"They are after me, I tell you, and if I am
taken back it will be to answer to a charge of murder. Of course, I
didn't mean it, you understand. One of the guards was in my way,
and--well, there's one guard less in the world, that's all."
He had come to the house late that night and she had given him food,
some of his own clothes which still hung in his room and which the
mother had never allowed anyone to touch, and all the money she "could
lay hands on." It was not much but it was every cent she had. She had
heard nothing from him since, and the suspense of the last two days had
been agonizing, the alternate hopes and fears, the wondering, wondering
where he was, what was happening to him at that very moment.
The click of the garden gate and a footstep upon the gravel walk caused
her to turn hastily and descend the veranda steps. At first, she thought
it was Philippe come back to her, but a second glance showed that the
figure approaching through the dusk was that of good Father Anselm, her
parish priest. He was a young man, only recently appointed to the town,
but he knew her story and had frequently helped her with kindly advice
and sympathy. Her heart stood still as she watched his approach.
Something in his manner, something in his face seen dimly through the
gathering darkness, told her that he was the bearer of evil tidings.
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