ividness of the
vision called up in the heart of the woods; and he walked ahead to
conceal his emotion. Honora stopped dead and looked inquiringly at the
Deacon, who switched the flowers with downcast eyes.

"What is the meaning of it, Louis?"

He knew not how to make answer, thinking that Arthur should be the first
to tell his story.

"Do you think that we can let you go easily?" he said. "If we tease you
as we did just now it is to hide what we really suffer. His feeling got
the better of him, I think."

The explanation sounded harmless. For an instant a horrid fear that
these woods must witness another scene like Lord Constantine's chilled
her heart. She comforted Arthur like a sister.

"Do not feel my going too deeply. Change must come. Let us be glad it is
not death, or a journey into distant lands with no return. I shall be
among you still, and meanwhile God will surely comfort you."

"Oh, if we could walk straight on like this," Arthur answered, "through
the blessed, free, scented forest, just as we are, forever! And walking
on for years, content with one another, you, Louis, and I, come out at
last, as we shall soon come out here on the lake, on the shore of
eternity, just as life's sun sets, and the moon of the immortal life
rises; and then without change, or the anguish of separation and dying,
if we could pass over the waters, and enter the land of eternity, taking
our place with God and His children, our friends, that have been there
so long!"

"Is not that just what we are to do, not after your fashion, but after
the will of God, Arthur? Louis at the altar, I in the convent before the
altar, and you in the field of battle fighting for us both. Aaron,
Miriam, Moses, here are the three in the woods of Champlain, as once in
the desert of Arabia," and she smiled at the young men.

Louis returned the smile, and Arthur gave her a look of adoration, so
tender, so bold, that she trembled. The next moment, when the broad
space through which they were walking ended in a berry-patch, he plunged
among the bushes with eagerness, to gather for her black raspberries in
his drinking-cup. Her attempt to discuss her departure amiably had
failed.

"I am tired already," said she to Louis helplessly. "I shall go back to
the house, and leave you to go on together."

"Don't blame him," the Deacon pleaded, perceiving how useless was
concealment. "If you knew how that man has suffered in his life, and how
you opened he