years spent
within the walls of the Brotherhood had made them fully acquainted with
the people round about. The little hamlet was a pretty spot: a number of
low thatched cottages nestled together beside the stream that watered
the meadows, whilst the larger farmsteads, which, however, were only
modest dwelling houses with their barns and sheds forming a background
to them, stood a little farther back upon a slightly-rising ground,
sheltered from the colder winds by a spur of the forest.

Generally one was aware, in approaching the place, of the pleasant
homely sounds of life connected with farming. Today, with the golden
grain all ready for the reaper's hand, one looked to hear the sound of
the sickle in the corn, and the voices of the labourers calling to each
other, or singing some rustic harvest song over their task. But instead
of that a deadly and death-like silence prevailed; and Raymond, who had
quickened his steps as he neared the familiar spot, now involuntarily
paused and hung back, as if half afraid of what he would be forced to
look upon when once the last turning was passed.

But Father Paul moved steadily on, turning neither to the right hand nor
to the left. There was no hesitation or faltering in his step, and the
two youths pressed after him, ashamed of their moment's backwardness.
The sun had managed to pierce through the haze, and was shining now with
some of its wonted brilliancy. As Raymond turned the corner and saw
before him the whole of the little hamlet, he almost wished the sun had
ceased to shine, the contrast between the beauty and brightness of
nature and the scene upon which it looked being almost too fearful for
endurance.

Lying beside the river bank, in every attitude and contortion of the
death agony, were some dozen prostrate forms of men, women, and
children, all dead and still. It seemed as though they must have crawled
forth from the houses when the terrible fever thirst was upon them, and
dragging themselves down to the water's edge, had perished there. And
yet if all were dead, as indeed there could be small doubt from their
perfect stillness and rigidity, why did none come forth to bury them?
Already the warm air was tainted and oppressive with that
plague-stricken odour so unspeakably deadly to the living. Why did not
the survivors come forth from their homes and bury the dead out of their
sight? Had all fled and left them to their fate?

Father Paul walked calmly onwards,