A few days later Marie placed the coveted stone in Father Xavier’s hand; but what was his bitter disappointment to find that she had marred the exquisite thing by a rude attempt at a delineation upon it of the vision of the cross.  She had carefully chiselled away the milky white layer, excepting on the crests of some very primitive representations of waves, and within the awkwardly plain cross in the centre of the gem.  All his hopes of cutting a face upon this lovely jewel were crushed; it was ruined by her unskilful work.  Father Xavier was completely master of his own emotions.  He took the stone without remark, and hung it, as Marie requested, about the neck of the Madonna.  Each day as he said mass the sight of the mutilated jewel roused within him resentful feelings against poor, well-wishing little Marie.  He had been very kind to her since he had first seen the stone in the possession of her father, but now it was worse than before.  He avoided her markedly, for the smile which so annoyed him still lighted her face whenever she saw him, and there was in it a reproachful sadness which was even more aggravating than its simple childishness had been.

One day Father Xavier, in turning over his papers, came across an old etching of Venus rising from the sea.  The figure, with its outstretched arms, suggested a possibility to him.  He made a careful tracing of it, took it to the church, and laid it upon the stone.  All of its outlines came within the white cross; there was still hope for the cameo.  All that winter Father Xavier toiled upon it, exhausting his utmost skill, but never exhausting his patience.  His chief trial was in the extreme hardness of the stone, which rapidly wore out his graving tools.  At last it was finished, and Father Xavier confessed to himself, in all humility, that he had not only never executed so delicate a piece of workmanship, but he had never seen its equal.  Every curve of the exquisite-hued waves was studied from the swell that sometimes swept grandly in from the lake on the long reef of rocks a few miles above St. Ignace.  The form of the goddess was modelled from his remembrance of the Greek antique.  It was a gem worthy of an emperor.  What should he do with it?

As the spring ripened into summer, ambitious thoughts flowered in Pere Francis Xavier’s soul.  What a grand bishopric this whole western country would make with its unexplored wealth of mines, and furs, and forest!  Why should he be obliged to make reports of the revenue which his own financiering had secured to the mission, to the head at Montreal?  Why should not his reverence the Lord Bishop Francis Xavier dwell in an episcopal palace built somewhere on these lakes, with unlimited spiritual and temporal sway over all this country?  To effect such a scheme it would be necessary for him to see both the King of France and the Pope.  He was not sure that even if he could return to Europe immediately, he had the influence necessary in either quarter, but