n the Bishop came riding up to French Village with Arsene LaComb.
But this time they rode in a jogging, rattling coach that swung up
over the new line of railroad that came into the hills from Welden
Junction. And Arsene was very glad of this, for as he looked at his
beloved M'sieur l'Eveque he saw that he was not now the man to have
faced the long road up over the hills. He was not two, he was many
years older and less sturdy.

The Bishop practised his French a little, but mostly he was silent and
thoughtful. He was remembering that day, nearly two years ago now,
when he had set two ambitious young souls upon a way which they did
not like. What a coil of good and bad had come out of that doing of
his. And again he wondered, as he had wondered then, whether he had
done right. Who was to tell?

And again to-morrow he was to set those two again upon their way of
life, for he was coming up to French Village to the wedding of Ruth
Lansing to Jeffrey Whiting.

Jeffrey Whiting knelt by Ruth Lansing's side in the little rough-finished
sanctuary of the chapel which Father Ponfret had somehow managed to
raise during that busy, poverty-burdened summer. But Jeffrey Whiting
saw none of the poor makeshifts out of which the little priest had
contrived a sanctuary to the high God. He was back again, in the night,
on a dark, lone road, under the unconcerned stars, crying out to find
God. Then God had come to him, with merciful, healing touch and lifted
him out of the dust and agony of the road, and, finally, had brought him
here, to this moment.

He had just received into his body the God of life. His soul stood
trembling at its portal, receiving its Guest for the first time. He
was amazed with a great wonder, for here was the very God of the dark
night speaking to him in words that beat upon his heart. And his
wonder was that from this he should ever arise and go on with any
other business whatever.

Ruth Lansing knelt, adoring and listening to the music of that
_choir unseen_ which had once given her the call of life. She had
followed it, not always in the perfect way, but at least bravely,
unquestioningly. And it had brought her now to a holy and awed
happiness. Neither life nor death would ever rob her of this moment.

Presently they rose and stood before the Bishop. And as the Shepherd
blessed their joined hands he prayed for these two who were dear to
him, as well as for his other little ones, and, as always, for those
"o