tangled
trails, rocky ascents, sharp declines. By late day he had penetrated to
the heart of the upland region. He stood gazing down upon the undulating,
verdant hills, over which he could trace the course of a thunder gust. The
storm moved swiftly, in a compact, circular shadow on the sunny slope; he
could distinguish the sudden twisting of limbs, the path of torn leaves,
broken branches, left by the lash of the wind and rain. The livid,
sinister spot on the placid greenery drew nearer; he could now hear the
continuous rumble of thunder, see the stabbing, purplish flashes of
lightning. The edge of the storm swept darkly over the spot where he was
standing; he was soaked by a momentary assault of rain driving greyly out
of a passing, profound gloom. Then the cloud vanished, leaving the
countryside sparkling and serene under a stainless evening sky.

The water dripped down his back, swashed in his shoes; he was, in his
lowered vitality, supremely uncomfortable. The way was slippery with mud;
wet leaves bathed his face in sudden, chill showers, clung to his hands.
He fell.

When he arrived at the rim of Greenstream night had hidden that familiar,
welcome vista. The lights of the houses shone pale yellow below. A new
reluctance to enter this place of home possessed him, a shame born of his
denuded pockets, his bedraggled exterior. He descended, but turned to the
left, finding a rude road which skirted the base of the eastern range. He
was following no definite plan, moving slowly, without objective; but a
window glimmering in a square of orange light against the night brought
him to a halt. It marked, he knew, the dwelling of the Jesuit priest,
Merlier. In a sudden impulse he advanced over a short path, and fumbling,
found the door, where he knocked. A chair scraped within and the door
swung open. The form of the priest was dark against the lighted interior
which absorbed them.

XXII

The room was singularly bare: a tin lamp with a green glass shade, on an
uncovered deal table, illuminated an open book, wood chairs with roughly
split, hickory backs, a couch with no covering over its wire springs and
iron frame; there was no carpet on the floor of loosely grooved boards, no
decorations on the plastered walls save a dark engraving of a man in
intricate armor, with a face as passionate, as keen, as relentless, as a
hawk's, labelled, "Loyola."

Merlier silently indicated a chair, but he remained standing with his