tidings of his sentence were received with various emotion: by some as though they were maddened with new wine; others wept openly; many more were pained at heart; some brutally rejoiced; some were incredulous. but now they were all on their way to meaux; the fields were quite deserted. urged by one desire, to ascertain the facts of the trial, and the time when the sentence would be executed, the laborers were returning to the town. without demonstration of any emotion, jacqueline gabrie, quiet, silent, walked along the river-bank, until she came to the clump of chestnut-trees, whose shadow fell across the stream. many a time, through the hot, dreadful day, her eyes turned wistfully to this place. in the morning elsie méril had promised jacqueline that at twilight they would read together here the leaves the poor old mother of leclerc gave jacqueline last night: when they had read them, they would walk home by starlight together. but now the time had come, and jacqueline was alone. elsie had returned to town with other young harvesters. very well, said jacqueline, when elsie told her she must go. it was not, indeed, inexplicable that she should prefer the many voices to the one,excitement and company, rather than quiet, dangerous thinking. but, thus left alone, the face of jacqueline expressed both sorrow and indignation. she would exact nothing of elsie; but latterly how often had she expected of her companion more than she gave or could give! of course the young girl was equal to others in pity and surprise; but there were people in the world beside the wool-comber and his mother. nothing of vast import was suggested by his sentence to her mind. she did not see that spiritual freedom was threatened with destruction. if she heard the danger questioned, she could not apprehend it. though she had listened to the preaching of leclerc and had been moved by it, her sense of truth and of justice was not so acute as to lead her willingly to incur a risk in the maintaining of the same. she would not look into antonines bible, which jacqueline had read so much during the last fortnight. she was not the girl to torment herself about her soul, when the church would save it for her by mere compliance with a few easy regulations. more and more was elsie disappointing jacqueline. day by day these girls were developing in ways which bade fair to separate them in the end. when now they had most need of each other, their estrangement was becoming more apparent and decided. the peasant-dress of elsie would not content her always, jacqueline said sadly to herself. jacquelines tracts, indeed, promised poorly as entertainment for an hour of rest;rest gained by hours of toil. the confusion of tongues and the excitement of the city pleased elsie better. so she went along the road to meaux, and was not talking, neither thinking, all the way, of the wrongs of john leclerc, and the sorrows of his mother,neither meditating constantly, and with deep-seated purpose, i will not let thee go, except thou bless me!neither on this problem, agitated then in so many earnest minds, what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? thus jacqueline sat alone and thought that she would read by herself the tracts leclerc had found it good to study. but unopened she held the little printed scroll, while she watched the home-returning birds, whose nests were in the mighty branches of the chestnut-trees. she needed the repose more than the teaching, even; for all day the sun had fallen heavily on the harvesters,and toiling with a troubled heart, under a burning sun, will leave the laborer not in the best condition for such work as jacqueline believed she had to do. but she had promised the old woman she would read these tracts, and this was her only time, for they must be returned that night: others were waiting for them with an eagerness and longing of which, haply, tract-dispensers see little now. still she delayed in opening them. the news of leclercs sentence had filled her with dismay. did she dread to read the truth,the truth of jesus christ, as his mother styled it? the frightful image of the bleeding, lacerated wool-comber would come between her and the book in which that faith was written for maintaining which this man must suffer. strange contrast between the heavy gloom and terror of her thoughts and the peaceful river flowing on! how tranquil were the fields that spread beyond her sight! but there is no rest or joy in nature to the agitated and foreboding spirit. must we not have conquered the world, if we serenely enter into natures rest? fain would jacqueline have turned her face and steps in another direction that night than toward the road that led to meaux: to the village on the border of the vosges,to the ancient domrémy. once her home was there; but jacqueline had passed forth from the old, humble, true defences: for herself must live and die. domrémy had a home for her no more. the priest, on whom she had relied when all failed her, was still there, it is true; and once she had thought, that, while he lived, she was not fatherless, not homeless: but his authority had ceased to be paternal, and she trusted him no longer. she had two graves in the old village, and among the living a few faces she never could forget. but on this earth she had no home. musing on these dreary facts, and on the bleeding, branded image of leclerc, as her imagination rendered him back to his friends, his fearful trial over, a vision more familiar to her childhood than her youth opened to jacqueline. there was one who used to wander through the woods that bordered the mountains in whose shadow stood domrémy,one whose works had glorified her name in the england and the france that made a martyr of her. jeanne darc had ventured all things for the truths sake: was she, who also came forth from that village, by any power commissioned? jacqueline laid the tracts on the grass. over them she placed a stone. she bowed her head. she hid her face. she saw no more the river, trees, or home-returning birds; heard not the rush of water or of wind,nor, even now, the hurry and the shout; that possibly to-morrow would follow the poor wool-comber through the streets of meaux,and on the third day they would brand him! she remembered an old cottage in the shadow of the forest-covered mountains. she remembered one who died there suddenly, and without remedy,her father, unabsolved and unanointed, dying in fear and torment, in a moment when none anticipated death. she remembered a strong-hearted woman who seemed to die with him,who died to all the interests of this life, and was buried by her husband ere a twelvemonth had passed,her mother, who was buried by her fathers side. burdened with a solemn care they left their child. the priest of domrémy, and none beside him, knew the weight of this burden. how had he helped her bear it? since it is the _business_ of the shepherd to look after the younglings of the flock