his note to Smithers, and sent him off with a fisherman to the THROSTLE,
he took up his hat, and went out upon the beach, that lay glistening
in the morning sun, then turned straight towards the tall spire of the
church, with had been their last night's guide. Philip caught his cloak.

'You are never going there, Berenger?'

'Vex me not now,' was all the reply he got. 'There the dead and living
meet together.'

'But, brother, they will take you for one of their own sort.'

'Let them.'

Philip was right that it was neither a prudent nor consistent
proceeding, but Berenger had little power of reflection, and his impulse
at present bore him into the church belonging to his native faith and
land, without any defined felling, save that it was peace to kneel
there among the scattered worshippers, who came and went with their
fish-baskets in their hands, and to hear the low chant of the priest and
his assistant from within the screen.

Philip meantime marched up and down outside in much annoyance, until the
priest and his brother came out, when the first thing he heard the good
Colombeau say was, 'I would have called upon you before, my son, but
that I feared you were a Huguenot.'

'I am an English Protestant,' said Berenger; 'but, ah! sir, I needed
comfort too much to stay away from prayer.'

Pere Colombeau looked at him in perplexity, thinking perhaps that here
might be a promising convert, if there were only time to work on him;
but Berenger quitted the subject at once, asking the distance to Lucon.

'A full day's journey,' answered Pere Colombeau, and added, 'I am sorry
you are indeed a Huguenot. It was what I feared last night, but I feared
to add to your grief. The nuns are not permitted to deliver up children
to Huguenot relations.'

'I am her father!' exclaimed Berenger, indignantly.

'That goes for nothing, according to the rules of the Church,' said the
priest. 'The Church cannot yield her children to heresy.'

'But we in England and not Calvinists,' cried Berenger. 'We are not like
your Huguenots.'

'The Church would make no difference,' said the priest. 'Stay, sir,'
as Berenger stuck his own forehead, and was about to utter a fierce
invective. 'Remember that if your child lives, it is owing to the pity
of the good nuns. You seem not far from the bosom of the Church. Did you
but return---'

'It is vain to speak of that,' said Berenger, quickly. 'Say, sir, would
an order from the King avail to open t