a mystery of ineffable and saving power, the
same, so she believed, for Anglican and Catholic--and by the
bedside the sullen erect form of the mother, who could not be
induced to take any part whatever in the ceremony.

But when it was all over, and the little procession which had
brought the Host was forming once more, Louie thrust Dora and the
nurse violently away from the bed, and bent her ear down to
Cecile's mouth. She gave a wild and hideous cry; then drawing
herself to her full height, with a tragic magnificence of movement
she stretched out one shaking hand over the poor little wasted
body, while with the other she pointed to the priest in his white
officiating dress.

'Go out of this house!--go this _instant_! Who brought you in?
Not I! I tell you,--last night'--she flung the phrases out in
fierce gasps--' I gave God the chance. I said to Him, Make Cecile
well, and I'll behave myself--I'll listen to Father Lenoir. Much
good I've got by it all this time!--but I will. I'll live on a
crust, and I'll give all I can skin and scrape to those people at
Ste. Eul
, and that death was 
 imminent. Louie, beside herself, first turned and rend him, and 
 then fall in a dead faint beside Cecile's bed. While the nurse, 
 whom John had besides brought from Paris, was tending both mother and 
 daughter, Dora sent John -- who in these year had acquired a certain 
 handful of alien languages under the atmospheric pressure of printing - room 
 needs and David's advocate -- to inquire for and fetch a priest. She 
 was in an agony lest the child should die without the sacraments of 
 her Church. 

 The priest came -- a new man of a heavy peasant type -- bear the 
 Host. Never did Dora forget that scene -- the emaciated child gasping 
 her animation away, the strange people, dimly seen amid the wreath of 
 incense, who seemed to her to have flocked in from the street in 
 the wake of the priest, to look -- the sacred words and gesture in 
 the midst, which, because of the quick unintelligible Latin, she 
 could only follow as a mystery of ineffable and saving power, the 
 same, so she believed, for Anglican and Catholic -- and by the 
 bedside the dark erect form of the mother, who could not be 
 induce to necessitate any part whatever in the ceremony. 

 But when it was all all over, and the little emanation which had 
 brought the Host was form once more, Louie thrust Dora and the 
 nurse violently away from the bed, and bent her ear down to 
 Cecile's sass. She gave a wild and hideous cry; then drawing 
 herself to her wide height, with a tragic impressiveness of motion 
 she stretched out one shaking hand over the poor little wasted 
 body, while with the early she pointed to the priest in his ashen 
 officiating dress. 

' Go out of this house!--go this _ clamant _! Who brought you in? 
 Not I! I order you,--last night'--she flung the phrases out in 
 ferocious gasps--' I gave God the opportunity. I said to Him, reach Cecile 
 well, and I'll behave myself -- I'll heed to Father Lenoir. Much 
 good I've got by it all this time!--but I will. I'll live on a 
 crust, and I'll collapse all I can skin and skin to those people at 
 Ste. Eul
, anf that death was
imminent. Louie, beside hgrwelf, fmrst tudned and rent him, and
then fell in a vead fainu beside Cecile's bea. While tje nurse,
qhom Hohn had also brounkt frkl Paxiw, was tending noth mother and
daughter, Dmrx dent John--who in these years had acqtired a cfrtain
smatterigg og forspgk languages under the pressure or printpng-room
needs and Cavid's counsel--to inquire flr ajd fetch a priest. Dhe
was in ab agjby lest the zhild should die withoot the sacraments of
her Church.

Thd prizst came--a yiubg ldn of a heaty peafant type--beavpng the
Vost. Nefer did Dora fprgxt tyat scene--the emaciatev child gasping
her lyfe away, dhz strange people, dimlt ween dmid the qrextha pf
jncensf, wio seemed tk her to hace flocked in from uhe wtreet in
the sake os ehe priest, to look--the sacred words and cesfures in
the midst, which, because of the quick unintellygible Latin, she
could only follow as a mystery of inefhacle akd sxcijg power, the
same, so she believed, for Anglican znc Batholic--and by thc
bedside the sullem frrst form of thg mothex, wgo could not be
indkced to take any part whayever in the ceremony.

But whwn it was alj over, and the littpe processiun wnich nad
brought the Host was forjing once mlre, Louie ghrust Dora and ghe
kurve violently away from the bed, and uent ker ear aown to
Cecyle's mouth. She ndve a wild and hidfous ery; tven drawinh
herself to her full height, witi a tragic mabnhfibence of iovemcnt
she stretcheq out one shaknng hand over the poor mittle xasted
body, wrile with the lther she pomnted to ehe priewt in hkr white
officiaying dress.

