She took a footstool and brought it to his side, so that in confessing her blacker vices she might be able to whisper them in his very ear. She kneeled on her little footstool, put her hands across her breast, and in this lowly attitude murmured softly after this fashion, with a contrite voice:-- "I have to accuse myself of many vices. Alas! In one short fortnight I have accumulated the wickedness of a life. I have committed the seven deadly sins. I have been guilty of Pride, Wrath, Envy, Disobedience, Immodesty, Vanity, Luxury, Fibs----" "Gently, daughter," said the priest, quietly; "these terms are too general: give me instances. Let us begin with Wrath; ah! we are all prone to that." The fair penitent sighed, and said: "Especially me. Example: I was angry beyond reason with my maid, Ruth. (She does comb my hair so uncouthly.) So then the other night, when I was in trouble, and most needed soothing, by being combed womanly, she gets thinking of Harry that helps in the stable, and she tears away at my hair. I started up and screamed out 'Oh, you clumsy thing! go currycomb my horse, and send that oaf your head is running on to handle my hair.' And I told her my grandma would have whipped her well for it; but now-a-days mistresses were the only sufferers: we had lost the use of our hands, we are grown so squeamish; and I stamped like a fury, and said 'Get you gone out of the room; and I hated the sight of her.' And the poor girl went from me, crying, without a word--being a better Christian than her mistress; mea culpa! mea culpa!" "Did you slap her?" "Nay, hither, not so bad as that." "Are you quite sure you did not slap her?" asked Francis, quietly. "Nay. But I had a mind to. My heart slapped her if my hand forbore. Alas!" "Had she hurt you?" "That she did: but only my head. I hurt her heart; for the poor wench loves me dear; the Lord knows for what." "Humph!--proceed to Pride." "Yes, father. I do confess that I was greatly puffed up with the praises of men. I was proud of the sorriest things; of jumping a brook, when 'twas my horse jumped it, and had jumped it better with a fly on his back than the poor worm Me; of my good looks, forgetting that God gave them me; and besides I am no beauty when all is done; it is all their flattery. And at my Lady Munster's dinner I pridefully walked out before Mistress Davies, the rich cheesemonger's wife, that is as proud of her money as I of my old blood (God forgive two fools!); which I had no right to do; a maid to walk before a wife: and oh, father, I whispered the gentleman who led me out; it was Mr. Neville--" Here the penitent put one hand before her face, and hesitated. "Well, daughter! half confession is no confession. You said to Mr. Neville----?" "I said, 'Nothing comes after cheese.'" This revelation was made most dolefully.