ucia had been attracted by
it before, and she drew her mother's attention to it now--

"Look, mamma," she said, "does not it seem as if one could almost cross
the Channel on it, it goes so far out. See that woman, now--I have
watched since she started from this end, and now you can scarcely
distinguish her figure."

"There is a priest coming along it--is it not Father Paul?"

"I do believe it is. I wish he would come and talk to you for a little
while, and then I would go."

"You need not stay for that, dear. I shall sit here alone quite
comfortably, if you wish to go out there."

"I should like very much to go. I want to see what the sea looks like
away from the beach. There is no harm, is there?"

"None whatever. Go, and I will watch you."

Lucia rose to go.

"It _is_ Father Paul," she said, "and he is coming this way."

She lingered a minute, and the priest, who had recognized them, came up.

Mrs. Costello told him of Lucia's wish to go out on the pier, and he
assured her she would enjoy it.

"The air seems even fresher there than here," he said; and she went off,
and left him and her mother together.

For a few minutes they talked about the weather, the sea, and the people
about them, as two slight acquaintances would naturally do; but then,
when there had been a momentary pause, Father Paul startled Mrs.
Costello, by saying,

"Last night, madam, you told me of persons I had not heard of for
years--this morning, strangely enough, I have met with a person of whom
you probably know something--or knew something formerly."

"I?" she answered. "Impossible! I know no one in France."

"This is not a Frenchman. He is named Bailey, an American, I believe."

"Bailey?" Mrs. Costello repeated, terrified. "Surely he is not here?"

"There is a man of that name here--a miserable ruined gambler, who says
that he knows Moose Island, and once travelled in Europe with a party of
Indians."

"And what is he doing now?"

"Nothing. He is the most wretched, squalid object you can imagine. He
came to me this morning to ask for the loan of a few francs. He had not
even the honesty to beg without some pretence of an intention to pay."

"Is he so low then as to need to beg?"

"Madame, he is a gambler, I repeat it. If he had a hundred francs
to-night, he would most likely be penniless to-morrow morning."

"And he claimed charity from you because of your connection with
Canada?"

"Exactly. Having no other plea. I was