is thoughts.

"I do not know what Governor Hamilton means to do, Father Beret. It
will be something devilish, however,--something that must not happen,"
said Farnsworth.

Then he recounted all that Hamilton had done and said. He described the
dreary and comfortless room in which Alice was confined, the miserable
fare given her, and how she would be exposed to the leers and low
remarks of the soldiers. She had already suffered these things, and now
that she could no longer have any protection, what was to become of
her? He did not attempt to overstate the case; but presented it with a
blunt sincerity which made a powerfully realistic impression.

Father Beret, like most men of strong feeling who have been subjected
to long years of trial, hardship, multitudinous dangers and all sorts
of temptation, and who have learned the lessons of self-control, had an
iron will, and also an abiding distrust of weak men. He saw
Farnsworth's sincerity; but he had no faith in his constancy, although
satisfied that while resentment of Hamilton's imperiousness lasted, he
would doubtless remain firm in his purpose to aid Alice. Let that wear
off, as in a short time it would, and then what? The old man studied
his companion with eyes that slowly resumed their expression of
smouldering and almost timid geniality. His priestly experience with
desperate men was demanding of him a proper regard for that subtlety of
procedure which had so often compassed most difficult ends.

He listened in silence to Farnsworth's story. When it came to an end he
began to offer some but half relevant suggestions in the form of
indirect cross-questions, by means of which he gradually drew out a
minute description of Alice's prison, the best way to reach it, the
nature of its door-fastenings, where the key was kept, and everything,
indeed, likely to be helpful to one contemplating a jail delivery.
Farnsworth was inwardly delighted. He felt Father Beret's cunning
approach to the central object and his crafty method of gathering
details.

The shades of evening thickened in the stuffy cabin room while the
conversation went on. Father Beret presently lifted a puncheon in one
corner of the floor and got out a large bottle, which bore a mildewed
and faded French label, and with it a small iron cup. There was just
light enough left to show a brownish sparkle when, after popping out
the cork, he poured a draught in the fresh cup and in his own.

"We may think more c