the rude eloquence, the insensibility to pain, the
pride of opposition, the pride of poverty, the pride of a rude nature,
exhibited by John Leclerc.

He acknowledged freely, with a fatal candor, that, until he came to
consider these things in their true light, when shut away from all
outward influences, until compelled to quiet meditation beyond the reach
and influence of mere enthusiasm, he had believed with Leclerc, even as
Victor was believing now. He could have gone on, who might tell to what
fanatical length? had it not been for that fortunate arrest which made a
sane man of him!

Leclerc was not quite in the wrong,--not absolutely,--but neither was
he, as Mazurier had once believed, gloriously in the right. It was
clearly apparent to him, that Victor Le Roy, having now also like
opportunity for calm reflection, would come to like conclusions.

With such confident prophecy, Mazurier left the young man. His visit was
brief and hurried;--no duty that could be waived should call him away
from his friend at such a time; but he would return; they would speak of
this again; and he kissed Victor, and blessed him, and went out to bid
the authorities delay yet before the lad was brought to trial, for he
was confident, that, if left to reflection, he would come to his senses,
and choose wisely--between God and Mammon? Mazurier expressed it in
another way.

* * * * *

In the street, Elsie Meril heard of Victor's arrest, and she brought the
news to Jacqueline. They had returned to Meaux, to their old lodging,
and a day had passed, during which, moment by moment, his arrival was
anticipated. Elsie went out to buy a gift for Jacqueline, a bit of fine
apparelling which she had coveted from the moment she knew Jacqueline
should be a bride. She stole away on her errand without remark, and
came back with the gift,--but also with that which made it valueless,
unmentionable, though it was a costly offering, purchased with the wages
of more than a week's labor in the fields.

It was almost dark when she returned to Jacqueline. Her friend was
sitting by the window,--waiting,--not for her; and when she went in to
her, it was silently, with no mention of her errand or her love-gift.
Quietly she sat down, thankful that the night was falling, waiting for
its darkness before she should speak words which would make the darkness
to be felt.

"He does not come," said Jacqueline, at length.

"Did you thi