stribution among
the poor of his parish.

But I had a weight on my mind even francs could not remove--Marc and
Cecile.

She, poor woman, was happy in being rich; in having fine dresses and
gaiety; in being an old man's idol. It is so with women. She was, I
found, the donor of some of the religious books and of one of the two
rosaries. Perhaps, then, at the chateau all was not happiness for the
mistress. At times she still mourned for Marc.

And Marc?

After months of the greatest anxiety on my part, lest in his ravings he
should betray himself, he was happily restored to reason.

The doctor said it happened through his seeing me.

He knew me as I sat in the room with him. His keepers said he had raved
always of "Cecile, Cecile!" What of it? It led to no suspicion of his
identity with Marc Debois. Are there not hundreds of Ceciles?

The wretched man's memory was a blank. As I had done him a most
terrible injury, I tried to repair--in some slight degree--to atone.

He was lodged with me in my dear mother's cottage. I used to lead him
about like a child. I took him every day to the sea to see the
shipping. This by degrees brought back his memory of his profession.

At last all came back, save the scene in the defile. He told me he had
also been on a desolate island. Whether the same as mine, or an
adjacent desert, I shall never know. A ship took him off, too, and
landed him at Marseilles. He tramped it to Benevent, and arrived there
in time to see Cecile just married to M. Andre.

No wonder that his mind gave way.

He implored my forgiveness.

I implored his.

He was silent, sullen. No one knew his name. I explained that he was
an old shipmate. This hardly satisfied the people. At Benevent they
love a mystery.

Marc solved it for them. He disappeared, without saying good-by. I
guessed that he had gone to sea again.

He had said, the night before he left us, "Pierre, I will not wreck her
life as she has wrecked mine. I will not seek her; but God save her if
she crosses my path in this life."

I was right; he had gone to sea. I got a letter a week after, with the
Marseilles postmark on it.

"I am mate of the _Lepante_," Marc said.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Months had passed since their marriage--about a year. Cecile was a
mother. She called upon me in her carriage one day. A nurse was in
attendance upon her, carrying in her