f the consequences overcame him
as he thought of the reprisals that might be exacted by the merciless
and unscrupulous guerilla. True, it was not very evident what harm the
latter could do him; nevertheless, he could not shake off a vague,
depressing apprehension. More and more, as he strolled on, moodily
musing, far in the rear of the rest, he felt inclined to appreciate the
wisdom of the ancient proverb, "Let sleeping dogs lie." Years afterward
he remembered with what a startled thrill, raising his eyes at a sharp
angle of the path, he found himself face to face with Royston Keene.

For some seconds they contemplated each other silently--the priest and
the soldier. A striking contrast they made. The one, heated, and
excited, and nervous, both in appearance and manner, looking more like a
culprit brought up for judgment than a pillar of the Established Church;
the other, outwardly as undemonstrative as the rock against which he
leaned--just a shade of paleness telling of the sharp mental struggle
from which he had come out victorious--his whole bearing and demeanor
precisely what might have been expected if he had been sitting on a
court-martial.

The absurdity of the position struck the chaplain as soon as he
collected himself from his first surprise. It never would do for _him_
to look as if he had any thing to be ashamed of; so, summoning to his
aid all the dignity of his office and his own self-importance, with a
great effort, he spoke steadily:

"I presume you wish to talk to me, Major Keene? I shall be glad to hear
any thing that you may have to communicate or explain. It is my duty as
well as my desire to be useful to any member of my congregation, however
little disposed they may be to avail themselves of their privileges.
Interested, as I must be in the welfare of all committed to my charge, I
need hardly say that the course you have chosen to pursue here has
caused me great pain and anxiety--I own, not so much for your sake as
that of others, to whom your influence was likely to be pernicious. What
I heard this morning makes matters look still worse. I wish I could
anticipate any satisfactory explanation."

The old _ex cathedra_ feeling came back upon him while he was speaking;
his tone, gradually becoming rounder and more sonorous, showed this. Was
he so besotted by sacerdotal confidence as to fancy that he could win
that grim penitent to come to him to be confessed or absolved?

Since the chaplain firs