the bed, the fine old face, under its crown of
silver hair, grew very grave--and without moving from his position he
beckoned to Jean.

"Jean, my son," he said softly, "make our little Marie-Louise here put
on dry clothing. I will be a little while with Gaston alone."

Marie-Louise was standing behind the priest. Father Anton stepped
aside for Jean to pass--and then the door dosed quietly.

"Jean!"--she caught his arm. "Jean tell me!"

Jean did not answer--there were no words with which to answer her.

"Oh, Jean!" she said--and a little sob broke her voice.

"Go and put on dry things, Marie-Louise," he said.

"No--not now," she answered. "Give me your hand."

They stood there in the darkness. He felt her hand tremble. Neither
spoke. Father Anton's voice, in a low, constant murmur, came to them
now.

Her hand tightened.

"I know," she said. "It is the Sacrament."

"He said he had taught you to be never afraid," said Jean.

Her hand tightened again.

It was a long while. And then the door behind them opened, and Father
Anton came between them, and drew Marie-Louise's head to his bosom and
stroked her hair, and placed his other arm around Jean's shoulders--and
for a moment he stood like that--and then he drew them to the window.

"See, my children," he said gently, "there are the stars, and there is
peace after the storm. It is so with sorrow, for out of the blackness
of grief God brings us comfort in His own good pleasure. He has called
Gaston home."

-- II --

THE BEACON

It was half clay, half mud; but out of it one could fashion the little
_poupees_, the dolls for the children. They would not last very long,
it was true; but then one fashioned them quickly, and there was delight
in making them.

Jean dug a piece of the clay with his sheaf knife, leaned over from the
bank of the little creek, and moistened it in the water. He dug
another, moistened that, moulded the two together--and Marie-Louise
smiled at him a little tremulously, as their eyes met.

The tears were very near to those brave dark eyes since three days ago.
Jean mechanically added a third piece of clay to the other two. Much
had happened in those three days--all Bernay-sur-Mer seemed changed
since that afternoon when Gaston, so Marie-Louise had told him, seeing
a boat adrift and fearing there might be some one in it, had tried
during a lull in the storm to reach it with her assistance, and an oar
had broken, a