"
The priest bows gravely, and presses the hand of the lawyer. With
one loving look around the old plaza, the sweeping forest arches,
and the rolling billows of green, he leaves the lonely lake gleaming
amid its wooded shores. Its beauty is untouched by the twenty
long years since first he wandered by its shores. A Paradise in a
forest. His few communicants have said adieu. There is nothing to
follow him but the incense-breathing murmurs of the forest branches,
from fragrant pine and stately redwood, sighing, "Go, in God's
name."
Their wind-wafted voices speak to him of the happy past. The quiet,
saddened, patient padre trusts himself as freely to his unknown
future, as a child in its mother's cradling arms. In his simple
creed, "God is everywhere."
So Francois Ribaut goes in peace to spend a few quiet days at the
Mission Dolores church. He will then follow the wild ocean waves
back to his beloved France. "Apres vingt ans." A month sees him
nearing the beloved shores.
Walking the deck, he thinks often of that orphan child in Europe.
He remembers, strangely, that the Judge had neglected to give him
any clew to her present dwelling. Ah! he can write. Yes, but will
he be answered? Perhaps.
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