dread story, how he had told
her, not an hour ago, that if anything should happen that she did not
take the veil, it would be impossible for him to believe.

She told him, too, that even were her parents willing she should marry
him, she could never be perfectly happy. Her conscience would never
cease to upbraid her; from her childhood she had been taught to look
forward to being a nun. She kissed the cross passionately as she
ceased.

He noted the religious light in her eyes, and something told him that
it was useless to argue; that nothing he could say would break down
her strong religious convictions. The sudden revulsion from great
happiness to despair was bitter indeed, and sitting down he buried his
face in his hands.

Adele walked rapidly away a few steps, then turned and looked back.
His dejected attitude smote her sorely. Again she turned, as though
she would leave him, but turned again and looked at him pityingly.
Well she knew that in the long quiet years which were to come, that
lonely figure in the quaint garden would haunt her, and that the
memory of his great sorrow would be the heavy cross she would have to
bear as long as life lasted.

So quietly did she steal behind him, that he was not aware she had
returned. Her lips moved as though she were about to speak to him, but
no sound came from them. It was so hard not to lean forward and rest
her hand on the thick dark hair, and tell him how much easier it would
be for her to bear her lot if he would only say he forgave her and
would try and think kindly of her. It came to her at last how,
perhaps, she might ease his sorrows. She unclasped the little silver
crucifix from around her neck, kissed it, and then gently slipped it
into the pocket of his coat, which hung over the side of the bench.
She then turned and fled along the grass to the house.

* * * * *

Once more the sound of church bells floated into the little cottage
and fell upon the expectant ears of farmer Frechette and his wife,
while a proud look lit up their faces.

"At last!" said the old man, exultantly, going to the window and
looking at the church and the convent nestling at its side. The bells
no longer mocked him, and he had ceased to hate them. Once more he
stretched his gaunt arm toward the glistening tower. "The Church has
not deceived us," he said humbly. Then he turned to his wife, who was
waiting for him at the door.

Very slowly, arm in ar