The fainting fit lasted several minutes. Father Peter, thinking she was dying, began reading the prayers. The sick girl came to herself. “Do not agitate yourself; be calm,” said the priest, noticing she was coming to. “Oh, I cannot any more! Leave me! Go away!” murmured the sick girl. “Another time.… Let me rest.” “I have just christened your son,” said the priest, wishing to give her a little courage. “I wish you joy for him. God is merciful; you may yet live for him.…” A faint smile came on the poor parched lips of the captive. Her eyes wandered aimlessly around, as though seeing beyond that room, that fortress, beyond everything surrounding her, far away.… Father Peter blessed the poor girl, gazed at her for some time, took the chalice, and having postponed the celebration of the Holy Communion, left the room. “Well! what?” asked the commandant, who was waiting for him in the corridor; “has she confessed, communicated?” The priest inclined his head, silently bowed to the commandant, entered the carriage, and left the Ravelin. On the morning of the 2nd of December, he was asked to come to the fortress, and to bring the Elements of the Eucharist with him. The sick girl was fading rapidly. “Think well, my daughter, and ease your soul, by repentance,” extorted the priest. “I conjure you, in the name of God, for the sake of the future life!” “I am a sinner,” answered the dying girl, in a strangely quiet voice; “from my very youth I have sinned against God, and feel myself to be a great impenitent sinner.” “I absolve thee from thy sins, my daughter,” said the priest, devoutly praying and blessing her; “but thy Pretendership, thy sins against the empress,--thy accomplices?” “I am a Russian grand-duchess! the daughter of the late empress,” faintly murmured the captive, hardly moving her benumbed lips. The priest bent over her to administer the Sacrament; but the captive lay motionless, almost lifeless. CHAPTER XXX. _“WHAT IF THE CAPTIVE BE INNOCENT?”_ Father Peter returned home in a very agitated frame of mind. “Is she a usurper?” thought he. “Of course, man will stick to anything in his own interests. But dying--almost with her last breath, after such terrible privations, almost torture! What if she’s innocent, not an adventuress? remembers her childhood, repeats always the same--of course, in all this, she is the only witness. Is it her fault that her proofs are so scanty, so insignificant?” The priest, on coming home, went straight to his study. Having learnt that the girls were not at home, he lighted his stove, shut the door, and once more took the diary of Konsov in his hands. Having again glanced over the manuscript, he wrapped it in a sheet of paper, tied it round with a string, sealed it, and wrote on the outside paper--“To be opened only after my death.” This roll he put at the bottom of a trunk, where he kept many precious documents and manuscripts. He had hardly shut the lid down, when a knock was heard at the door.