you off, if need be, and his conscience will never suffer a
moment's pang, provided he find a priest to patter the words of
the marriage-service over you, if, indeed, he even hold such a
concession to your feelings necessary. The presence of his mother
and sister is no real protection, and even his absence is no
assurance of safety, for he can readily find means to carry out
his purpose without appearing on the scene himself. You had better
stay within-doors, or at least within sight of the house, until
the immediate danger is past. I will not go with you farther now,
as I have no wish to offer more explanations than may be absolutely
necessary, and I must follow this unhappy man, if haply I yet may
turn him to his duty. Do you go on to the house, and when I return,
perhaps on the morrow, I will see what can be done."

"Oh, mon pere, mon pere, forgive me before I go!" I cried, kneeling
at his feet.

"There is no question of my forgiveness," he answered, coldly. "You
must learn that wrong-doing need not be personal to produce evil.
There is no question of me or thee in the matter at all. It is much
greater, much more serious than any personal feeling, and the
results may swell out of all proportion, that you can see, to your
action. All that can be done now is to remedy it in so far as in
us lies. Go, my daughter, go and ask for guidance, the one thing
needful, far above any mere human forgiveness. But do not go thinking
you have forfeited either my sympathy or my help. I owe both to
you, as to every helpless creature God sends into my path; and,
believe me, no one could appeal more strongly to my poor protection
than do you. Go, my daughter, and may God keep and comfort you!"

I found my way back, dazed and confounded, and could only with the
greatest effort command myself sufficiently to return some coherent
answer to Angelique's inquiry as to her brother; but she covered
my confusion with her own liveliness.

"Never marry a soldier, 'mademoiselle!'" she exclaimed. "They
worry one's life out with their eternal comings and goings. As
likely as not Charles is off again, and will never come near us to
say farewell; but that is a bagatelle. The real trouble is that my
mother is an old woman; she realises keenly that any day Charles
may say good-bye for the last time, and to spare her the pain of
parting, he has more than once slipped off quietly like this. Never
was a man so tender of women as my brother Charles! Bu