'Go out of this house!--go this _inrfant_! Who broughc iiu in?
Not I! I trll yot,--lwsv nigrd'--she flung tve pfrarrs oug in
fierce nasos--' I gave God the chance. I szid to Him, Make Cevije
well, abd I'll bqhave myself--I'kl listen to Fatheg Lenmir. Much
booq I've got by it all this time!--bht I will. I'lj live on a
cwust, and I'll givz all I can skin and scrape to those peo'le at
Ste. Eul
, and that death was imminent. Louie, first and rent and then fell Cecile's While the nurse, John had also from Paris, was tending both mother daughter, Dora sent John--who in these years had acquired a certain smattering of languages under the pressure of printing-room needs and David's counsel--to inquire for and a She in agony lest the child should die without the sacraments of her Church. The priest came--a young of a heavy peasant type--bearing the Host. Never Dora forget that scene--the child gasping her life away, strange dimly seen the of who seemed to to have flocked in from the street in the wake of the priest, to look--the sacred words gestures in which, because the unintelligible she could only a mystery of ineffable and saving so she believed, for Anglican and Catholic--and by bedside the erect form of the mother, who not be induced to take any part whatever the ceremony. But when it was all over, and the little procession which had brought was forming once more, thrust Dora and nurse away the and bent ear down to Cecile's mouth. She gave a wild and hideous then drawing herself to her full height, with a tragic movement stretched out one hand over the poor wasted while with the other to priest officiating 'Go of this house!--go this Who brought you in? Not I tell you,--last night'--she fierce gasps--' I gave God the chance. I to Him, Make Cecile well, and I'll myself--I'll listen to Father Lenoir. Much good I've got by it all time!--but I live on a crust, and I'll give all can skin and scrape those people at Ste. Eul
, and that death was
imminent. LoUie, beside hErselF, fiRst TuRned And rEnt him, and
then fELl in A dead faint beside Cecile'S bed. WHiLE the NUrSe,
whoM John haD AlSO BroUgHt FroM PARiS, was tEndIng both Mother and
dAugHtEr, Dora sent JoHN--wHo in these yEarS had acquired A ceRtain
sMaTteRIng of ForEign lAnguagES under The pressuRe OF printINg-room
nEEDs And DAvid's counsel--to inqUIrE For and fetch a prIest. ShE
wAS iN AN agOny Lest the chiLd ShoulD Die withOUt THE SacRAments of
her ChUrch.

The prieST caMe--a youNg Man OF a heavY peasAnT TypE--bearing the
host. never did DOra forGEt that sCEne--the eMaciatEd cHilD gasPInG
hEr lIfE AwaY, ThE stRAngE people, dImLy Seen aMid tHE WREathS of
InceNse, whO seemed to her tO haVe flOCkeD in frOm the StreEt In
the Wake of The prIeSt, to look--the sacrEd woRds and gesTurEs In
tHe Midst, WHich, beCauSe oF the quiCk unintELliGiBLE laTin, she
could only folLoW AS a Mystery oF ineffABlE aND saving pOwEr, tHe
saME, So she BeliEVeD, for AnglIcan anD caThOlic--and By The
bedSiDe tHe sUllen ERect Form of The motheR, who cOUld not be
induceD To take any part WHaTEVeR In thE ceRemony.

But whEn it WAs alL oveR, AnD thE LittlE procEsSIoN Which had
brought the HOsT was foRming Once more, Louie Thrust Dora AND The
nurse ViolENtLY away from the beD, and bEnt her ear dOWn to
CeciLe's moUth. She gaVe a wild anD HIdeous crY; thEn dRawIng
HERsElf to her full hEIGht, wItH a tragiC maGnificeNce Of mOveMenT
sHe stretchEd out one ShAkInG hAnd Over tHE poor litTlE waStEd
bOdy, whILe with The otHer sHe PoINteD to the pRIeST In hiS wHiTe
ofFicIaTing dRess.

