the pleasant Gaston.
"And I shall sleep all the sounder for making a convert."

"You have dispensed roadside alms," said the padre, smiling. "And that
should win excellent dreams."

Thus, with courtesies more elaborate than the world has time for at the
present day, they bade each other good-night and parted, bearing their
late candles along the quiet halls of the mission. To young Gaston in
his bed easy sleep came without waiting, and no dreams at all. Outside
his open window was the quiet, serene darkness, where the stars shone
clear, and tranquil perfumes hung in the cloisters. And while the guest
lay sleeping all night in unchanged position like a child, up and down
between the oleanders went Padre Ignazio, walking until dawn.

Day showed the ocean's surface no longer glassy, but lying like a mirror
breathed upon; and there between the short headlands came a sail,
gray and plain against the flat water. The priest watched through his
glasses, and saw the gradual sun grow strong upon the canvas of the
barkentine. The message from his world was at hand, yet to-day he
scarcely cared so much. Sitting in his garden yesterday he could never
have imagined such a change. But his heart did not hail the barkentine
as usual. Books, music, pale paper, and print--this was all that was
coming to him, and some of its savor had gone; for the siren voice of
life had been speaking with him face to face, and in his spirit, deep
down, the love of the world was restlessly answering that call. Young
Gaston showed more eagerness than the padre over this arrival of the
vessel that might be bringing "Trovatore" in the nick of time. Now he
would have the chance, before he took his leave, to help rehearse the
new music with the choir. He would be a missionary too. A perfectly new
experience.

"And you still forgive Verdi the sins of his youth?" he said to his
host. "I wonder if you could forgive mine?"

"Verdi has left his behind him," retorted the padre.

"But I am only twenty-five," explained Gaston, pathetically.

"Ah, don't go away soon!" pleaded the exile. It was the plainest burst
that had escaped him, and he felt instant shame.

But Gaston was too much elated with the enjoyment of each new day to
understand. The shafts of another's pain might scarcely pierce the
bright armor of his gayety. He mistook the priest's exclamation for
anxiety about his own happy soul.

"Stay here under your care?" he said. "It would do me no good, p