to the floor. For one moment longer he was
conscious that the bell had stopped, that there was dead silence, that
Father Paul was kneeling by him beneath the cross, with bowed head--then
all objects around vanished; and he saw and knew nothing more.

When he recovered his senses, he was still in the cabin; the man whose
life his father had attempted was bending over him, and sprinkling
water on his face; and the clear voices of the women and children of the
congregation were joining the voices of the men in singing the _Agnus
Dei._

"Look up at me without fear, Gabriel," said the priest. "I desire not to
avenge injuries: I visit not the sins of the father on the child. Look
up, and listen! I have strange things to speak of; and I have a sacred
mission to fulfill before the morning, in which you must be my guide."

Gabriel attempted to kneel and kiss his hand but Father Paul stopped
him, and said, pointing to the cross: "Kneel to that--not to me; not to
your fellow-mortal, and your friend--for I will be your friend, Gabriel;
believing that God's mercy has ordered it so. And now listen to me,"
he proceeded, with a brotherly tenderness in his manner which went to
Gabriel's heart. "The service is nearly ended. What I have to tell you
must be told at once; the errand on which you will guide me must be
performed before to-morrow dawns. Sit here near me, and attend to what I
now say!"

Gabriel obeyed; Father Paul then proceeded thus:

"I believe the confession made to you by your grandfather to have been
true in every particular. On the evening to which he referred you, I
approached your cottage, as he said, for the purpose of asking shelter
for the night. At that period I had been studying hard to qualify myself
for the holy calling which I now pursue; and, on the completion of
my studies, had indulged in the recreation of a tour on foot through
Brittany, by way of innocently and agreeably occupying the leisure time
then at my disposal, before I entered the priesthood. When I accosted
your father I had lost my way, had been walking for many hours, and was
glad of any rest that I could get for the night. It is unnecessary to
pain you now, by reference to the events which followed my entrance
under your father's roof. I remember nothing that happened from the
time when I lay down to sleep before the fire, until the time when I
recovered my senses at the place which you call the Merchant's Table. My
first sensation was tha