ards he was killed,
and I didn't know it for a long time. But I began to work, for I wanted
to pay back Luc's money. It was very slow, and I worked hard. Will
it never be finished, I say. At last Parpon find me, and I tell him
all--all except that John Dicey was dead; and I did not know that. I
made him promise to tell nobody; but he knows all about my life since
then. Then I find out one day that John Dicey is dead, and I get from
the gover'ment a hundred dollars of the money he stole. It was found
on him when he was killed. I work for six months longer, and now I come
back--with Luc's money."

She drew from her pocket a packet of notes, and put it in Luc's hands.
He took it dazedly, then dropped it, and the Little Chemist picked it
up; he had no prescription like that in his pharmacopoeia.

"That's how I've lived," she said, and she handed a letter to the Cure.

It was from a priest in Montreal, setting forth the history of her
career in that city, her repentance for her elopement and the sin of
marrying a Protestant, and her good life. She had wished to do her
penance in Pontiac, and it remained to M'sieu' le Cure; to set it.

The Cure's face relaxed, and a rare gentleness came into it.

He read the letter aloud. Luc once more struggled to his feet, eagerly
listening.

"You did not love Luc?" the Cure asked Junie, meaningly.

"I did not love Luc--then," she answered, a flush going over her face.

"You loved Junie?" the Cure said to Pomfrette. "I could have killed
her, but I've always loved her," answered Luc. Then he raised his voice
excitedly: "I love her, love her, love her--but what's the good! She'd
never 've been happy with me. Look what my love drove her to! What's the
good, at all!"

"She said she did not love you then, Luc Michee," said Parpon,
interrupting. "Luc Michee, you're a fool as well as a sinner. Speak up,
Junie."

"I used to tell him that I didn't love him; I only liked him. I was
honest. Well, I am honest still. I love him now."

A sound of joy broke from Luc's lips, and he stretched out his arms to
her, but the Cure; stopped that. "Not here," he said. "Your sins must
first be considered. For penance--" He paused, looking at the two sad
yet happy beings before him. The deep knowledge of life that was in him
impelled him to continue gently:

"For penance you shall bear the remembrance of each other's sins. And
now to God the Father--" He turned towards the altar, and raised his
hands