Gledhill knew Mary was dying. She seemed sure she would die before the night was much older. A clergyman accustomed to death and pain might not save Mary, but he would be able to ease the family's pain. Death was a daily experience for parish priests and Martin had had many opportunities to minister to the dying in the small parish of Holmeside where the Dark Angel was a regular visitor. Gledhill arrived at the imposing residence breathless. Mistress Joanne Martin, the vicar's wife, answered his frantic knocking. She was a little woman with reddish features, a shade acquired, it is said, from her husband's constant exhortation to common sense. Gledhill's presence in the doorway disconcerted her. The workers rarely came to see the vicar. However, as usual, he soon got over his surprise. "What do you want, huh?" he asked crudely, his tone implying that whatever he wanted, he had come to the wrong place to find it. “My little girl is dying and my wife and children need comfort. I am here to ask you if the reverend gentleman will be present." "Wait there. I’...