Parables of a Province | Page 7

the priest to think upon our home as a little nest God set up here for such as he."
"There are places of shelter in the hills for thy father, my Fanchon."
"And when the priest prayed, 'That Thou mayst bring us safely to this place where we would go,' my father said so softly, 'We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord!'"
"My Fanchon, thy father hath gone this trail many times."
"The prayer was for the out-trail, not the in-trail, my mother."
"Nay, I do not understand thee."
"A swarm of bees came singing through the room last night, my mother. It was dark and I could not see, but there was a sweet smell, and I heard the voices."
"My child, thou art tired with watching, and thy mind is full of fancies. Thou must sleep."
"I am tired of watching. Through the singing of the bees as they passed over my bed, I heard my father's voice. I could not hear the words, they seemed so far away, like the voices of the bees; and I did not cry out, for the tears were in my throat. After a moment the room was so still that it made my heart ache."
"Oh, my Fanchon, my child, thou dost break my heart! Dost thou not know the holy words?"
"'And their souls do pass like singing bees, where no man may follow. These are they whom God gathereth out of the whirlwind and the desert, and bringeth home in a goodly swarm.'"
Night drew close to the earth, and as suddenly as a sluice-gate drops and holds back a flood the storm ceased. Along the crest of the hills there slowly grew a line of light, and then the serene moon came up and on, persistent to give the earth love where it had had punishment. Divers flocks of clouds, camp-followers of the storm, could not abash her. But once she drew shrinking back behind a slow troop of them; for down at the bottom of a gorge lay a mountaineer, face upward and unmoving, as he had lain since a rock loosened beneath him, and the depths swallowed him. If he had had ears to hear, he would have answered the soft, bitter cries which rose from a but on the Voshti Hills above him:
"Michel, Michel, art thou gone?"
"Come back, oh, my father, come back!"
But perhaps it did avail that there were lighted candles before a little shrine, and that a mother, in her darkness, kissed the feet of One on a Calvary.

THE WHITE OMEN
"Ah, Monsieur, Monsieur, come quick!"
"My son, wilt thou not be patient?"
"But she--my Fanchon--and the child!"
"I knew thy Fanchon, and her father, when thou wast yet a child."
"But they may die before we come, Monsieur."
"These things are in God's hands, Gustave."
"You are not a father; you have never known what makes the world seem nothing."
"I knew thy Fanchon's father."
"Is that the same?"
"There are those who save and those who die for others. Of thy love thou wouldst save--the woman hath lain in thine arms, the child is of this. But to thy Fanchon's father I was merely a priest--we had not hunted together nor met often about the fire, and drew fast the curtains for the tales which bring men close. He took me safely on the out-trail, but on the home-trail he was cast away. Dost thou not think the love of him that stays as great as the love of him that goes?"
"Ah, thou wouldst go far to serve my wife and child!"
"Love knows not distance; it hath no continent; its eyes are for the stars, its feet for the swords; it continueth, though an army lay waste the pasture; it comforteth when there are no medicines; it hath the relish of manna; and by it do men live in the desert."
"But if it pass from a man, that which he loves, and he is left alone, Monsieur?"
"That which is loved may pass, but love hath no end."
"Thou didst love my Fanchon's father?"
"I prayed him not to go, for a storm was on, but there was the thought of wife and child on him--the good Michel--and he said: 'It is the home- trail, and I must get to my nest.' Poor soul, poor soul! I who carry my life as a leaf in autumn for the west wind was saved, and he--!"
"We are on the same trail now, Monsieur?"
"See: how soft a night, and how goodly is the moon!"
"It is the same trail now as then, Monsieur?"
"And how like velvet are the shadows in the gorge there below--like velvet-velvet."
"Like a pall. He travelled this trail, Monsieur?"
"I remember thy Fanchon that night--so small a child was she, with deep brown eyes, a cloud of hair that waved about her head, and a face that shone like spring. I have seen her but once