the designs of my life were changed; my own
will became no longer mine to guide me. But,
through sorrow and suffering, and danger and
bloodshed, I am now led after many days to the
execution of that first purpose which I formed
on entering the priesthood. Gabriel! when
the service is over, and the congregation are
dispersed, you must guide me to the door of
your father's cottage."

He held up his hand, in sign of silence, as
Gabriel was about to answer. Just then, the
officiating priests above were pronouncing the
final benediction. When it was over, Father
Paul opened the cabin-door. As he ascended
the steps, followed by Gabriel, Père Bonan
met them. The old man looked doubtfully
and searchingly on his future son-in-law, as
he respectfully whispered a few words in the
ear of the priest. Father Paul listened attentively,
answered in a whisper, and then turned
to Gabriel, first telling the few people near
them to withdraw a little. "I have been
asked whether there is any impediment to
your marriage," he said, " and have answered
that there is none. What you have said to
me has been said in confession, and is a secret
between us two. Remember that; and forget
not, at the same time, the service which I
shall require of you to-night, after the marriage
ceremony is over. Where is Rose
Bonan? " he added aloud, looking round
him. Rose came forward. Father Paul took
her hand, and placed it in Gabriel's. " Lead
her to the altar steps," he said, "and wait
there for me."

It was more than an hour later; the boats
had left the ship's side; the congregation had
dispersed over the face of the country—but
still the vessel remained at anchor. Those
who were left in her watched the land more
anxiously than usual; for they knew that
Father Paul had risked meeting the soldiers
of the republic by trusting himself on shore.
A boat was awaiting his return on the
beach; half of the crew, armed, being posted
as scouts in various directions on the high
land of the heath. They would have followed
and guarded the priest to the place of his
destination; but he forbade it; and, leaving
them abruptly, walked swiftly onward with
one young man only for his companion.

Gabriel had committed his brother and his
sisters to the charge of Rose. They were to
go to the farm-house that night with his
newly- married wife and her father and
mother. Father Paul had desired that this
might be done. When Gabriel and he were
left alone to follow the path which led to the
fisherman's cottage, the priest never spoke
while they walked on—never looked aside
either to the right or the left—always held
his ivory crucifix clasped to his breast. They
arrived at the door. " Knock," whispered
Father Paul to Gabriel, " and then wait here
with me."

The door was opened. On a lovely moonlight
night François Sarzeau had stood on
that threshold, years since, with a bleeding
body in his arms: on a lovely moonlight
night, he now stood there again, confronting
the very man whose life he had attempted,
and knowing him not.

Father Paul advanced a few paces, so that
the moonlight fell fuller on his features, and
removed his hat. François Sarzeau looked,
started, moved one step back, then stood
motionless and perfectly silent, while all
traces of expression of any kind suddenly
vanished from his face. Then the calm, clear
tones of the priest stole gently on the dead
silence. "I bring a message of peace and
forgiveness from a guest of former years," he
said; and pointed, as he spoke, to the place
where he had been wounded in the neck. For
one moment, Gabriel saw his father trembling
violently from head to foot—then, his limbs
steadied again—stiffened suddenly, as if struck
by catalepsy. His lips parted, but without
quivering; his eyes glared, but without moving
in their orbits. The lovely moonlight itself
looked ghastly and horrible, shining on the
supernatural panic-deformity of that face!
Gabriel turned away his head in terror. He
heard the voice of Father Paul saying to him:
"Wait here till I come back,"—then, there
was an instant of silence again—then a low
groaning sound, that seemed to articulate the
name of God; a sound unlike his father's
voice, unlike any human voice he had ever
heard—and then the noise of a closing door.
He looked up, and saw that he was standing
alone before the cottage.

Once, after an interval, he approached the
window. He just saw through it the hand of
the priest holding on high the ivory crucifix;
but stopped not to see more, for he heard
such words, such sounds, as drove him back
to his former place. There he stayed, until
the noise of something falling heavily within
the cottage, struck on his ear. Again he
advanced towards the door; heard Father
Paul praying; listened for several minutes;
then heard a moaning voice, now joining
itself to the voice of the priest, now choked
in sobs and bitter wailing. Once more he
went back out of hearing, and stirred not
again from his place. He waited a long and
a weary time there—so long that one of the
scouts on the look-out came towards him,
evidently suspicious of the delay in the
priest's return. He waved the man back,
and then looked again towards the door. At
last, he saw it open—saw Father Paul approach
him, leading François Sarzeau by
the hand.

The fisherman never raised his downcast eyes
to his son's face: tears trickled silently over his
cheeks; he followed the hand that led him,
as a little child might have followed it, listening
anxiously and humbly at the priest's side
to every word that he spoke. " Gabriel,"
said Father Paul, in a voice which trembled a
little, for the first time that night—" Gabriel, it
has pleased God to grant the perfect fulfilment