"David, I've preached a strange code through the wilderness for many a
long year," he said, and his voice was vibrant with a strong emotion.
"I'm not Catholic and I'm not Church of England. I've got no religion
that wears a name. I'm simply Father Roland, and all these years I've
helped to bury the dead in the forest, an' nurse the sick, an' marry the
living, an' it may be that I've learned one thing better than most of
you who live down in civilization. And that's how to find yourself when
you're down an' out. Boy, will you come with me?"

Their eyes met. A fiercer gust of the storm beat against the windows.
They could hear the wind wailing in the trees outside.

"It was your story that you told me," said Father Roland, his voice
barely above a whisper. "She was your wife, David?"

It was very still for a few moments. Then came the reply: "Yes, she was
my wife...."

Suddenly David freed his hand from the Little Missioner's clasp. He had
stopped something that was almost like a cry on his lips. He pulled his
hat still lower over his eyes and went through the door out into the
main part of the coach.

Father Roland did not follow. Some of the ruddiness had gone from his
cheeks, and as he stood facing the door through which David had
disappeared a smouldering fire began to burn far back in his eyes. After
a few moments this fire died out, and his face was gray and haggard as
he sat down again in his corner. His hands unclenched. With a great sigh
his head drooped forward on his chest, and for a long time he sat thus,