conf

Natural calm was more pitiful than any outburst of grief
could have been, and an immeasurable compassion spoke in the priest's
voice as he told the story of Philippe's death. "He was hiding in the
deserted hut in Planter's Wood (you know the spot, Cecile) and they
discovered his place of concealment. They had been following after him
for days but he thought he would be safe there and

could come out at night and procure food from you. There was a short,
sharp struggle in which he received a mortal wound. Doctors were sent
for; I, too, was summoned. Thank God, he was conscious up to the very
last and I arrived in time to

reconcile him with the Master whose love he had outraged, whose
commands he had broken. His end was very quiet and peaceful, he simply
closed his eyes and fell asleep as a little baby might. "But we must
not stand here talking, my child. We have a duty to perform, you and I,
and we must be brave and perform that duty
at once, difficult though it may be. Where is your mother, Cecile? She
will have to be told before--before they arrive. I came on ahead for
that very purpose." "We cannot tell

her, Father, we cannot. It will kill her." "We _must_ tell her; it will
be impossible to hide it. Take me to her and we will tell her together.
God will be with us and will help
us, my child." "Oh! if God would only spare her, if He would only spare
her! If He would only open a way so we need
not tell her!" Her brain was in a whirl as she mounted the stairs; she
was stunned,

broken. Of one thing only was she perfectly conscious. Philippe was
coming and his moth