their residence abroad, and so it fell out
naturally that when I came as chaplain to
the Sherburnes at Stoney Hurst, our
acquaintance was renewed; and thus I became
the confessor of the whole family, isolated as
they were from the offices of the Church,
Sherburne being their nearest neighbour
who professed the true faith. Of course you
are aware that facts revealed in confession
are sealed as in the grave; but I learnt
enough of Bridget's character to be convinced
that I had to do with no common woman;
one powerful for good as for evil. I believe
that I was able to give her spiritual assistance
from time to time, and that she looked upon
me as a servant of that Holy Church, which
has such wonderful power of moving men's
hearts, and relieving them of the burden of
their sins. I have known her cross the moors
on the wildest nights of storm, to confess and
be absolved; and then she would return,
calmed and subdued, to her daily work about
her mistress, no one wotting where she had
been during the hours that most passed in
sleep upon their beds. After her daughter's
departure—after Mary's mysterious
disappearance—I had to impose many a long
penance to wash away the sin of impatient
repining that was fast leading her into the
deeper guilt of blasphemy. She set out on
that long journey of which you have possibly
heard—that fruitless journey in search of
Mary—and during her absence, my superiors
ordered my return to my former duties at
Antwerp, and for many years I heard no
more of Bridget.

"Not many months ago, as I was passing
homewards in the evening, along one of the
streets near St. Jacques, leading into the
Meer Straet, I saw a woman sitting crouched
up under the shrine of the Holy Mother of
Sorrows. Her hood was drawn over her
head, so that the shadow caused by the light
of the lamp above fell deep over her face;
her hands were clasped round her knees. It
was evident that she was some one in hopeless
trouble, and as such it was my duty to
stop and speak. I naturally addressed her
first in Flemish, believing her to be one of
the lower class of inhabitants. She shook
her head, but did not look up. Then I tried
French, and she replied in that language,
but speaking it so indifferently, that I was
sure she was either English or Irish, and
consequently spoke to her in my own native
tongue. She recognised my voice; and,
starting up, caught at my robes, dragging me
before the blessed shrine, and throwing
herself down, and forcing me, as much by her
evident desire as by her action, to kneel beside
her, she exclaimed:

"' O Holy Virgin! you will never hearken
to me again, but hear him; for you know
him of old, that he does your bidding, and
strives to heal broken hearts. Hear him! '

"She turned to me.

"'She will hear you, if you will only pray.
She never hears me: she and all the saints in
Heaven cannot hear my prayers, for the Evil
One carries them off, as he carried that first
away. O, Father Bernard, pray for me! '

"I prayed for one in sore distress, of what
nature I could not say; but the Holy Virgin
would know. Bridget held me fast, gasping
with eagerness at the sound of my words.
When I had ended, I rose, and, making the
sign of the Cross over her, I was going to
bless her in the name of the Holy Church,
when she shrunk away like some terrified
creature, and said:

"' I am guilty of deadly sin, and am not
shriven.'

"' Arise, my daughter,' said I, ' and come
with me.' And I led the way into one of
the confessionals of St. Jacques.

"She knelt; I listened. No words came.
The evil powers had stricken her dumb, as
I heard afterwards they had many a time
before, when she approached confession.

"She was too poor to pay for the necessary
forms of exorcism; and hitherto those priests
to whom she had addressed herself were
either so ignorant of the meaning of her
broken French, or her Irish-English, or else
esteemed her to be one crazed—as, indeed,
her wild and excited manner might easily
have led any one to think—that they had
neglected the sole means of loosening her
tongue, so that she might confess her deadly
sin, and, after due penance, obtain absolution.
But I knew Bridget of old, and felt that she
was a penitent sent to me. I went through
those holy offices appointed by our Church
for the relief of such a case. I was the more
bound to do this, as I found that she had
come to Antwerp for the sole purpose of
discovering me, and making confession to me.
Of the nature of that fearful confession I am
forbidden to speak. Much of it you know;
possibly all.

"It now remains for her to free herself from
mortal guilt, and to set others free from the
consequences thereof. No prayers, no masses,
will ever do it, although they may strengthen
her with that strength by which alone acts
of deepest love and purest self-devotion may
be performed. Her words of passion, and
cries for revenge—her unholy prayers could
never reach the ears of the Holy Saints!
Other powers intercepted them, and wrought
so that the curses thrown up to Heaven have
fallen on her own flesh and blood; and so,
through her very strength of love, have
bruised and crushed her heart. Hence-
forward her former self must be buried,—
yea, buried quick, if need be,—but never
more to make sign or utter cry on earth!
She has become a Poor Clare, in order, if by
perpetual penance and constant service of
others, she may at length so act as to obtain
final absolution and rest for her soul. Until
then, the innocent must suffer. It is to plead
for the innocent that I come to you; not in.
the name of the witch, Bridget Fitzgerald,