stared, bewildered. It was a woman, young, if her figure were to be
trusted. His cigar dropped in the grass, and there he let it lie. His
gaze never left her as she walked on; and he could scarcely be blamed,
for he was still under thirty-five and feminine early twenties has an
interest to masculine full youth. He had never seen anyone quite so
charming. And so he watched the lady as she walked to the edge of the
bluff overlooking the sea, and turned to the left to go along the
pathway toward the village.

Five hundred yards away she was met by a tall man wearing a long black
coat. Was it the priest he had noticed that morning at the door of the
Catholic church in the village? Yes, there was no doubt about that; it
was the priest. He had just lifted his hat to the lady and was now
turning to walk back with her by the way he had come. They evidently
knew each other well; and the man watching them almost laughed at
himself when he realized that he was slightly piqued at the clergyman's
daring to know her while he did not. He watched the pair until they
disappeared around the bend of the bluff path. Then he settled back to
look for his cigar. But he did not find it, for other matters quickly
absorbed his attention.

From out a clump of bushes on his left, where they evidently had been
hiding, two men appeared. He recognized them both. One was a book
agent who was stopping at the hotel in the village; the other was the
local constable. The book agent had a paper in his hand.

"That her?" he asked.

"Yaas, sir!"--the constable was surely a native New Englander--"I seed
her face plain."