ad been
bending like whips before the rushing wind, stood now stiff and stark
against the wan sky. There was not even motion enough in the air to
clear away the white mists which hung around. Only the troubled sea
remained to mark the passage of the storm.

Paul was in no mood for talking. He recognised the fact that what had
happened to him that evening must, to a certain extent, colour his
whole life. He wanted to think it over quietly, now that he was away
from the influence of Adrea's passionately beautiful face and pleading
eyes. He had an inward sense of great disappointment in himself, and
he was anxious to see how far this was justified. He was prepared for
a rigid self-examination, and he was impatient to begin upon it.
But, while he was still upon the threshold of his meditations, his
companion's voice sounded in his ear.

"Paul de Vaux, I have a word or two to say to you."

Paul awoke with a start. "Certainly!" he said gravely. "I am ready."

Father Adrian continued, speaking slowly and keeping his eyes fixed
steadily upon Paul; "Only a few nights ago we met amongst the ruins of
your old Abbey. You will remember that I spoke to you of your father's
last hours, of a strange story confided to my keeping--a story of sin
and of sorrow--a story casting its shadow far into the future. You
remember this?"

"Perfectly!"

"At first you seemed to consider that this story, told to me on
his deathbed by a man who was at least repentant, should be held
sacred--sacred to me as a priest of the Holy Church, and sacred to you
as his son. Yet, as you saw afterwards, it was not so. The confession
was made to me as a man; and withal it was made by one outside the
pale of any religion whatever. It was mine to do as I chose with! It
is mine now!"

"If it is anything which concerns me, or the honour of my family, you
should tell me. If it involves wrongs which should be righted, or in
any way concerns the future, you should tell me. You must have come
for that purpose! You must mean to eventually, or why should you have
found your way to this out-of-the-way corner of the world. Let me hear
it now, Father Adrian!"

"It will darken your life!"

"I do not believe it! At any rate I will judge for myself. Let me hear
it!"

The priest looked away into the darkness, and his voice was low and
hoarse. "You do not know what you ask!" he said. "No, I shall not tell
you yet. It is for your own sake! Sometimes I think that I will