what he was? If he was not a Catholic, were he Buddhist, pagan, or
Protestant, the position for them personally was the same. "I am very
sorry," he said gently. "I might have helped you had you been a
Catholic."

The eye-glass came like lightning to the eye, and a caustic, questioning
phrase was on the tongue, but Charley stopped himself in time. For,
apart from all else, this priest had been his friend in calamity, had
acted with a charming sensibility. The eye-glass troubled the Cure, and
the look on Charley's face troubled him still more, but it passed as
Charley said, in a voice as simple as the Cure's own:

"You may still help me as you have already done. I give you my word,
too"--strange that he touched his lips with his tongue as he did in the
old days when his mind turned to Jean Jolicoeur's saloon--"that I will do
nothing to cause regret for your humanity and--and Christian kindness."
Again the tongue touched the lips--a wave of the old life had swept over
him, the old thirst had rushed upon him. Perhaps it was the force of
this feeling which made him add, with a curious energy, "I give you my
word, Monsieur le Cure." At that moment the door opened and Jo entered.

"M'sieu'," he said to Charley, "a registered parcel has come for you.
It has been brought by the postmaster's daughter. She will give it to no
one but yourself."

Charley's face paled, and the Cure's was scarcely less pale. In
Charley's mind was the question, Who had discovered his presence here?
Was he not, then, to escape? Who should send him parcels through the
post?