"High tide has started."

"The sea is coming."

Mariet kisses her father's hand.

"Woman!" says the priest tenderly. "Listen, Gart, isn't it strange
that this--a woman"--he strokes his daughter tenderly with his finger
on her pure forehead--"should be born of me, a man?"

Haggart smiles.

"And is it not strange that this should have become a wife to me, a
man?" He embraces Mariet, bending her frail shoulders.

"Let us go to eat, Gart, my son. Whoever she may be, I know one
thing well. She has prepared for you and me an excellent dinner."

The people disperse quickly. Mariet says confusedly and cheerfully:

"I'll run first."

"Run, run," answers the abbot. "Gart, my son, call the atheist to
dinner. I'll hit him with a spoon on the forehead; an atheist
understands a sermon best of all if you hit him with a spoon."

He waits and mutters:

"The boy has commenced to ring the bells again. He does it for
himself, the rogue. If we did not lock the steeple, they would pray