were killed as soon as overtaken—­every atrocity was committed in every district; but the Christian religion still spread wider than the widest bloodshed; still sprang up with ever-renewed vitality from under the very feet of the men whose vain fury was powerless to trample it down.  Everywhere the people remained true to their Faith; everywhere the priests stood firm by them in their sorest need.  The executioners of the Republic had been sent to make Brittany a country of apostates; they did their worst, and left it a country of martyrs.

One evening, while this frightful persecution was still raging, Gabriel happened to be detained unusually late at the cottage of Perrine’s father.  He had lately spent much of his time at the farm house; it was his only refuge now from that place of suffering, of silence, and of secret shame, which he had once called home!  Just as he had taken leave of Perrine for the night, and was about to open the farmhouse door, her father stopped him, and pointed to a chair in the chimney-corner.

“Leave us alone, my dear,” said the old man to his daughter; “I want to speak to Gabriel.  You can go to your mother in the next room.”

The words which Pere Bonan—­as he was called by the neighbors—­had now to say in private were destined to lead to very unexpected events.  After referring to the alteration which had appeared of late in Gabriel’s manner, the old man began by asking him, sorrowfully but not suspiciously, whether he still preserved his old affection for Perrine.  On receiving an eager answer in the affirmative, Pere Bonan then referred to the persecution still raging through the country, and to the consequent possibility that he, like others of his countrymen, might yet be called to suffer, and perhaps to die, for the cause of his religion.  If this last act of self-sacrifice were required of him, Perrine would be left unprotected, unless her affianced husband performed his promise to her, and assumed, without delay, the position of her lawful guardian.  “Let me know that you will do this,” concluded the old man; “I shall be resigned to all that may be required of me, if I can only know that I shall not die leaving Perrine unprotected.”  Gabriel gave the promise—­gave it with his whole heart.  As he took leave of Pere Bonan, the old man said to him: 

“Come here to-morrow; I shall know more then than I know now—­I shall be able to fix with certainty the day for the fulfillment of your engagement with Perrine.”

Why did Gabriel hesitate at the farmhouse door, looking back on Pere Bonan as though he would fain say something, and yet not speaking a word?  Why, after he had gone out and had walked onward several paces, did he suddenly stop, return quickly to the farmhouse, stand irresolute before the gate, and then retrace his steps, sighing heavily as he went, but never pausing again on his homeward way?  Because the torment of his horrible secret had grown harder to bear than