the doorway, nearer and nearer. At first she was so struck with terror
that she could not move. Then with a little cry she sprang to her feet,
rushed to the gate, threw it open, ran out into the road, ind wildly on
towards home. She did not stop for at least three hundred yards.
Turning and looking back she saw at the church door a pale round light.
With another cry she sped on, and did not pause till she reached the
house. Then, bursting in and locking the door, she hurried to her room,
undressed quickly, got into bed without saying her prayers, and buried
her face in the pillow, shivering and overwrought.

The footsteps she had heard were those of the Cure and Jo Portugais. The
Cure had sent for Jo to do some last work upon a little altar, to be used
the next day for the first time. The carpenter and the carver in wood
who were responsible for the work had fallen victims to white whiskey on
the very last day of their task, and had been driven from the church by
the Cure, who then sent for Jo. Rosalie had not seen the light at the
shrine, as it was on the side of the church farthest from the village.

Their labour finished, the two came towards the front door, the Cure's
lantern in his hand. Opening the door, Jo heard the sound of footsteps
and saw a figure flying down the road. As the Cure came out
abstractedly, he glanced sorrowfully towards the place where the little
cross was used to be. He gave a wondering cry, and almost dropped the
lantern.

"See, see, Portugais," he said, "our little cross again!" Jo nodded.
"So it seems, Monsieur," he said.

At that instant he saw a hood lying on the ground, and as the Cure held
up the lantern, peering at the little cross, he hastily picked it up and