a mysterious protector whom he regarded with reverent affection
and trusted with entire confidence. At night he dreamed of home,
and constantly visited his father in visions, saying always the
same words, "Father, I am alive and well."

"And now," whispered the child, nestling closer in St. Aubyn's
embrace, "the wonderful thing is that today, for the first and
only time since I have been in this cave, my dog has not come to me!
It looks, does it not, as if in some strange and fairylike way he
really knew what was happening, and had known it all along from
the very beginning! O father! can he be--do you think--can he be
an Angel in disguise? And, to be sure, I patted him, and thought
he was only a dog!"

As the boy, an awed expression in his lifted blue eyes, gave utterance
to this naive idea, I glanced at St. Aubyn's face, and saw that,
though his lips smiled, his eyes were grave and full of grateful wonder.

He turned towards the peasants grouped around us, and in their own
language recited to them the child's story. They listened intently,
from time to time exchanging among themselves intelligent glances
and muttering interjections expressive of astonishment. When the
last word of the tale was spoken, the elder Raoul, who stood at
the entrance of the cave, gazing out over the sunlit valley of the
Arblen, removed his hat with a reverent gesture and crossed himself.

"God forgive us miserable sinners," he said humbly, "and pardon
us our human pride! The Angel of the Lord whom Augustin and I
beheld in our vision, ministering to the lad, is no other than the
dog Gluck who lives at the monastery out yonder! And while we men