“Aye, indeed! how came this scar upon your brow?”

“And on his hands, too; see, dear father!” exclaimed the blacksmith, with renewed surprise, while he seized one of the hands which the young priest held out towards him in order to tranquillize his fears.

“Gabriel, my brave boy, explain this to us!” added Dagobert; “who has wounded you thus?” and in his turn, taking the other hand of the missionary, he examined the scar upon it with the eye of a judge of wounds, and then added, “In Spain, one of my comrades was found and taken down alive from a cross, erected at the junction of several roads, upon which the monks had crucified, and left him to die of hunger, thirst, and agony.  Ever afterwards he bore scars upon his hands, exactly similar to this upon your hand.”

“My father is right!” exclaimed Agricola.  “It is evident that your hands have been pierced through!  My poor brother!” and Agricola became grievously agitated.

“Do not think about it,” said Gabriel, reddening with the embarrassment of modesty.  “Having gone as a missionary amongst the savages of the Rocky Mountains, they crucified me, and they had begun to scalp me, when Providence snatched me from their hands.”

“Unfortunate youth,” said Dagobert; “without arms then?  You had not a sufficient escort for your protection?”

“It is not for such as me to carry arms.” said Gabriel, sweetly smiling; “and we are never accompanied by any escort.”

“Well, but your companions, those who were along with you, how came it that they did not defend you?” impetuously asked Agricola.

“I was alone, my dear brother.”

“Alone!”

“Yes, alone; without even a guide.”

“You alone! unarmed! in a barbarous country!” exclaimed Dagobert, scarcely crediting a step so unmilitary, and almost distrusting his own sense of hearing.

“It was sublime!” said the young blacksmith and poet.

“The Christian faith,” said Gabriel, with mild simplicity, “cannot be implanted by force or violence.  It is only by the power of persuasion that the gospel can be spread amongst poor savages.”

“But when persuasions fail!” said Agricola.

“Why, then, dear brother, one has but to die for the belief that is in him, pitying those who have rejected it, and who have refused the blessings it offers to mankind.”

There was a period of profound silence after the reply of Gabriel, which was uttered with simple and touching pathos.

Dagobert was in his own nature too courageous not to comprehend a heroism thus calm and resigned; and the old soldier, as well as his son, now contemplated Gabriel with the most earnest feelings of mingled admiration and respect.

Gabriel, entirely free from the affection of false modesty, seemed quite unconscious of the emotions which he had excited in the breasts of his two friends; and he therefore said to Dagobert, “What ails you?”