s Roussillon could be hidden, if--"

"My dear son."

"But, Father, I mean it."

"Mean what? Pardon an old man's slow understanding. What are you
talking about, my son?"

Father Beret glanced furtively about, then quickly stepped through the
doorway, walked entirely around the house and came in again before
Farnsworth could respond. Once more seated on his stool he added
interrogatively:

"Did you think you heard something moving outside?"

"No."

"You were saying something when I went out. Pardon my interruption."

Farnsworth gave the priest a searching and not wholly confiding look.

"You did not interrupt me, Father Beret. I was not speaking. Why are
you so watchful? Are you afraid of eavesdroppers?"

"You were speaking recklessly. Your words were incendiary: ardentia
verba. My son, you were suggesting a dangerous thing. Your life would
scarcely satisfy the law were you convicted of insinuating such
treason. What if one of your prowling guards had overheard you? Your
neck and mine might feel the halter. Quod avertat dominus." He crossed
himself and in a solemn voice added in English:

"May the Lord forbid! Ah, my son, we priests protect those we love."

"And I, who am not fit to tie a priest's shoe, do likewise. Father, I
love Alice Roussillon."

"Love is a holy thing, my son. Amare divinum est et humanum."

"Father Beret, can you help me?"

"Spiritually speaking, my son?"

"I mean, can you hide Mademoiselle Roussillon in some safe place, if I
take her out of the prison yonder? That's just what I mean. Can you do
it?"

"Your question is a remarkable one. Have you thought upon it from all
directions, my son? Think of your position, your duty as an officer."

A shrewd polemical expression beamed from Father Beret's eyes, and a
very expert physiogomist might have suspected duplicity from certain
lines about the old man's mouth.

"I simply know that I cannot stand by and see Alice--Mademoiselle
Roussillon, forced to suffer treatment too beastly for an Indian thief.
That's the only direction there is for me to look at it from, and you
can understand my feelings if you will; you know that very well, Father
Beret. When a man loves a girl, he loves her; that's the whole thing.".

The quiet, inscrutable half-smile flickered once more on Father Beret's
face; but he sat silent some time with a sinewy forefinger lying
alongside his nose. When at last he spoke it was in a tone of voice
indicative of small