"Don't say that--I beg of you." He spoke almost sharply, as if hurt physically. "Nothing is needed--and I hope you will let Sister Ste. Croix come in for a few days and care for you. She wants to come." "Tell her to come. I think I am willing to see any one now--something has given way here;" she pressed her hand to her head; "it's a great relief." "Good-bye." He held out his hand and she placed hers in it; the tears kept rolling down her cheeks. "Tell my darling boy, when you see him, that it was my fault--and I love him so--oh, how I love him--" Her voice broke in a sob. Father Honore left the room to cover his emotion. He spoke to Ellen from the hall, and went out at the front door in order to avoid Mrs. Caukins. He had need to be alone. * * * * * That afternoon at the station, Octavius Buzzby met him on the platform. "Mr. Buzzby, is there any truth in the rumor I heard, as I came to the train, that Mrs. Champney has had a stroke?" The face of Champ-au-Haut's factotum worked strangely before he made answer. "Yes, she's had a slight shock. The doctor told me this morning that he knew she'd had the first one over three years ago; this is the second. I've come down for a nurse he telegraphed for; I expect her on the next train up--and, Father Honore--" he hesitated; his hands were working nervously in each other. "Yes, Mr. Buzzby?" "I come down to see you, too, on purpose--" "To see me?" Father Honore looked his surprise; his thoughts leaped to a possible demand on Mrs. Champney's part for his presence at Champ-au-Haut--she might have repented her words, changed her mind; might be ready to help her nephew. In that case, he would wait for the midnight train. The man of Maine's face was working painfully again; he was struggling for control; his feelings were deep, tender, loyal; he was capable of any sacrifice for a friend. "Father Honore--I don't want to butt in anywhere--into what ain't my business, but I do want to know if you're going to New York?" "Yes, I am." "Are you going to try to see _him_?" "I'm going to try to find him--for his mother's sake and his own." Octavius Buzzby grasped his hand and wrung it. "God bless you!" He fumbled with his left hand in his breast pocket and drew forth a package. "Here, you take this--it's honest money, all mine--you use it for Champney--to help out, you know, in any way you see fit." Father Honore was so moved he could not speak at once. "If Mr. Googe could know what a friend he has in you, Mr. Buzzby," he said at last, "I don't think he could wholly despair, whatever might come,"--he pressed the package back into Octavius' hand,--"keep it with you, it's safer; and I promise you if I need it I will call on you." Suddenly his indignation got the better of him--"But this is outrageous!"--he spoke in a low voice but vehemently,--"Mrs. Champney is abundantly able to do this for her nephew, whereas you--"