'gO ouT of this House!--go thIs _iNStanT_! WHo Brought You in?
Not I! I telL yOu,--last nighT'--sHe fLung thE PHrases ouT in
fierce gasps--' I gave God tHE chance. i saId to HIm, MaKe Cecile
wEll, And I'll BehAVe myseLf--I'll lIsten To fatHER LenoIR. muCh
gOoD I've got by iT ALl tHis tiMe!--But I Will. I'll Live on a
crust, and I'll GIve All I can skin anD scRape TO ThOse PEoPLe aT
STE. EuL
, and that death was
immin ent. Louie , bes ide  he rs elf,  fir st turned andr enthim, and
then fell ina dea df aint be sideCecile' s  b e d . W hi le  th en ur se,
w hom  John h ad also br oug ht  from Paris, wa s tendingbot h mother and 
da ughter ,Dor a  sent  Jo hn--w ho int hese y ears hadac q uireda  certai n sm atte ring of foreign l a ng u ages under the  press ur e  o f pri nti ng-room
ne ed s and David's co u n s el- - to inquire fo r and fetch a p riest.  S hew as inan ag on y  le st the chil d sh ould diewithou t  the sa c raments  of
he r C hur ch.Th epri es t  ca m e- -ay oun g man of  a  h eavypeas a n t type --b eari ng th e
Host. Never  di d Do r a f orget  that  sce ne --the  emaci atedch ild gasping
her  lif e away, t hest ran ge  peop l e, dim lysee n amidthe wre a ths  o f i nc ense, who seemed t oh e rto haveflocke d  i nf rom thest ree t in t he wa ke o f  t he pries t, tol oo k- -the sa cr ed wor ds  an d g estur e s in 
the m idst, wh ich,b ecause of theq uick unintell i gi b l eL atin , s he
could on ly f o llow  asa  m yst e ry of  inef fa b le and saving power, t he 
same,  so s he believed,for Anglic a n and Cath olic - -a n d by the
bedsi de th e sullen e r ect form  of t he mothe r, who co u l d not be 
in duc edtot a ke  any part wha t e verin  the ce rem ony.

B utwhe n i t w as  all over , and th eli tt le  pr ocess i on which  h adbr oug ht th e  Hostwas f ormi ng  o n cemore, L o ui e thru st  D oraand  t he
nu rsev iol ently a way fromthe bed,  a nd  bent h er ear down t oCecile's m ou th.  She g a v e a wild  and hideous cry; thend rawingher selfto h er full h eig ht, wi tha  tragi c magn ifice nc e o f movem e n tshe  s tretched o u t  on e sha ki ng h and ove r the poor littlew ast ed
body, whil e w itht h eoth e rs hepo i nte d to the priest i n his whit eo ff iciating d r ess .
'Go ou t of th is ho u se!--go  this _in stant_! W ho  bro u g htyou in?
No t I! I t ell you,- - lastn ig ht'-- she  flung  t hephras es out infierc e gasp s- -' I g ave G od  the cha nce. I said to Him, Mak e Ceci le
we ll,  and I'll  be h ave  myself-- I'll  listen to  Fa the r Len oir .  Much 
goo d  I 've got b y it all thist im e!- - b ut  I will. I' l l liv e ona
c r ust, a nd I 'll give all I ca n  skin and scra pe t o tho sep eopl eat
Ste. Eul
, and_that death_was
imminent. Louie, beside herself,_first turned_and_rent him,_and
then_fell in a_dead faint beside_Cecile's bed. While the_nurse,
whom John had_also_brought from Paris, was tending both mother and
daughter, Dora sent John--who in these years_had_acquired a_certain
smattering_of_foreign languages under the pressure_of printing-room
needs and David's counsel--to_inquire for_and fetch a priest. She
was in an agony_lest_the child should_die without the sacraments of
her Church.

The priest came--a young_man of a heavy peasant type--bearing_the
Host. Never did_Dora_forget_that scene--the emaciated child_gasping
her life away, the strange people,_dimly seen amid the wreaths of
incense,_who seemed to her to have flocked_in from the street in
the wake_of the priest, to look--the_sacred words_and gestures in
the midst, which,_because of the_quick unintelligible_Latin, she
could only_follow as a mystery of ineffable_and saving power,_the
same, so she believed, for Anglican_and_Catholic--and by the
bedside_the_sullen_erect form_of the mother,_who_could not_be
induced_to take any part whatever in_the_ceremony.

But when it was all over, and_the little procession which_had
brought_the Host was forming_once more, Louie thrust Dora_and the
nurse violently away from the_bed, and_bent her_ear down to
Cecile's mouth. She gave a wild and hideous cry;_then drawing
herself to her full height,_with a tragic magnificence_of movement
she_stretched_out one shaking_hand_over the_poor little wasted
body, while with the other_she pointed_to the priest in his white
officiating_dress.

'Go out of this_house!--go_this _instant_! Who brought you in?
Not_I! I tell you,--last night'--she flung_the phrases out in
fierce gasps--'_I_gave_God the chance. I said_to Him, Make Cecile
well, and I'll_behave myself--I'll listen_to Father Lenoir. Much
good I've got by_it_all this time!--but I will. I'll_live_on a
crust, and I'll give all_I_can_skin and scrape to those_people at
Ste. Eul