ed by
him. Result was what he aimed at.

Jacqueline's words had not given him new thoughts, but unawares they did
summon him to his appointed labor. He looked to find the truth. He must
stand to do his work. He must haste to make his choice. Enthusiastic,
chivalrous, and strong, he was seeking the divine right, night and
day,--and to ascertain that, as it seemed, he had come from Picardy to
Meaux.

Elsie Meril went to bed, as she had invited Jacqueline to do; to sleep,
to dream, she went,--and to smile, in her dreaming, on the world that
smiled on her.

Jacqueline sat by the window; leaned from the window, and prayed; her
own prayer she prayed, as Antonine had said she must, if she would
discover what she needed, and obtain an answer.

She thought of the dead,--her own. She pondered on the future. She
recalled some lines of the hymn Antonine had repeated, and she
wished--oh, how she wished!--that, while the woman lived, and could
reason and speak, she had told her about the letter she had received
from the priest of Domremy. Many a time it had been on her lips to tell,
but she failed in courage to bring her poor affairs into that chamber
and disturb that dying hour. Now she wished that she had done it. Now
she felt that speech had been the merest act of justice to herself.

But there was Leclerc, the wool-comber, and his mother; she might rely
on them for the instruction she needed.

Old Antonine's faith had made a deep impression on the strong-hearted
and deep-thinking girl; as also had the prayers of John
Leclerc,--especially that last prayer offered for Antonine. It seemed to
authenticate, by its strong, unfaltering utterance, the poor old woman's
evidence. "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever,"
were strong words that seemed about to take possession of the heart of
Jacqueline.

Therefore, while Elsie slept, she prayed,--looking farther than the
city-streets, and darkness,--looking farther than the shining stars.
What she sought, poor girl, stood in her silent chamber, stood in her
waiting heart. But she knew Him not, and her ear was heavy; she did not
hear the voice, that she should answer Him, "Rabboni!"

II.

A fortnight from this night, after the harvesters had left the fields of
M. Flaval, Jacqueline was lingering in the twilight.

The instant the day's work was done, the laborers set out for Meaux,
Their haste suggested some unusual cause.

John Leclerc, wool-comber, had rece