ssional conceit no whit impaired by juxtaposition with
these glacial and solitary surroundings. He handed his card to the
priest and bowed to them both.

"_Mon Dieu_!" muttered Father Rielle, "it is true then! You saw it
all! You saw it all--I can see!"

"What there was to see, I certainly saw," returned M. Lalonde, with a
careless glance of pity at the forlorn figure of Ringfield. "I not
only saw, but I heard. I followed this gentleman from the Hotel
Champlain as he followed--our late acquaintance--to this place. Permit
me, monsieur, permit me, _monsieur le cure_, to testify if necessary
that you are entirely guiltless of the death."

"In act, yes, but not in thought," groaned Ringfield in deepest anguish.

"The law cannot punish for sins of thought; we leave that to the
Church. If, monsieur, you had but inquired further into what is known
now in provincial annals as the Archambault affair, perhaps you might
have been spared some misapprehension and much suffering. Mr. Henry
Clairville left a wife."

"A wife!"

"You did not know that? Eh? A wife certainly, as well as a child. A
daughter."

"But who----"

"I reciprocate your astonishment. The child's nurse is its mother;
she, the empty-headed, the foolish Artemise. She was not of age, it is
true, but there--it is done and who cares now, who will interfere or
contest? The matter will drop out of sight completely in a few days;
meanwhile, monsieur, I return as I came. The morning is fine and I
shall enjoy my walk back to the station at Bois Clair. _Monsieur le
cure_, you have my card. At any time in your _paroisse_ should you
have any more interesting family secrets to divulge, pray do not forget
my address. _Allons_! I will walk with you to the scene of the
tragedy, as we shall see it shortly described in the papers. As for
you, monsieur, have courage and be tranquil. Rest, monsieur, rest for
awhile and leave these scenes of strife and unhappiness as soon as you
can. I understand your case; my professional knowledge avails me here,
but there are some who might not understand, and so make it hard for
you."

The priest looked at Lalonde's card and then at Ringfield.

"Sinner, or worse," he cried, "I cannot, cannot stay. I must go where
my duty calls me and see if I can be of use, see whether a man lives or
has been shot down to death. Do nothing till I return; at least do
nothing desperate. I will seek you as soon as I may. There will