The Cure went to the door and locked it. The deepest desire of his life must here be uttered, his great aspiration be realised.
"My son," he said, as he came softly to the bedside again, "you have given to us all you had—your charity, your wisdom, your skill. You have "—it was hard, but the man's wound was mortal, and it must be said "you have consecrated our new church with your blood. You have given all to us; we will give all to you—"
There was a soft knocking at the door. He went and opened it a very little. "He is conscious, Rosalie," he whispered. "Wait—wait—one moment."
Then came the Seigneur's voice saying that Jo was gone, and that all the robbers had escaped, save the two disposed of by Charley and Jo.
The Cure turned to the bed once more. "What did he say about Jo?"
Charley asked.
"He is dead, my son, and the quack-doctor also. The others have escaped."
Charley turned his face away. "Au revoir, Jo," he said into the great distance.
Then there was silence for a moment, while outside the door a girl prayed, with an old woman's arm around her.
The Cure leaned over Charley again. "Shall not the sacraments of the Church comfort you in your last hours?" he said. "It is the way, the truth, and the life. It is the Voice that says: 'Peace' to the vexed mind. Human intellect is vanity; only the soul survives. Will you not hear the Voice? Will you not give us who love and honour you the right to make you ours for ever? Will you not come to the bosom of that Church for which you have given all?"
"Tell them so," Charley said, and he motioned towards the window, under which the people were gathered.