He looked up, and saw that he
was standing alone before the cottage.
Once, after an interval, he approached the window.
He just saw through it the hand of the priest holding on high the
ivory crucifix; but stopped not to see more, for he heard such
words, such sounds, as drove him back to his former place. There
he stayed, until the noise of something falling heavily within
the cottage struck on his ear. Again he advanced toward the door;
heard Father Paul praying; listened for several minutes; then
heard a moaning voice, now joining itself to the voice of the
priest, now choked in sobs and bitter wailing. Once more he went
back out of hearing, and stirred not again from his place. He
waited a long and a weary time there--so long that one of the
scouts on the lookout came toward him, evidently suspicious of
the delay in the priest's return. He waved the man back, and then
looked again toward the door. At last he saw it open--saw Father
Paul approach him, leading Francois Sarzeau by the hand.
The fisherman never raised his downcast eyes to his son's face;
tears trickled silently over his cheeks; he followed the hand
that led him, as a little child might have followed it, listened
anxiously and humbly at the priest's side to every word that he
spoke.
"Gabriel," said Father Paul, in a voice which trembled a little
for the first time that night--"Gabriel, it has pleased God to
grant the perfect fulfillment of the purpose which brought me to
this place; I tell you this, as all that you need--as all, I
believe, that you would wish--to know of what has passed while
you have been left waiting for me here.
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