"Then wherefore," rejoined the priest, with somewhat less mildness in
his tone,--"wherefore, I ask again, have you taken possession, as I may
term it, of this holy ordinance; being a heretic, and neither seeking to
share, nor having faith in, the unspeakable advantages which the Church
offers to its penitents?"
"Father," answered Hilda, trying to tell the old man the simple truth,
"I am a motherless girl, and a stranger here in Italy. I had only God
to take care of me, and be my closest friend; and the terrible, terrible
crime, which I have revealed to you, thrust itself between him and me;
so that I groped for him in the darkness, as it were, and found him
not,--found nothing but a dreadful solitude, and this crime in the midst
of it! I could not bear it. It seemed as if I made the awful guilt my
own, by keeping it hidden in my heart. I grew a fearful thing to myself.
I was going mad!"
"It was a grievous trial, my poor child!" observed the confessor. "Your
relief, I trust, will prove to be greater than you yet know!"
"I feel already how immense it is!" said Hilda, looking gratefully in
his face. "Surely, father, it was the hand of Providence that led me
hither, and made me feel that this vast temple of Christianity, this
great home of religion, must needs contain some cure, some ease, at
least, for my unutterable anguish. And it has proved so. I have told the
hideous secret; told it under the sacred seal of the confessional; and
now it will burn my poor heart no more!"
"But, daughter," answered the venerable priest, not unmoved by what
Hilda said, "you forget! you mistake!--you claim a privilege to which
you have not entitled yourself! The seal of the confessional, do you
say? God forbid that it should ever be broken where it has been fairly
impressed; but it applies only to matters that have been confided to its
keeping in a certain prescribed method, and by persons, moreover, who
have faith in the sanctity of the ordinance. I hold myself, and any
learned casuist of the Church would hold me, as free to disclose all the
particulars of what you term your confession, as if they had come to my
knowledge in a secular way."
"This is not right, father!" said Hilda, fixing her eyes on the old
man's.
"Do not you see, child," he rejoined, with some little heat, "with all
your nicety of conscience, cannot you recognize it as my duty to make
the story known to the proper authorities; a great crime against public
justice being involved, and further evil consequences likely to ensue?"
"No, father, no!" answered Hilda, courageously, her cheeks flushing and
her eyes brightening as she spoke. "Trust a girl's simple heart sooner
than any casuist of your Church, however learned he may be. Trust your
own heart, too! I came to your confessional, father, as I devoutly
believe, by the direct impulse of Heaven, which also brought you hither
to-day, in its mercy and love, to relieve me of a torture that I could
no longer bear. I trusted in the pledge which your Church has always
held sacred between the priest and the human soul, which, through his
medium, is struggling towards its Father above. What I have confided to
you lies sacredly between God and yourself. Let it rest there, father;
for this is right, and if you do otherwise, you will perpetrate a great
wrong, both as a priest and a man! And believe me, no question, no
torture, shall ever force my lips to utter what would be necessary,
in order to make my confession available towards the punishment of the
guilty ones. Leave Providence to deal with them!"