"Perjure my soul? Offer rum? Break my vow in the face of the enemies of
God's Church? What have you done for me that I should do this for you,
John Bagot?"
"Coward!" was the man's despairing cry, with a sudden threatening movement. "Christ Himself would have broke a vow to save her."
The grave, kind eyes of the priest met the other's fierce gaze, and quieted the wild storm that was about to break.
"Who am I that I should teach my Master?" he said solemnly. "What would you give Christ, Bagot, if He had saved her to you?"
The man shook with grief, and tears rushed from his eyes, so suddenly and fully had a new emotion passed through him.
"Give—give?" he cried; "I would give twenty years of my life!"
The figure of the priest stretched up with a gentle grandeur. Holding out the iron crucifix, he said: "On your knees and swear it, John Bagot."
There was something inspiring, commanding, in the voice and manner, and Bagot, with a new hope rushing through his veins, knelt and repeated his words.
The priest turned to the door, and called, "Madame Lucette!"
The boy, hearing, waked, and sat up in bed suddenly. "Mother! mother!" he cried, as the door flew open. The mother came to her husband's arms, laughing and weeping, and an instant afterwards was pouring out her love and anxiety over her child.