The man’s eyes opened and in the strong light he evidently recognised the Bishop’s grimy collar, for out of his cracked and swollen lips there came the moan:
“Mon Pere, je me ’cuse––”
With a start, Ruth recognised the words. They were the form in which the French people 173 began the telling of their sins in confession. And she hurriedly turned away toward the horses.
She smiled wearily as she leaned against Brom Bones, thinking of Jeffrey Whiting. Here was one of the things that he did not like––the Catholic Church always turning up in everything.
She wondered where he was and what he was doing and thinking, up there behind that awful veil of red.
VI
THE BUSINESS OF THE SHEPHERD
The Bishop laid the man’s head back so that he lay as easy as it was possible and spoke a word or two in that astonishing French of his which was the wonder and the peculiar pride of all the North Country.