"Father," he said, pointing to the cottage, "you have been there—you know all—tell me—where are they?"
The old man's eyes filled with tears, as he shook his head, and laid his hand kindly on the young man's shoulder.
"Pierre," said he, "you have read 'whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth?'"
The soldier bowed his head.
"Pierre," exclaimed the good priest, "let us sit down on this bank. You are a good and brave boy. You can face danger, and I have sought to furnish you weapons to wage war against sorrow and trial."
"You have been a father to me, sir," replied the young soldier, complying with the invitation of his pastor, and taking a seat beside him. "I will endeavor to listen calmly to all you have to communicate. Where are my mother and sister?"
"Pierre," said the old man, "arm yourself with all your fortitude. You will never see your mother more till you meet her in that happier world, where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."
Pierre groaned deeply, and covering his face with his hands, rocked his body to and fro as he burst into an agony of tears. The priest sought not to interrupt him, but turned away his own weeping countenance, for the anguish of the youth was too painful to contemplate.
At last the poor soldier looked up and spoke again: "What of my poor sister?"
"I know nothing," replied the priest; "she is gone whither, none can tell. A great crime has been committed. By whom, none knows, save God and the perpetrator thereof. You sent home a large sum of money to your mother. She was so overjoyed at your good fortune, that she made no secret of its reception, though I cautioned her against speaking of it. A fortnight ago, the village was alarmed by the cry of fire. Your cottage was seen to be in flames. The neighbors hastened thither and extinguished the blaze. In the smoke and confusion it was not perceived at first that murder, as well as incendiarism, had done its foul work." The priest paused, overcome with agitation.