e demand on Mrs. Champney's part for his presence at
Champ-au-Haut--she might have repented her words, changed her mind;
might be ready to help her nephew. In that case, he would wait for the
midnight train.

The man of Maine's face was working painfully again; he was struggling
for control; his feelings were deep, tender, loyal; he was capable of
any sacrifice for a friend.

"Father Honore--I don't want to butt in anywhere--into what ain't my
business, but I do want to know if you're going to New York?"

"Yes, I am."

"Are you going to try to see _him_?"

"I'm going to try to find him--for his mother's sake and his own."

Octavius Buzzby grasped his hand and wrung it. "God bless you!" He
fumbled with his left hand in his breast pocket and drew forth a
package. "Here, you take this--it's honest money, all mine--you use it
for Champney--to help out, you know, in any way you see fit."

Father Honore was so moved he could not speak at once.

"If Mr. Googe could know what a friend he has in you, Mr. Buzzby," he
said at last, "I don't think he could wholly despair, whatever might
come,"--he pressed the package back into Octavius' hand,--"keep it with
you, it's safer; and I promise you if I need it I will call on you."
Suddenly his indignation got the better of him--"But this is
outrageous!"--he spoke in a low voice but vehemently,--"Mrs. Champney is
abundantly able to do this for her nephew, whereas you--"

"You're right, sir, it's a damned outrage--I beg your pardon, Father
Honore, I hadn't ought to said that, but I've seen so much, and I'm all
broke up, I guess, with what I've been through since yesterday. I went
to her myself then and made bold to ask her to help with her riches
that's bringing her in eight per cent, and told her some plain truths--"

"You went--!" Father Honore exclaimed; he had almost said "too," but
caught himself in time.

"Yes, I went, and all I got was an insult for my pains. She's a
she-dev--I beg your pardon, sir; it would serve me right if the Almighty
struck me dumb with a stroke like hers, only hers don't affect her
speech any, Aileen says--I guess her tongue's insured against shock for
life, but it hadn't ought to be, sir, not after the blasphemy it's
uttered. But I ain't the one to throw stones, not after what I've just
said in your presence, sir, and I do beg your pardon, I know what's due
to the clo--"

The train, rounding the curve, whistled deafeningly.

Father Honore gras