The Sin That Was His

by Frank L. Packard

CHAPTER XXII—HOW RAYMOND BADE FAREWELL TO ST. MARLEAU

AN hour! There lay an hour between himself—and death. Primal, elemental, savage in its intensity, tigerish in its coming, there surged upon him the demand for life—to live—to fight for self-preservation. And yet how clear his brain was, and how swiftly it worked! Life! There lay an hour between himself—and death. The horse was still outside. The overalls, the old coat, the old hat belonging to the sacristan were still at his disposal in the shed. He would ostentatiously set out to drive to the station to meet the Bishop, hide the horse and buckboard in the woods just before he got there, change his clothes, run on the rest of the way, remain concealed on the far side of the tracks until the train arrived—and, as Monsignor the Bishop descended from one side of the train to the platform, he, Raymond, would board it from the other. There would then, of course, be no one to meet the Bishop. The Bishop would wait patiently no doubt for a while; then Labbée perhaps would manage to procure a vehicle of some sort, or the Bishop might even walk. Eventually, of course, it would appear that Father Aubert had set out for the station and had not since been seen—but it would be a good many hours before the truth began to dawn on any one. There would be alarm only at first for the safety of the good, young Father Aubert—and meanwhile he would have reached Halifax, say One could not ask for a better start than that!

Life! With the crisis upon him, his mind held on no other thing. Life—the human impulse to live and not to die! No other thing—but life! It was an hour before the train was due—he could drive to the station easily in half an hour. There was no hurry—but there was Madame Lafleur who, he was conscious, was watching him from the doorway—Madame Lafleur, and Madame Lafleur's supper. He would have need of food, there was no telling when he would have another chance to eat; and there was Madame Lafleur, too, to enlist as an unwitting accomplice.

“Monsieur le Curé”—it was Madame Lafleur speaking a little timidly from the doorway—“it—it is not bad news that Monsieur le Curé has received?”

“Bad news!” Raymond picked up the telegram, and, turning from the desk, walked toward her. “Bad news!” he smiled. “But on the contrary, my dear Madame Lafleur! I was thinking only of just what was the best thing to do, since it is now quite late, and I did not receive the telegram this afternoon, as I otherwise should had I not been away. Listen! Monsignor the Bishop, who is on his way”—Raymond glanced deliberately at the message—“yes, he says to Halifax—who then is on his way to Halifax, will stop off here this evening.”

Madame Lafleur was instantly in a flutter of excitement.

“Oh, Monsieur le Curé!”—her comely cheeks grew rosy, and her eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Monsieur le Curé—Monsignor the Bishop! He will spend the night here?” she demanded eagerly.

Raymond patted her shoulder playfully, as he led her toward the dining room.

“Yes, he will spend the night here, Madame Lafleur”—it was strange that he could laugh teasingly, naturally. “But first, a little supper for a mere curé, eh, Madame Lafleur—since Monsignor the Bishop will undoubtedly have dined on the train.”

“Oh, Monsieur le Curé!” She shook her head at him.