you, too, Claude, though now it seem not possible--you shall
recuperate from this. But why say I thus? Think you I would inoculate
the idea that you must despair? Nay, perchance you shall achieve her."
They stood near the lad's pirogue about to say adieu; the schoolmaster
waved his hand backward toward the farther end of the village. "She is
there; in a short time she will cease to continue scholah; then--try."
And again, with still more courageous kindness, he repeated, "Try!
'Tis a lesson that thou shouldest heed--try, try again. If _at_ the
first thou doest _not_ succeed, try, try again."

Claude gazed gratefully into the master's face. Boy that he was, he
did not read aright the anguish gathering there. From his own face the
clouds melted into a glad sunshine of courage, resolve, and
anticipation. Bonaventure saw the spark of hope that he had dropped
into the boy's heart blaze up into his face. And what did Claude see?
The hot blood mounting to the master's brow an instant ere he wheeled
and hurried away.

"'Sieur Bonaventure!" exclaimed Claude; "'Sieur Bonaventure!"

But deaf to all tones alike, Bonaventure moved straight away along
the bushy path, and was presently gone from sight. There is a
repentance of good deeds. Bonaventure Deschamps felt it gnawing and
tearing hard and harder within his bosom as he strode on through the
wild vernal growth that closed in the view on every side. Soon he
halted; then turned, and began to retrace his steps.

"Claude!" The tone was angry and imperative. No answer came. He
quickened his gait. "Claude!" The voice was petulant and imperious. A
turn of the path brought again to view the spot where the two had so
lately parted. No one was there. He moaned and then cried aloud, "O
thou fool, fool, fool!--Claude!" He ran; faster--faster--down the
path, away from all paths, down the little bayou's margin, into the
bushes, into the mud and water. "Claude! Claude! I told you wrongly!
Stop! _Arretez-la!_ I must add somewhat!--Claude!" The bushes snatched
away his hat; tore his garments; bled him in hands and face; yet on he
went into the edge of the forest. "Claude! Ah! Claude, thou hast ruin'
me! Stop, you young rascal!--thief!--robber!--brigand!" A vine caught
and held him fast. "Claude! Claude!"--The echoes multiplied the sound,
and scared from their dead-tree roost a flock of vultures. The dense
wood was wrapping the little bayou in its premature twilight. The
retreating sun, that