ty and some
bunches of rue, and at the other end a shrine, in whose blue niche stood
a small figure of Mary, with folded hands and uplifted eyes. No other
window looked down upon the spot, and its seclusion was often a great
comfort to Pere Jerome.

Up and down this path, but a few steps in its entire length, the priest
was walking, taking the air for a few moments after a prolonged sitting
in the confessional. Penitents had been numerous this afternoon. He was
thinking of Ursin. The officers of the Government had not found him, nor
had Pere Jerome seen him; yet he believed they had, in a certain
indirect way, devised a simple project by which they could at any time
"figs dad law," providing only that these Government officials would
give over their search; for, though he had not seen the fugitive, Madame
Delphine had seen him, and had been the vehicle of communication between
them. There was an orange-tree, where a mocking-bird was wont to sing
and a girl in white to walk, that the detectives wot not of. The law was
to be "figs" by the departure of the three frequenters of the
jasmine-scented garden in one ship to France, where the law offered no
obstacles.

It seemed moderately certain to those in search of Monsieur Vignevielle
(and it was true) that Jean and Evariste were his harborers; but for all
that the hunt, even for clews, was vain. The little banking
establishment had not been disturbed. Jean Thompson had told the
searchers certain facts about it, and about its gentle proprietor as
well, that persuaded them to make no move against the concern, if the
same relations did not even induce a relaxation of their efforts for his
personal discovery.

Pere Jerome was walking to and fro, with his hands behind him, pondering
these matters. He had paused a moment at the end of the walk farthest
from his window, and was looking around upon the sky, when, turning, he
beheld a closely veiled female figure standing at the other end, and
knew instantly that it was Olive.

She came forward quickly and with evident eagerness.

"I came to confession," she said, breathing hurriedly, the excitement in
her eyes shining through her veil, "but I find I am too late."

"There is no too late or too early for that; I am always ready," said
the priest. "But how is your mother?"

"Ah!"--

Her voice failed.

"More trouble?"

"Ah, sir, I have made trouble. Oh, Pere Jerome, I am bringing so much
trouble upon my poor mother!"

P