t broke out again, quieted, then once more broke
out, and presently the Seigneur issued from the door, white with anger,
three strangers behind him. All were intoxicated.

One was violent. It was Billy Wantage, whom the years had not improved.
He had arrived that day with two companions--an excursion of curiosity
as an excuse for a "spree."

"What's the matter with you, old stick-in-the-mud?" he shouted. "Mass is
over, isn't it? Can't we have a little guzzle between prayers?"

By this time a crowd had gathered, among them Filion Lacasse. At a
motion from the Seigneur, and a whisper that went round quickly, a dozen
habitants swiftly sprang on the three men, pinioned their arms, and
carrying them bodily to the pump by the tavern, held them under it, one
by one, till each was soaked and sober. Then their horses and wagon were
brought, and they were given five minutes to leave the village.

With a devilish look in his eye, and drenched and furious, Billy
was disposed to resist the command, but the faces around him were
determined, and, muttering curses, the three drove away towards the next
parish.

CHAPTER LIII. THE SEIGNEUR AND THE CURE HAVE A SUSPICION

Presently the Seigneur and the Cure stood before the door of the
tailor-shop. The Cure was about to knock, when the Seigneur laid a hand
upon his arm.

"There is no use; he has been gone several days," he said.

"Gone--gone!" said the Cure.

"I came to see him yesterday, and not finding him, I asked at the
post-office." M. Rossignol's voice lowered. "He told Mrs. Flynn he was
going into the hills, so Rosalie says."

The Cure's face fell. "He went away also just before the play began. I
almost fear that--that we get no nearer. His mind prompts him to do good
and not evil, and yet--and yet.... I have dreamed a good dream, Maurice,
but I sometimes fear I have dreamed in vain."

"Wait-wait!"

M. Loisel looked towards the post-office musingly. "I have thought
sometimes that what man's prayers may not accomplish a woman's love
might do. If--but, alas, what do we know of his past! Nothing. What
do we know of his future? Nothing. What do we know of the human heart?
Nothing--nothing!"

The Seigneur was astounded. The Cure's meaning was plain. "What do you
mean?" he asked, almost gruffly.

"She--Rosalie--has changed--changed." In his heart he dwelt sorrowfully
upon the fact that she had not been to confession to him for many, many
months.

"Since her fathe