the worse for me,--I mean, him!"

"Yes," said Elizabeth, "you're safe, Sandy. Thank you for telling me."

Sandy walked off with a mind relieved, for he believed in Elizabeth,
and had found the facts communicated too great a burden to bear alone.

She passed through the garden-gate most remote from the fort; it opened
into a lonely road which ran inland from the coast, between the woods
and the prison, and to the woods she went. The shadows were gloomy
to-day, for she went among them lamenting the fate of the
stranger;--the mystery surrounding him had increased, not lessened,
with Sandy's explanation.

Fighting against _the Church_ was an unimagined crime. Of the great
conflict in which he had taken part, to the ruin of his fortunes, she
knew nothing. The disputes of Christendom, had they been explained,
would have seemed almost incredible to her. For, whatever was known and
discussed in the circle of the Governor of the island, Drummer Montier,
and such as he, kept the peace with all mankind. The Church took care
of itself, and appeared neither the oppressor nor the Saviour of the
world. What they had fought about in the first years of the possession
of Foray, Montier could hardly have told,--and yet he was no fool. He
could have given, of course, a partisan version of the struggle; but as
to its real cause, or true result, he knew as little as the other five
hundred men belonging to the regiment.

While Elizabeth wandered through those gloomy woods, she saw no
flowers, gathered no wild fruits,--though flowers and berries were
perfect and abundant. Now and then she paused in her walk to look