To be together seemed an all-sufficient consolation, and, when the
chaplain came sorrowfully to give them the last rites of the Church,
Ebbo implored him to pray that he might not be left behind long in
purgatory.
"Friedel," he said, clasping his brother's hand, "is even like the
holy Sebastian or Maurice; but I--I was never such as he. O father,
will it be my penance to be left alone when he is in paradise?"
"What is that?" said Friedel, partially roused by the sound of his
name, and the involuntary pressure of his hand. "Nay, Ebbo; one
repentance, one cross, one hope," and he relapsed into a doze, while
Ebbo murmured over a broken, brief confession--exhausting by its
vehemence of self-accusation for his proud spirit, his wilful neglect
of his lost father, his hot contempt of prudent counsel.
Then, when the priest came round to Friedel's side, and the boy was
wakened to make his shrift, the words were contrite and humble, but
calm and full of trust. They were like two of their own mountain
streams, the waters almost equally undefiled by external stain--yet
one struggling, agitated, whirling giddily round; the other still,
transparent, and the light of heaven smiling in its clearness.
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