Miggles was silent, blinking her little eyes, and panting after the exertion of talking. Gradually a pucker gathered on her forehead, and an expression of anxiety spread over her face. "There is only one thing that troubles me--only one thing; but it's very serious. I can't"--she turned solemn, innocent eyes upon the girl's face--"I can't feel myself a sinner! That's a great secret, my dear, but you've been so kind to me this last week that I feel I can make the confidence. Of course I should not wish it repeated. No! isn't it sad? I've tried my best, but I can't do it. It seems to me that I have done my best. I was a good daughter. My dear mother died blessing my name; and with the dear Gorings I've done my duty--for love, I've done it, far more than money. All through I've done my duty, and I have loved God and the people round me. I've never felt ill-will towards a living creature; and when I come to search for my sins, dear--really and truly--I tell you in confidence, _I can't find them_," cried Miggles sadly. She lowered her chin, glancing sideways at Vanna as a shamed child might do discovered in the perpetration of an infantile peccadillo, and Vanna smiled a tender, humorous response. "Can't you, Miggles? Not if you try very hard? I can't help you, I'm afraid. My bad memory refuses to remind me of your crimes. It's a serious state of affairs." "It is, dear," agreed Miggles gravely. "I've been taking myself to task, lying here upon this bed, and examining into the state of my soul. I fed very grateful, and full of faith, and quite tranquil and happy at the thought of passing away. I could not fed that, you know, if I had a `conviction of sin,' like all the good people in books. It has always put me so terribly out of the way when I have failed to please any one, and they have been cold and stand-off in their manner. It does happen like that sometimes, even with the best intentions... If I believed I had grieved my dear Heavenly Father, how wretched I should be! But I don't, dear, I don't. I am quite happy, quite at peace. The question is, _Am I justified_? It would be rather a comfort to be a Catholic sometimes--would it not, dear?--and confess to a dear, saintly old priest. Not, of course, that I could subscribe to their creed I can tell you that I've been quite upset in church sometimes when they intone the Litany, and call themselves miserable sinners in such very despondent tones. I did not feel myself a miserable sinner, and it was no use pretending that I did. That made me wretched in another way, for I thought I must be a Pharisee, which would be worst of all!"