cannot tell her. Lilian is deeply distressed. "His burden was heavier
than mine," Henry says. He comforts her.

The same day, at morning prayer, Cyril enters the cathedral. The organ
is playing Mendelssohn's "O Lord, have mercy upon me!" The cathedral is
packed with people of all degrees, known and unknown, friends and
strangers. The thought that all these will soon know his shame turns
Cyril sick. The faces of all those he has injured rise and reproach him.
He goes through another great spiritual conflict, but his soul emerges
at last, stripped of all pretence, in the awful presence of his Maker,
shuddering with the shame of its uncovered sin, and alone. He nerves
himself to an effort beyond his strength, as he stands in the pulpit
before the innumerable gaze of the vast congregation, by holding Henry's
letter as a talisman in his hand. Thus he preaches his last and greatest
sermon. "I will confess my wickedness, and be sorry for my sin." This he
does literally. He tells the whole story in detail, but without names,
sometimes unable to go on for agony and shame, sometimes with tears
streaming from his eyes. He tells it there that all may take warning
from him. He intends to give himself up to justice as soon as possible.
He does not spare himself. Since his first sin, he says, "I have not had
one happy hour." He never repented, though always consumed with remorse,
until his friend forgave him. "That broke my stony heart," he says. The
congregation are deeply moved and horrified. Many think he is under a
delusion caused by sorrow for his friend, and mental strain. Having
finished in the usual way, he sat down in the pulpit, and neither spoke
nor moved again. There he was found later, dead.

Next day Henry, who deeply moved, has watched by the dead body of the
dean in his library, has to break the news of Cyril's death to Mr.
Maitland, in the very room in which Mr. Maitland had accused him of