tand it all, my Fille. She is too much alone, and if
she has travelled by the compass all these thirteen years without losing
the track, it is something to the credit of human nature."

"Ah, monsieur, a vow before the good God--!" The Judge interrupted
sharply. "Tut, tut--these vows! Do you not know that a vow may be a
thing that ruins past redemption? A vow is sacred. Well, a poor mortal
in one moment of weakness breaks it. Then there is a sense of awful
shame of being lost, of never being able to put right the breaking of
the vow, though the rest can be put right by sorrow and repentance! I
would have no vows. They haunt like ghosts when they are broken, they
torture like fire then. Don't talk to me of vows. It is not vows that
keep the world right, but the prayer of a man's soul from day to day."

The Judge's words sounded almost blasphemous to M. Fille. A vow not
keep the world right! Then why the vows of the Church at baptism, at
confirmation, at marriage? Why the vows of the priests, of the nuns, of
those who had given themselves to eternal service? Monsieur had spoken
terrible things. And yet he had said at the last: "It is not vows that
keep the world right, but the prayer of a man's soul from day to day."
That was not heretical, or atheistic, or blasphemous. It sounded logical
and true and good.

He was about to say that, to some people, vows were the only way of
keeping them to their duty--and especially women--but the Judge added
gently: "I would not for the world hurt your sensibilities, my little
Clerk, and we are not nearly so far apart as you think at the minute.
Thank God, I keep the faith that is behind all faith--the speech of a
man's soul with God.... But there, if you can, let us hear what man it
is who disturbs the home of the philosopher. It is not my Fille, that's
sure."

He could not resist teasing, this judge who had a mind of the most rare
uprightness; and he was not always sorry when his teasing hurt; for, to
his mind, men should be lashed into strength, when they drooped over the
tasks of life; and what so sharp a lash as ridicule or satire!

"Proceed, my friend," he urged brusquely, not waiting for the gasp
of pained surprise of the little Clerk to end. He was glad to see the
figure beside him presently straighten itself, as though to be braced
for a task of difficulty. Indignation and resentment were good things to
stiffen a man's back.

"It was three days ago," said M. Fille. "I saw