d for reflection, which I mumbled in secret.

A day or two afterwards I joined Camille at midday on the heights where
he was pasturing his flocks. He had shifted his ground a little distance
westwards, and I could not find him at once. At last I spied him, his
back to a rock, his hand dabbled for coolness in a little runnel that
trickled at his side. He looked up and greeted me with a smile. He had
conceived an affection for me, this poor lost soul.

"It will go soon," he said, referring to the miniature streamlet. "It is
safe in the woods; but to-morrow or next day the sun will lap it up ere
it can reach the skirt of the shadow above there. A farewell kiss to you,
little stream!"

He bent and sipped a mouthful of the clear water. He was in a more
reasonable state than he had shown for long, though it was now close
on the moon's final quarter, a period that should have marked a more
general tenor of placidity in him. The summer solstice, was, however, at
hand, and the weather sultry to a degree--as it had been, I did not fail
to remember, the year of his seizure.

"Camille," I said, "why to-day hast thou shifted thy ground a little in
the direction of the Buet ravine?"

He sat up at once, with a curious, eager look in his face.

"Monsieur has asked it," he said. "It was to impel Monsieur to ask it
that I moved. Does Monsieur seek a guide?"

"Wilt thou lead me, Camille?"

"Monsieur, last night I dreamed and one came to me. Was it my father? I
know not, I know not. But he put my forehead to his breast, and the evil
left it, and I remembered without terror. 'Reveal the secret to the
stranger,' he said; 'that he may share thy burden and comfort thee; for
he is strong where thou art weak, and the vision shall not scare him.'
Monsieur, wilt thou come?"

He leaped to his feet, and I to mine.

"Lead on, Camille. I follow."

He called to the leader of his flock: "Petitjean! stray not, my little
one. I shall be back sooner than the daisies close." Then he turned to me
again. I noticed a pallid, desperate look in his face, as though he were
strung to great effort; but it was the face of a mindless one still.

"Do you not fear?" he said, in a whisper; and the apple in his throat
seemed all choking core.

"I fear nothing," I answered with a smile; yet the still sombreness of
the woods found a little tremor in my breast.

"It is good," he answered, regarding me. "The angel spoke truth. Follow,
Monsieur."

He went o