Yet again she dared to pray,—­here in this solitude, to ask for that Holy Spirit, the Enlightener.  And it was truly with trembling, in the face of all presentiments of what the gift might possibly, must certainly, import to her.  But what was she, that she could withstand God, or His gift, for any fear of the result that might attend the giving of the gift?

Divinely she seemed to be inspired with that courageous thought.  She rose up, as if to follow the laborers who had already gone to Meaux.  But she had not passed out from the shadow of the great trees when another shadow fell along her path.

III.

It was Victor Le Roy who was so close at hand.  He recognized Jacqueline; for, as he came down the road, now and then he caught a glimpse of her red peasant-dress.  And he accepted his persuasion as it had been an assurance; for he believed that on such a night no other girl would linger alone near the place of her day’s labor.  Moreover, while passing the group of harvesters, he had observed that she was not among them.

The acquaintance of these young persons was but slight; yet it was of such a character as must needs increase.  Within the last fortnight they had met repeatedly in the room of Leclerc’s mother.  On the last night of her son’s preaching they had together listened to his words.  The young student with manly aspirations, ambitious, courageous, inquiring, and the peasant girl who toiled in fields and vineyards, were on the same day hearkening to the call, “Ho, every one that thirsteth!” with the consciousness that the call was meant for them.

When Victor Le Roy saw that Jacqueline perceived and recognized him, he also observed the tracts in her hand and the trouble in her countenance, and he wondered in his heart whether she could be ignorant of what had passed that day at Meaux, and if it could be possible that her manifest disturbance arose from any perplexity or disquietude independent of the sentence that had been passed on John Leclerc.  His first words brought an answer that satisfied his doubt.

“She has chosen that good part which shall not be taken from her,” said he, as he came near.  “The country is so fair, could no one of them all except Jacqueline see that?  Were they all drawn away by the bloody fascination of Meaux? even Elsie?”

“It was the news that hurried her home with the rest,” answered she, almost pleased at this disturbance of the solitude.

“Did that keep you here, Jacqueline?” he asked.  “It sent me out of the city.  The dust choked me.  Every face looked like a devil’s.  To-morrow night, to-morrow night, the harvesters will hurry all the faster.  Terrible curiosity!  And if they find traces of his blood along the streets, there will be enough to talk about through the rest of the harvesting.  Jacqueline, if the river could be poured through those streets, the sacred blood could never be washed out.  ’Tis not the indignity, nor the cruelty, I think of most, but the barbarous, wild sin.  Shall a man’s truest liberty be taken from him, as though, indeed, he were not a man of God, but the spiritual subject of his fellows?  If that is their plan, they may light the fires,—­there are many who will not shrink from sealing their faith with their blood.”