live in the desert--for a sensation? We don't know."

"We do know. The man has had sorrow and the man has had sin. Yes,
believe me, there is none of us that suffers as this man has suffered.
I have had many, many talks with him. Believe me, Maurice, I speak the
truth. My heart bleeds for him. I think I know the thing that drove him
here amongst us. It is a great temptation, which pursues him here--even
here, where his life is so commendable. I have seen him fighting it.
I have seen his torture, the piteous, ignoble yielding, and the struggle,
with more than mortal energy, to be master of himself."

"It is--" the Seigneur said, then paused.

"No, no; do not ask me. He has not confessed to me, Maurice-naturally,
nothing like that. But I know. I know and pity--ah, Maurice, I almost
love. You argue, and reason, but I know this, my friend, that something
was left out of this man when he was made, and it is that thing that we
must find, or he will die among us a ruined soul, and his gravestone will
be the monument of our shame. If he can once trust the Church, if he can
once say, 'Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit,' then his temptation
will vanish, and I shall bring him in--I shall lead him home."

For an instant the Seigneur looked at him in amazement, for this was a
Cure he had never known.

"Dear Cure, you are not your old self," he said gently.

"I am not myself--yes, that is it, Maurice. I am not the old humdrum
Cure you knew. The whole world is my field now. I have sorrowed for
sin, within the bounds of this little Chaudiere. Now I sorrow for