whole face of nature. Presently, however, from
the open windows of the church comes a song, faint at first, but swelling
louder and stronger, on the evening breeze:

"Maria, Maria, ora pro nobis,
Ora, ora pro nobis, Sancta Maria."

It is the evening hymn of the cure and his acolytes pealing out on the
still evening air. Higher and higher one treble voice goes like the cry
of a soul in agonized entreaty:

"Maria, Maria, Sancta Maria,
Ora, ora pro nobis."

Then it dies away, and all is still except the ever-present swish! swish!
of the rising tide against the great boulders on the beach.

"Oh! I say, Webster," said young Brown, in his mincing, affected tone,
"why not, after they have finished in there," he pointed to the church,
"go in and ask the priest whether he knows anything of these people? He
ought to know them if anyone does. Good idea, eh?"

"Yes," said the old lawyer, turning round suddenly and looking rather
annoyed, for in spite of his hard crust of Scotch dryness, his young
clerk's voice has jarred on him at this moment. He had been deeply moved
by the beauty of the scene, and the sweet tones coming from the church
had stirred within him long-forgotten memories.

"Yes, for once you have hit on a bright idea, and we will act on it. Let
us go in and see the priest. And, my young friend, remember that most of
these priests are gentlemen, so mind your manners."

"I expect that house next the church is his," replied young Brown. "We
can walk slowly on, and, in the meantime, the priest will come from his
devotions."

CHAPTER V.

"A parish priest was of the pilgrim train;
An awful reverend and religious man.
His eyes diffused a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face.
Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor
(As God hath clothed his own ambassador),
For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore."

Dryden.

Rene Bois-le-Duc, cure of Father Point, had just come home, and was
preparing to take his ease after a hard day's toil, anticipating the
arrival of the pilgrims, who were about to visit the church of the Good
St. Anne.

The cure was a man of some sixty years of age, though looking older, for
his had been a hard and toilsome life. Though secluded from the busy
world, he had had heavy responsibilities forced upon him, and there was
no one of his own class and education in these parts to cheer and
sympathize with him in his rare moments of