Two hours passed, and during these two hours Marie fought out her battle
with herself. When M. le curé missed her, he went to look for her at her
father's house, and not finding her there, the idea occurred to him that
she might be still on the pier. Returning, he found her. Laying a gentle
hand on her down-bent head, he said:

"My child, come home with me. You must not give way like this, such grief
is wrong, and--he is not worthy of it."

"Oh! my father," said Marie, lifting a wan, white face to his, "life is
indeed hard."

"Yes," said the curé, raising his hat reverently, and looking out towards
the cold, unfathomable waters of the great Gulf. "And, my child, there is
only One who can help us on that rough path."




CHAPTER VIII

TEN YEARS AFTER.

"Oh! wouldst thou set thy rank before thyself?
Wouldst thou be honored for thyself or that?
Rank that excels the wearer, doth degrade,
Riches impoverish that divide respect."

_Sheridan Knowles_