ived that day his sentence. Report of
the sentence had spread among the reapers in the field and all along the
vineyards of the hill-sides. Not a little stir was occasioned by this
sentence: three days of whipping through the public streets, to conclude
with branding on the forehead. For this Leclerc, it seemed, had
profanely and audaciously declared that a man might in his own behalf
deal with the invisible God, by the mediation of Christ, the sole
Mediator between God and man. Viewed in the light of his offence, his
punishment certainly was of the mildest. Tidings of his sentence were
received with various emotion: by some as though they were maddened
with new wine; others wept openly; many more were pained at heart; some
brutally rejoiced; some were incredulous.

But now they were all on their way to Meaux; the fields were quite
deserted. Urged by one desire, to ascertain the facts of the trial,
and the time when the sentence would be executed, the laborers were
returning to the town.

Without demonstration of any emotion, Jacqueline Gabrie, quiet,
silent, walked along the river-bank, until she came to the clump of
chestnut-trees, whose shadow fell across the stream. Many a time,
through the hot, dreadful day, her eyes turned wistfully to this place.
In the morning Elsie Meril had promised Jacqueline that at twilight they
would read together here the leaves the poor old mother of Leclerc gave
Jacqueline last night: when they had read them, they would walk home by
starlight together. But now the time had come, and Jacqueline was alone.
Elsie had returned to town with other young harvesters.

"Very well," said Jacqueline, when Elsie told her she must go. It was
not, indeed, inexplicable that she should prefer the many voices to the
one,--excitement and company, rather than quiet, dangerous thinking.

But, thus left alone, the face of Jacqueline expressed both sorrow and
indignation. She would exact nothing of Elsie; but latterly how often
had she expected of her companion more than she gave or could give!

Of course the young girl was equal to others in pity and surprise; but
there were people in the world beside the wool-comber and his mother.
Nothing of vast import was suggested by his sentence to her mind. She
did not see that spiritual freedom was threatened with destruction. If
she heard the danger questioned, she could not apprehend it. Though she
had listened to the preaching of Leclerc and had been moved by