"I'm very sorry indeed," said she, as the priest still stared in silence at her, "that I was such a trouble to you, after all your--your kindness; but the fact is, I was so wretchedly fatigued that I was scarcely responsible for my actions. It was too selfish in me; but now I mean to make amends, and help you in every possible way. Would you like me to do anything? Sha'n't I get breakfast?" She spoke these words with a smile, in which, however, there was not a little sadness. There was nothing in the words themselves beyond that painful consideration for others and forgetfulness of self which the priest had observed in her the night before; but the voice was a wonderful one--a round, full contralto, yet soft and low, with a certain mysteriously tremulous undertone that fell with a thrill upon his ear. The priest started up. "Breakfast!" said he, with a short laugh. "That is the very thing I was thinking of myself. I consider that an all-important subject." "It is certainly a serious matter," said she. "And you propose to get it for me?" "Yes," said she, with a faint smile, "if I can." "I really wish you would," continued the priest, "for it would save me from a great responsibility; for if you don't get it for me, hang me if I know where I can get any for myself." "What do you mean?" said she. "Have we nothing to eat?" "Well, not so bad as that. I have a bit of a sandwich, I believe, and you may have it." With this he produced from his pocket a tin sandwich case and offered it to her. She refused. "If that is the last that you have," said she, "I can wait." "But you must eat it, so as to get back your strength." [Illustration: "The Priest Placed The Lady On The Ground Near The Trunk Of A Fallen Tree."] "And what will you do?" "Oh, I'm an old hand at fasting. It's my business." "As priest, I suppose?" said the lady, with a smile that was brighter, or rather less mournful, than any which the priest had thus far seen on her melancholy face. "Yes, as priest," said the other, dryly. "And now will you take it?" "Do you ever think about yourself?" asked the lady, in a low voice, in which the thrill was more perceptible than usual. "About myself? Oh yes," said he; "I never think of anything else. My motto is to take care of Number One. It's only for my own sake that I'm anxious for you to eat; but if you won't take it all, why, you'll have to be content with half. You won't refuse to share with me and take half?" "By no means. I sha'n't object to take the half, if you choose." "Well," said he, "that's fair; so let's begin our breakfast. Would you mind sitting on that tree over there?" He led the way to the fallen tree already mentioned, and the two seated themselves. He then opened the tin case and drew forth a few sandwiches. From these they made their frugal repast.