coming to see if it could be true. It was hard to believe, and yet it has cost me a great deal to persuade myself against belief, Victor."
"It will cost you still more, Jacqueline. Martial Mazurier has recanted."
"He has been in prison, then?"
"He has retracted, and is free again,—has denied himself. No more glorious words from him, Jacqueline, such as we have heard! He has sold himself to the Devil, you see."
"Mazurier?"
"Mazurier has thought raiment better than life. He has believed a man's life to consist in the abundance of the things he possesseth," said the youth, bitterly. He continued, looking steadfastly at Jacqueline,—"Probably I must give up the Truth also. My uncle is dead: must I not secure my possessions?—for I am no longer a poor man; I cannot afford to let my life fall into the hands of those wolves."
"Mazurier retracted? I cannot believe it, Victor Le Roy!"
"Believe, then, that yesterday the man was in prison, and to-day he is at large. Yes, he says that he can serve Jesus Christ more favorably, more successfully, by complying with the will of the bishop and the priests. You see the force of his argument. If he should be silenced, or imprisoned long, or his life should be cut off, he would then be able to preach no more at all in any way. He only does not believe that whosoever will save his life, in opposition to the law of the everlasting gospel, must lose it."
"Oh, do you remember what he said to John,—what he prayed in that room?
Oh, Victor, what does it mean?"
"It means what cannot be spoken,—what I dare not say or think."
"Not that we are wrong, mistaken, Victor?"
"No, Jacqueline, never! it can never mean that! Whatever we may do with the Truth, we cannot make it false. We may act like cowards, unworthy, ungrateful, ignorant; but the Truth will remain, Jacqueline."
"Victor, you could not desert it."
"How can I tell, Jacqueline? The last time I saw Martial Mazurier, he would have said nobler and more loving words than I can command. But with my own eyes I saw him walking at liberty in streets where liberty for him to walk could be bought only at an infamous price."
"Is there such danger for all men who believe with John Leclerc, and with—with you, Victor?"
"Yes, there is danger, such danger."
"Then you must go away. You must not stay in Meaux," she said, quickly, in a low, determined voice.
"Jacqueline, I must remain in Meaux," he answered, as quickly, with flushed face and flashing eyes. The dignity of conscious integrity, and the "fear of fear," a beholder who could discern the tokens might have perceived in him.
"Oh, then, who can tell? Did he not pray that he might not be led into temptation?"
"Yes," Victor replied, more troubled than scornful,—"yes, and allowed himself to be led at last."
"But if you should go away"–
"Would not that be flying from danger?" he asked, proudly.
"Nay, might it not be doing with your might what you found to do, that you might not be led into temptation?"
"And you are afraid, that, if I stay here, I shall yield to them."
"You say you are not certain, Victor. You repeat Mazurier's words."
"Yet shall I remain. No, I will never run away."
The pride of the young fellow, and the consternation occasioned by the recreancy of his superior, his belief in the doctrines he had confessed with Mazurier, and the time-serving of the latter, had evidently thrown asunder the guards of his peace, and produced a sad state of confusion.
"It were better to run away," said Jacqueline, not pausing to choose the word,—"far better than to stay and defy the Devil, and then find that you could not resist him, Victor. Oh, if we could go, as Elsie said, back to Domrémy,—anywhere away from this cruel Meaux!"
"Have you, then, gained nothing, Jacqueline?"
"Everything. But to lose it,—oh, I cannot afford that!"
"Let us stand together, then. Promise me, Jacqueline," he exclaimed, eagerly, as though he felt himself among defences here, with her.
"What shall I promise, Victor?" she asked, with the voice and the look of one who is ready for any deed of daring, for any work of love.
"I, too, have preached this word."
Her only comment was, "I know you preached it well."
"What has befallen others may befall me."
"Well."
So strongly, so confidently did she speak this word, that the young man went on, manifestly influenced by it, hesitating no more in his speech.
"May befall me," he repeated.
"'Whosoever believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live,'" she answered, with lofty voice, repeating the divine word. "What is our life, that we should hold it at the expense of his Truth? Mazurier was wrong. He can never atone for the wrong he has done."
"I believe it!" exclaimed Victor, with a brightening countenance. The clouds of doubt rose from his face and floated away, as we see the mists ascending from the heights, when we are so happy as to live in the wild hill-country. "You prize Truth more than life. Stand with me in this, Jacqueline. Speak of this Truth as it has come to me. You are all that I have left. I have lost Mazurier. Jacqueline, you are a woman, but you never,—yes! yes! though I dare not say as much of myself, I dare say it of you,—you never could have bought your liberty at such a price as Martial has paid. I know not how, even with the opportunity, he will ever gain the courage to speak of these things again,—those great mysteries which are hidden from the eyes of the covetous and worldly and unbelieving. Promise, stand with me, Jacqueline, and I will rely on you. Forsake me not."
"Victor, has He not said, who can best say it, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you'?"
"But, Jacqueline, I love you."
Having said these words, the face of the young man emerged wholly from the eclipse of the former shadow.
"What is this?" said the brave peasant from Domrémy, manifestly doubting whether she had heard aright; and her clear pure eyes were gazing full on Victor Le Roy, actually looking for an explanation of his words.
"I love you, Jacqueline," he repeated. "And I do not involve you in danger, oh, my friend! Only let me have it to believe that my life is dear to Jacqueline, and I shall not be afraid then to lose it, if that testimony be required of me. Shall we not stand side by side, soldiers of Christ, stronger in each other than in all the world beside? Shall it not be so, Jacqueline? True heart, answer me! And if you will not love me, at least say, say you are my friend, you trust me. I will hold your safety sacred."
"I am your friend, Victor."
"Say my wife, Jacqueline. I honored you, that you came from Domrémy.
You are my very dream of Joan,—as brave and as true as beautiful.
Jacqueline,
