The Butterfly Man had listened without an interruption. He sat leaning slightly forward, knees crossed, the left arm folded to support the elbow of the right, and his chin in his cupped right hand. His eyes had the piercing clear directness of an eagle's; they burned with an unwavering pale flame. Shrewder far than I, he saw the great advantage of knowing the worst, of at last thoroughly understanding Hunter and Inglesby and the motives which moved them. He had, too, a certain tolerance. These two had merely acted according to their lights; he had not expected any more or less, therefore he was not surprised now into an undue condemnation. But the fighting instinct rose rampant in me. My hands are De Rancé hands, the hands of soldiers as well as of priests, and they itched for a weapon, preferably a sword. Horrified and astonished, suffocating with anger, I had no word at command to comfort this victim of abominable cunning. Indeed, what could I say; what could I do? I looked helplessly at the Butterfly Man, and the stronger man looked back at me, gravely and impassively. "But what is to be done?" I groaned. He seemed to know, for he said at once: "Call Madame. Tell her to bring some extra wraps. I am going to take Mary Virginia home, and Madame will go with us." "But why shouldn't she stay here?" "Because she'd better be at home to-morrow morning, parson. We're not supposed to know anything of her affairs, and I'd rather she didn't appear at the Parish House. Also, she needs sleep right now more than she needs anything else, and one sleeps better in one's own bed. Madame will see that she goes to hers and stays there." I was perfectly willing to commit the affair into John Flint's hands. But Mary Virginia demurred. "No. I want to stay here! I don't want to go home, Padre." Flint shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said mildly, "but I'm going to take you home." He looked so inexorable that Mary Virginia shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, all right, Mr. Flint, I'll go," said she. "What difference does it make? I'll even go to bed--as I'm told." And she added in a tone of indescribable bitterness: "I have read that men lie down and sleep peacefully the night before they are hanged. Well, I suppose they could: they hadn't anything but death to face on the morrow, but I--" and she caught her breath. "Why not take it for granted to-night that you'll be looked after to-morrow?" suggested Flint. "Mary Virginia, nothing's ever so bad as it's going to be." "Oh, yes, I'll be looked after to-morrow!" said she, bitingly. "Mr. Inglesby will see to that!" She covered her face with her hands. "Oh, I don't know!" The Butterfly Man shut his mouth on the words like a knife. "Inglesby may think he's going to, but somehow _I_ think he won't." "Ah!" said she scornfully. "Perhaps _you'll_ be able to stop him?"