Madame sank into the nearest seat through the sheer exhaustion produced by an overwhelming astonishment. What did this mean? Who was this person? How dared any subordinate priest, bishop, or archbishop, or even cardinal, assume the pontifical robes? The strains of an organ now arose, swelling on the air. She looked around—saw the organ, it was behind her, and beside the door by which she had entered, but a screen reaching half way up the instrument, concealed the organist from her view. What _did_ it all mean? But the Mass had commenced, and Madame was too devout a Catholic to stop to think when it was time to pray. So down she dropped upon her knees, and began in the form of the ritual, and in her case, no doubt, with the exactest truth, to accuse herself of every sin in the catalogue. And in her devotions she forbore to look about or raise her eyes again to the mysterious old man who officiated, at the altar. At last at the conclusion of the solemnities, when the celebrant turned round toward the people, and solemnly extending his venerable hands, intoned “Deus Gratias,” (Thanks be to God,) Madame raised her eyes, and to her inexpressible scandalization, recognized Monsieur Henri. “Good! This is better than the rest! He is a king all the week and the Pope on Sunday. But it would be a mortal sin in me to allow _this_ madness to go on any longer! I would put up with the king for six days, but the Pope, Holy Virgin! no, that must be stopped. I’ll make an excuse of an errand to town, get him to let me have a barque, and go to the mainland, and to the County seat, and take out a writ of lunacy against him. I will lose no time. I will do this to-morrow.” While Madame thus resolved, the congregation were quietly dispersing. As there was but one outlet to this room, the officiating priest himself came down; and in passing by his guest, he paused, extended his hands over her head in the most solemn and benignant manner, and said, gravely and slowly— “Benedicite, illustrious daughter,” and then in measured steps passed out. Sunday, on the Sunrise Island, was a day of Heaven—as the Isle itself was a terrestrial paradise.