I do, the village
is a nest of gossip--that they make a mountain out of a molehill; if I
were a pirate chief and had captured this vagabond port, I'd have a few
of those wagging tongues taken out and keel-hauled in the bay."

He started as if in pain, and again turned his haggard eyes to mine.

"I don't believe there's a word of truth in it," I declared hotly.

"There--_is_," he returned hoarsely, trembling so his voice faltered--"I
am--a thief."

He sat bolt-upright in his chair, staring at me like a man who had
suddenly become insane. His declaration was so sudden and amazing, that
for some moments I knew not what to reply, then a feeling of pity took
possession of me. He was still my friend, whatever he had done. I saw
his gaze revert to the crucifix hanging between the steel engravings of
two venerable saints, over the mantel back of the stove--a mantel heaped
with old shot bags and empty cartridge shells.

"How the devil did it happen?" I blurted out at length. "You don't mean
to say you stole the money?"

"Spent it," he replied half inaudibly.

"How spent it? On yourself?"

"No, no! Thank God--"

"How, then?"

He leaned forward, his head sunk in his hands, his eyes riveted upon
mine.

"There is--so--much--dire--need of money," he said, catching his breath
between his words. "We are all human--all weak in the face of another's
misery. It takes a strong heart, a strong mind, a strong body to resist.
There are some temptations too terrible even for a priest. I wish with
all my heart that Alice had never given it into my hands."

I started to speak, but he held up his arms.

"Do not ask me more," he pleaded--"I cannot tell you--I am ill and
weak--my courage is gone."

"Is there any of the money left?" I ventured quietly, after waiting in
vain for him to continue.

"I do not know," he returned wearily, "most of it has gone--over there,
beneath the papers, in the little drawer," he said pointing to the
corner; "I kept it there. Yes, there is some left--but I have not dared
count it."

Again there ensued a painful silence, while I racked my brain for a
scheme that might still save the situation, bad as it looked. In the
state he was in, I had not the heart to worry out of him a fuller
confession. Most of the fifteen hundred francs was gone, that was plain
enough. What he had done with it I could only conjecture. Had he given
it to save another I wondered. Some man or woman whose very life and
reputa