of such a poltroon, Jacqueline!  We may look for it in brave men like Leclerc, whose very living depends on their ability to earn their bread,—­to earn it by daily sweat; but men who need not toil, who have leisure and education,—­of course you would not expect such testimony to the truth of Jesus from them!  Bishop Briconnet recants,—­and Martial Mazurier; and Victor Le Roy is no braver man, no truer man than these!”

With bitter shame and self-scorning he spoke.—­Poor Jacqueline had not a word to say.  She sat beside him.  She would help him bear his cross.  Heavy-laden as he, she awaited the future, saying, in the silence of her spirit’s dismal solitude, “Oh, teach us!  Oh, help us!” But she called not on any name; her prayer went out in search of a God whom in that hour she knew not.  The dark cloud and shadow of Satan that overshadowed him was also upon her.

“Mazurier is coming in the morning to take me with him, Jacqueline,” said Victor.  “We are to make a journey.”

“What is it, Victor?” she asked, quietly.

There was nothing left for her but patience,—­that she clearly saw,—­nothing but patience, and quiet enduring of the will of God.

“He is afraid of me,—­or of himself,—­or of both, I believe.  He thinks a change of scene would be good for both of us, poor lepers that we are.”

“I must go with you, Victor Le Roy,” said the resolute Jacqueline.

“Wherefore?” asked he.

“Because, when you were strong and happy, that was your desire, Victor; and now that you are sick and sorrowing, I will not give you to another:  no! not to Mazurier, nor to any one that breathes, except myself, to whom you belong.”

“I must stay here in Meaux, then?”

“That depends upon yourself, Victor.”

“We were to have been married.  We were going to look after our estate, now that the hard summer and the hard years of work are ended.”

“Yes, Victor, it was so.”

“But I will not wrong you.  You were to be the wife of Victor Le Roy.  You are his widow, Jacqueline.  For you do not think that he lives any longer?”

“He lives, and he is free!  If he has sinned, like Peter even, he weeps bitterly.”

“Like Peter?  Peter denied his Lord.  But he did weep, as you say,—­bitterly.  Peter confessed again.”

“And none served the Master with truer heart or greater courage afterward.  Victor, you remember.”

“Even so,—­oh, Jacqueline!”

“Victor!  Victor! it was only Judas who hanged himself.”

“Come, Jacqueline!”

She arose and went with him.  At dawn they were married.  Love did lead and save them.

I see two youthful students studying one page.  I see two loving spirits walking through thick darkness.  Along the horizon flicker the promises of day.  They say, “O Holy Ghost, hast thou forsaken thine own temples?” Aloud they cry to God.