carried intothe chapel belonging to the Poor Clares. On a bier before the highaltar, lay a woman—lay Sister Magdalen—lay Bridget Fitzgerald. By herside stood Father Bernard, in his robes of office, and holding thecrucifix on high while he pronounced the solemn absolution of the Church,as to one who had newly confessed herself of deadly sin. I pushed onwith passionate force, till I stood close to the dying woman, as shereceived extreme unction amid the breathless and awed hush of themultitude around. Her eyes were glazing, her limbs were stiffening; butwhen the rite was over and finished, she raised her gaunt figure slowlyup, and her eyes brightened to a strange intensity of joy, as, with thegesture of her finger and the trance-like gleam of her eye, she seemedlike one who watched the disappearance of some loathed and fearfulcreature.
“She is freed from the curse!” said she, as she fell back dead.
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