The Tale of the Priest

He made the sign of the Cross.

"The curse of Holy Church is upon them all; they are condemned to hell," he exclaimed with fervor. "A vile pestilence to be stamped out; yet it would afford me joy beyond words could I save this man's soul from eternal torture, and lead him back into the true faith. Mother of God! what was it moved yonder?"

I glanced quickly about toward where he pointed, seeing the shadowed figure of our forgotten prisoner.

"'Tis only one of the savages we have captured and bound. He guarded this altar, ministering to the superstition of the tribe; an old man, perchance the very chief priest who held you in the flame."

I anticipated seeing the light of revenge leap into his eyes, but, instead, a rush of pity softened them, and before I could extend my hand to interfere, he crept across the intervening space, and bent over the fellow.

"A most cruel turn on the rope, Monsieur," he exclaimed, busying himself at the knot. "Surely the man will rest easier, and no less safely, with back propped against the rock. Nay, have no fear; I will keep him tied fast if that be your wish, yet I seek to relieve his pain so I may profitably converse with him upon the needs of his soul."

"With him! Saint George! he had small enough mercy on you."

"That is of the past, and abideth not in memory," and the white hands held up the crucifix into the light. "He who died on this Cross prayed, 'Father forgive, they know not what they do,' and who is André Lafossier, to be harsher than his Master?"