that choked it, with her child for mourner, and herself for sexton and
priest, she buried Antoine with maimed rites: but hers were the prayers
of the poor, and of the pure in heart; and she did not fret because,
in the hour that her comrade was put away into the dark, the world was
laughing at the thought of coming summer.

Before another sunrise, the owners of the island of St. Jean claimed what
was theirs; and because that which had happened worked upon their hearts,
they called the child St. Jean, and from that time forth they made him to
enjoy the goodly fruits of the Rose Tree Mine.





THE CIPHER

Hilton was staying his horse by a spring at Guidon Hill when he first
saw her. She was gathering may-apples; her apron was full of them. He
noticed that she did not stir until he rode almost upon her. Then she
started, first without looking round, as does an animal, dropping her
head slightly to one side, though not exactly appearing to listen.
Suddenly she wheeled on him, and her big eyes captured him. The look
bewildered him. She was a creature of singular fascination. Her face
was expressive. Her eyes had wonderful light. She looked happy, yet
grave withal; it was the gravity of an uncommon earnestness. She gazed
through everything, and beyond. She was young--eighteen or so.

Hilton raised his hat, and courteously called a good-morning at her. She
did not reply by any word, but nodded quaintly, and blinked seriously and