e gravel walk caused
her to turn hastily and descend the veranda steps. At first, she thought
it was Philippe come back to her, but a second glance showed that the
figure approaching through the dusk was that of good Father Anselm, her
parish priest. He was a young man, only recently appointed to the town,
but he knew her story and had frequently helped her with kindly advice
and sympathy. Her heart stood still as she watched his approach.
Something in his manner, something in his face seen dimly through the
gathering darkness, told her that he was the bearer of evil tidings.

"What is it, Father?" she asked tremulously. "Is it that they have taken
him?"

"Yes, my child, they have taken him. They are bringing him here."

"Bringing him here! But why, why should they bring him here?" A sudden
dreadful thought flashed through her mind. "Father, you have not told me
all; there is something else."

"My poor child, there _is_ something else to tell you."

"You need not tell it, Father, I know. They have taken him, but
not--alive. My poor Philippe is gone, dead. Tell me how it happened,
Father, will you please?"

The girl's unnatural calm was more pitiful than any outburst of grief
could have been, and an immeasurable compassion spoke in the priest's
voice as he told the story of Philippe's death.

"He was hiding in the deserted hut in Planter's Wood (you know the spot,
Cecile) and they discovered his place of concealment. They had been
following after him for days but he thought he would be safe there and
could come out at night and procure food from you. There was a short,
sharp struggle in which he received a mortal wound. Doctors were sent
for; I, too, was summoned. Thank God, he was conscious up to the very
last and I arrived in time to reconcile him with the Master whose love
he had outraged, whose commands he had broken. His end was very quiet
and peaceful, he simply closed his eyes and fell asleep as a little baby
might.

"But we must not stand here talking, my child. We have a duty to
perform, you and I, and we must be brave and perform that duty at once,
difficult though it may be. Where is your mother, Cecile? She will have
to be told before--before they arrive. I came on ahead for that very
purpose."

"We cannot tell her, Father, we cannot. It will kill her."

"We _must_ tell her; it will be impossible to hide it. Take me to her
and we will tell her together. God will be with us and will help us, my
ch