Too tired to sleep, I sat beside my window and breathed the repose
that lay like a benediction upon the little city. I found myself
praying; for Mary Virginia, whom I loved and over whom I was sorely
troubled; for Laurence, even now walking such a road as I also once
had to travel with feet as young but no more steadfast; and then with
a thankfulness too deep for words, I thought a prayer for the
Butterfly Man. So thinking and so praying, with a glow in my heart
because of him, I closed my window, and crept into bed and into
sleep.

I awoke with a start. Somebody was in the room. There was an urgent
voice whispering my name, an urgent hand upon me. A pocket light
flashed, and in its pale circle appeared the face of John Flint.

"Get up!" said he in an intense whisper. "And come. Come!"

"Why, what in the name of heaven--"

"Don't make a row!" he snarled, and brought his face close. "Here--let
me help you. Heaven, man, how slow you are!" With furious haste he
forced my clothes upon me and even as I mechanically struggled to
adjust them he was hustling me toward the door, through the dark hall,
and down the stairs.

"Easy there--careful of that step!" he breathed in my ear, guiding me.

"But what is the matter?" I whispered back impatiently. I do not
relish mystery and I detest being led willynilly.

"In my rooms," said he briefly, and hustled me across the garden on
the double run, I with my teeth chattering, for I had been dragged out
of my sleep, and the night air was cold.

He fairly lifted me up his porch-steps, unlocked his door, and pushed
me inside. With the drawn shades and the flickering firelight, the
room was peaceful and pleasant enough. Then Kerry caught my astonished
gaze, for the dog stood statue-like beside the Morris chair, and when
I saw what Kerry guarded I crossed myself. Sunk into the chair, the
Butterfly Man's old gray overcoat partly around her, was Mary
Virginia.

At my involuntary exclamation she raised her head and regarded me. A
great sigh welled from her bosom and I could see her eyes dilate and
her lips quiver.

"Padre, Padre!" Down went her head, and she began to cry childishly,
with sobs.

I watched her helplessly, too bewildered to speak. But the other man's
face was the face of one crucified. I saw his eyes, and something I
had been all too blind to rushed upon me overwhelmingly. This, then,
was what had driven him forth for a time, this was what had left its
indelible impr