a feeling of safety even against herself which she could not have had
among her own kind.

But she was not long left with her feeling of security. A wan,
grey-faced girl with burning eyes caught Ruth fiercely by the arm and
drew her out of the crowd. It was Cynthe Cardinal, though Ruth found
it difficult to recognise in her the red-cheeked, sprightly French
girl she had met in the early summer.

"You saw Rafe Gadbeau die," the girl said roughly, as she faced Ruth
sharply at a little distance from the crowd. "You were there, close?
No?"

"Yes, the fire was all around," Ruth answered, quaking.

"How did he die? Tell me. How?"

"Why--why, he died quickly, in the Bishop's arms."

"I know. Yes. But how? He _confessed_?"

"He--he went to confession, you mean. Yes, I think so."

But the girl was not to be evaded in that way.

"I know that," she persisted. "I heard M'sieur the Bishop. But did he
_confess_--about Rogers?"

"Why, Cynthe, you must be crazy. You know I didn't hear anything. I
couldn't--"

"He didn't say nothing, except in confession?" the girl questioned
swiftly.

"Nothing at all," Ruth answered, relieved.

"And you heard?" the girl returned shrewdly.

"Why, Cynthe, I heard nothing. You know that."

"I know you are lying," Cynthe said slowly. "That is right. But I do
not know. Will you always be able to lie? I do not know. You are
Catholic, yes. But you are new. You are not like one of us. Sometime
you will forget. It is not bred in the bone of you as it is bred in
us. Sometime when you are not thinking some one will ask you a
question and you will start and your tongue will slip, or you will be
silent--and that will be just as bad."

Ruth stood looking down at the ground. She dared not speak, did not
even raise her eyes, for any assurance of silence or even a reassuring
look to the girl would be an admission that she must not make.

"Swear it in your heart! Swear that you did not hear a word! You
cannot speak to me. But swear it to your soul," said the girl in a
low, tense whisper; "swear that you will never, sleeping or waking,
laughing or crying, in joy or in sorrow, let woman or man know that
you heard. Swear it. And while you swear, remember." She drew Ruth
close to her and almost hissed into her ear:

"Remember-- You love Jeffrey Whiting!"

She dropped Ruth's arm and turned quickly away.

Ruth stood there trembling weakly, her mind lost in a whirl of fright
and bewilderment. She did