on. When it was over, Father Paul opened the cabin door. As he
ascended the steps, followed by Gabriel, Pere 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 begging 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 Perrine Bonan?" he added, aloud, looking round him. Perrine 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 Perrine. They were to go to the farmhouse 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 Francois 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 attemp