In ten minutes she had left. The priest was alone with himself, and his duty. Through the open door of the church he saw Slevski--and he knew that the woman had been followed. He sat for a long time where he was, staring straight ahead with wide open eyes, the lashes of which never once stirred. Then he went back to the house and mechanically, almost, picked up his breviary and finished his daily office. He laid the book down on the arm of his chair, went to his desk and wrote a few lines, sealed them in an envelope and left it addressed on the blotter. He was outwardly calm, but his face was gray as ashes. His eyes fell upon the crucifix above his desk and he gave way in an instant, dropping on his knees before it. The prayer that came out of his white lips was hoarse and whispering: "Oh, Crucified Lord, I can not, I can not do it. I am young. Have pity on me. I am not strong enough to be so like You." Then he began to doubt if the Seal would really be broken if he did not go. Perhaps Slevski had not suspected his wife at all--but had the priest not seen him outside the church? The sweat was over his face, and he walked to the door to get a breath of air. The priest knew there was no longer even a lingering doubt as to what he should do. He went back to the church, and, before the altar, awaited his call. It was not long in coming. The old housekeeper appeared in half an hour to summon him. "Kendis is in the house. He lives on the other side of the Run. It is for his wife, who is sick, that he comes. She is dying." The priest bowed and followed the old servant into the house, but Kendis had left. The priest looked at his few books and lovingly touched some of his favorites. His reading chair was near. His eyes filled as he looked at it, with the familiar breviary on its wide arm. The crucified Christ gazed down from His cross at him and seemed to smile; but the priest's eyes swam with tears, and a great sob burst from him. He opened the door, but lingered on the threshold. When he passed out on the street his walk was slow, his lips moving, as he went along with the step of a man very weary and bending beneath the weight of a Great Something. The people did not know then that their one dark and muddy street was that night a Via Dolorosa; that along it a man who loved them dragged a heavy Cross for their sake; that it ended for him, as had another sorrowful way ended for his Master, in a cruel Calvary. Slevski told the whole story before the trap of the gallows was sprung. MAC OF THE ISLAND