Day showed the ocean's surface no longer glassy, but lying like a mirror
breathed upon; and there between the short headlands came a sail, gray
and plain against the flat water. The priest watched through his glasses,
and saw the gradual sun grow strong upon the canvas of the barkentine.
The message from his world was at hand, yet to-day he scarcely cared so
much. Sitting in his garden yesterday, he could never have imagined such
a change. But his heart did not hail the barkentine as usual. Books,
music, pale paper, and print--this was all that was coming to him,
some of its savor had gone; for the siren voice of Life had been speaking
with him face to face, and in his spirit, deep down, the love of the
world was restlessly answering it. Young Gaston showed more eagerness
than the Padre over this arrival of the vessel that might be bringing
Trovatore in the nick of time. Now he would have the chance, before he
took his leave, to help rehearse the new music with the choir. He would
be a missionary, too: a perfectly new experience.

"And you still forgive Verdi the sins of his youth?" he said to his host.
"I wonder if you could forgive mine?"

"Verdi has left his behind him," retorted the Padre.

"But I am only twenty-five!" exclaimed Gaston, pathetically.

"Ah, don't go away soon!" pleaded the exile. It was the first unconcealed
complaint that had escaped him, and he felt instant shame.

But Gaston was too much elated with the enjoyment of each new day to
comprehend the Padre's soul. The shafts of another's pain might hardly
pierce the bright armor of his gaiety. He mistook the priest's entreaty,